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Friday, May 19, 2017

💀 ☠ The Evidence Is Against Multitasking │ Ten Virility Foods │ Sciatica: Lyrica Proven No Better Than Nothing at All │ Study: One in Three Americans Unknowingly Suffer a Mini-Stroke

My younger brother Mark spent much of last evening in front of the T.V. unconscious in his chair. He even launched into one of his disgusting four- or five-minute sneezing fits, spoiling my full involvement in what I believe was the second-to-last episode this season of Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

I wish to blazes that he would just go to bed instead of disrupting my evening, the drunken boor.

Earlier, right after he had gotten home that evening, he had me place an order at Canada's Amazon for "CAN-C Eye Drops 2x 5ml Vials" for $50.29. He's been diagnosed with a developing cataract, so he is hoping that these eye-drops will assist him in overcoming the condition.

Of course, he has no intention of cutting back on the boozing.

If you know nothing of Can-C, one easily read write-up is at DrDavidWilliams.com: Learn how you can treat your cataracts naturally.

On the weekend I had to research for this possible treatment because he doesn't even know for sure how to turn on a computer, let alone use one for anything.

Then I had to research to find a reasonably-priced source. The States seemed to generally charge around $39 U.S. at various sources, so this price at a Canadian source is remarkably inexpensive by comparison ─ especially since it is being shipped postage-free.

So last evening in order to place the darned order, because he has never bought anything from Amazon before, he had me use my purchasing information. He doesn't have an E-mail address to start setting up his own account.

Aww, enough of this slam talk! I'm just in a bad mood.

I got to bed last evening at 10:44 p.m.; used the bathroom at 3:46 a.m. during one of my sleep breaks; and it was about 6:45 a.m. this morning when I checked the time and then rose for the day.

Overall, I felt reasonably well rested, but I had to get dressed for a short walk ─ not quite a block ─ to mail a bill payment that is due next Tuesday. Monday happens to be a statutory holiday, so I hope the payment arrives on time.

My younger brother Mark and my eldest stepson Tho had both gone to work, but youngest stepson Poté was yet in bed. However, he did soon enough rise, and at 7:18 a.m. was out the door on his way to work, too.

I was busy putting more content into the Lawless Spirit post I have been working on for at least a week. By mid-morning, though, I was feeling drowsy. I figured that it would perhaps be beneficial to seek a nap once I had put in the amount of work intended for today at the post.

But what did I do instead? Nothing good.

And thus my bitter, foul mood.

I tried lying down on the couch in the living room towards noon, and did manage to sink into a deep rest ─ I almost napped. And that will have to suffice.

The day has been overcast, but the promise is for sunshine at some point this afternoon (it is 12:56 p.m. as I type this statement). However, the entire long weekend is then supposed to remain entirely sunny ─ even into the coming work week.

If this proves true, it will be the longest run of sunshine that we have known since last Fall.

I just wish that I didn't live here as I do, with no inclination to leave home on a walk of pleasure because there simply is none ─ just untold miles and miles in all directions of traffic, endless homes and other buildings, and the public eye at every hand. There is no privacy, peace of mind, seclusion ─ it is impossible to nurture a wholesome, retrospective, and meditative frame of mind.

It is no wonder that I acknowledge that I have become sick living unnaturally like this ─ sick in body and most certainly in mind.

It is doing me no good ruminating. I am going to leave this section with a pair of scanned photos from the collection of my mother Irene Dorosh. The descriptions beneath them are from the Google album where I have the pair filed:

The photo is from my mother Irene Dorosh's collection.

I would peg that date as being sometimes in the latter 1970s, or earliest 1980s.

The location is the rear of the little home that my mother and her husband Alex shared. That house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue, Surrey, B.C.

Alex is in the red pants.

I believe that the woman behind him is Kay Kris or Krys, a friend of my mother and Alex.

The girl is my niece Sherry, and that is my mother beside her.

And that is me at the far right, apparently with my eyes closed just as the camera flashed to take this photo.
The photo is from my mother Irene Dorosh's collection, but I can offer nothing concerning it ─ not location, date, nor even whose cat this is.

We all occasionally multitask, trying to accomplish several things simultaneously instead of just focusing upon one of them until that task is done.

Research seem to find that this is not the productive way of doing things, despite what we may be thinking at the time we are so engaged.

The following is from NewMarketHealth.com:
We've all met them -- the people who seem to be able to do ten things at once.

And it sure looks productive! But it turns out that the more things you try to get done at the same time, the less you end up managing to achieve.

And there's a good reason for that.

According to a new study conducted at Finland's Aalto University, when given too many tasks to do within the same time frame, our brains tend to respond like overloaded computers.

Apparently, it's the human version of that spinning circle on your screen!

Multitasking, the study found, can actually be the enemy of productivity, reducing it by as much as 40 percent. By focusing on just one thing at a time, however, we can get each one done a lot faster and more efficiently, the research team discovered.

To figure that out in a scientific way, the researchers actually measured brain patterns of test subjects using an MRI while they were exposed to snippets from several different movies one after another.

What they found was that certain areas of the brain function far more efficiently when more time is allotted to each activity.

A neuroscientist who took part in the research noted that another form of multitasking that can send our brains spinning off in various directions is the use of social media, which, from the brain's perspective, "only increases the load."

And, of course, you know the danger involved when you try to multitask while driving. The director of the Governors Highway Safety Association estimates that a quarter of all crashes are due to people checking their phones, fiddling with the radio, drinking coffee and all the other things we think we can do just fine while at the wheel.

So instead of trying to multitask yourself through the day, why not try something said to be a habit of very successful people?

It's called "monotasking!"
This statement in that quoted article is misleading: "Multitasking, the study found, can actually be the enemy of productivity, reducing it by as much as 40 percent."

The implication is lent by that statement that the study being spoken of had found that multitasking reduced productivity by 40%, but that was the finding of earlier research a few years back ─ not this specific study.

Here are a couple of other reports about this specific more recent study:



What can truly be harrowing about multitasking is when someone will not even allow you the peace to perform one's various functions. 

I had a 'career' where multitasking was unavoidable, yet I had co-workers who would sap away my day and my veritable life by wasting my time with their inane blather, sometimes for a couple of hours at a stretch.

It would nigh drive me mad as I silently seethed there, feeling victimized, and not understanding how it was that they never seemed to be in my straits.   

Unfortunately for me, I was not aptitudinally suited for the work I was doing ─ a team of professionals had once discovered this, much to the astonishment of my two superiors and my co-workers.

So I slaved far longer at what I did just to try and keep up, working through breaks, coming in early and leaving late, and even coming in on weekends to work my job unpaid.

It was hell. 


I doubt that the following article is really going to benefit many men who may be considering testosterone therapy if they truly do have low levels:


Coincidentally, just this morning I saw an article reporting on the latest observations concerning  men who have been taking testosterone. I have to admit that I can't tell if there was a solid conclusion made or not:


I know for a fact that at the age of 67, I am most probably low on testosterone. Yet I got that math question wrong at the opening of the article, and I even gave it a bit of thought before making my decision as to the answer.

Heck, after reading that my answer was wrong, I still couldn't figure it out for the darned longest time!


I don't have sciatica, but I bet the findings in the study being reported on in the following articles would apply for many conditions for which someone might be tempted to take Lyrica (pregabalin):





Doesn't it seem like we're constantly reading about studies that are finding out how various medications do NOT work any better than nothing at all?

Why are people gullibly blowing their cash on stuff like this?


In the past few years, I have had some experiences that have led me to wonder if maybe I was having a wee stroke or something similar. But of course, I never sought medical attention, nor have I mentioned it even when I may have seen a doctor or nurse for some other reason.

Well, a study in the States has found that as many as one in every three Americans may have had a 'mini-stroke' and never realized it ─ why would the situation be much better in Canada or most other Western countries?

Here are some reports about this:





Unfortunately, I see little likelihood that I am going to be reacting any differently.

Of course, it might help if I actually had a family physician. Who wants to bother with seeing some stranger at a 'walk-in' clinic?


The afternoon did improve, but it was never entirely sunny for long ─ there was always thick haze waiting to spread overhead.

Let's see what the weekend brings, though.

I close now with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was paying my rent in a house located on Ninth Street, and perhaps two houses up from Third Avenue.

Just recently, I had begun working full-time ─ perhaps on a three- or four-month contract ─ for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I had previously worked for this group for many, many months, but only on a part-time basis at one day a week. I had swamped on their blue pick-up truck.

However, since getting rehired, I was not assigned truck duty, and I found myself with practically nothing to do, and questioning the why of it.

The S.A.N.E. shop at that time was located in an old building that used to exist around where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now spreads out onto Carnarvon Street. 
WEDNESDAY, May 19, 1976

Up about 6:40 a.m., but awake some earlier.

It occurred to me this morning that I mailed my book order Monday with 8¢ postage rather than 10¢.

I didn't have time enough for today's laundering.

Apparently David phoned Bill, for last night Bill said we were committed to taking him Saturday to a smorgasbord; I let it be known, however, I'd not so comply, but would be willing to go for a drive or something.

The Stanley Cup draw is tonight.

After lunch Bill Sevenko said someone was in twice to see me; but it only sounded like David.

Art dropped in later; he just suggested, not insisted, I come over tonight.

It's good to have my day done.

At 7:15 p.m. for the 2nd time 28 Anna Grimwood was the release.

I visited Bill, supping on pastry and 5 wieners.

Bed at 10:20 p.m.
My old friend Philip David Prince ─ who had his own room probably not a full six blocks from mine ─ had phoned another old friend of mine, William Alan Gill, to line something up. I expect that David was trying this ploy because I never seemed to be interested in visiting him, nor answering the door when he came around to try and see me.

To be frank, David was hard to put up with most of the time, and he far overstayed his welcome if ever he did manage to get me to allow him entry.

Bill ─ who had a nice car ─ and I had once before taken David to a smorgasbord. David proceeded to humiliate us in the business by breaking fixtures where we were seated and tossing them across the floor anytime he thought no staff were paying attention, as well as making a general slop of his place setting. His language and volume were also offensive.

Bill and I had vowed that we would never take him to a restaurant again. 

As for Bill Sevenko, he had been one of my truck co-workers back when I swamped. I don't know if he was still at S.A.N.E. as a part-timer, or just hanging out there that day. He was at least into his 40s, I would guess, but I actually no longer remember the man.

Art Smith was another I had co-worked with on the truck. The man was in his early 40s, married with three kids, and loved to drink.

"Anna Grimwood" was a reference to a dalliance I had with the June 1976 edition of Penthouse

I visited friend Bill for awhile that evening ─ I had been seeing quite a lot of the good fellow since my onerous return to working at S.A.N.E. We would have watched some T.V. on his colour model ─ I only had a smaller black & white model. The snacks would have been courtesy of Bill, of course.

He was a most dear friend.

How sweet ─ my two stepsons have just tried to enlist me into partaking of some Vietnamese noodles they are about to head out and bring home. I believe that they are bound for the Phở Tâm Vietnamese Restaurant.

I had a rather late first meal today ─ it was after 2:00 p.m., and quite filling. I am only planning on having a very light supper, so I declined on the delicious noodles.
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