The boring life of Jerod Poore, Crazymeds' Chief Citizen Medical Expert.

Disc Earth

What was the 19th century equivalent of Intelligent Design?  Pretty much the same thing, but with the added bonus of not just an Earth-centric universe, but a Flat Earth-centric universe!  Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Disc Earth:
(Click on it to see it at full size on Wikipedia Commons.  You need to see it at full size to truly appreciate the the full-on, gonzo, Bible-based pseudoscience.)


I guess that, like today's believers in a 6,000-year-old Earth where everything was created, as it now is, by their version of God, they are incapable of understanding science and just refuse to admit that.

C'mon folks, it's not that difficult.  Once upon a time I used to be a top-flight programmer, now I can't code my way out of a paper bag.  I'm now unable to grasp the finer points of the mechanics behind how the Internet works.  I have absolutely no clue about how a lot of stuff works.  There should be no shame in admitting you just aren't able to understand something.

The same applies to everyone who does understand science.  Stop looking down on people who can't get it and accept that some people never will.  That doesn't make them any less worthwhile as people.  They can probably understand or do things you can't and never will be able to.

Antique space maps via bOINGbOING and Atlas Obscura.

America: Love It Or Leave It!

Asleep at the Wheel - No Ambien Required

Looks like I'm sleep driving after all.

Where do I go and what do I do?  I didn't go very far last time, as Saint Regis is farther than a 2-mile round trip, and that was the difference on the odometer from the last time I intentionally went somewhere and when I left to get some groceries this morning.

This probably explains what happened to the missing garage door opener.  As I didn't put it in the freezer I must not have considered it to be important.  Or didn't think it needed safekeeping.

It also explains a couple of occasions why my keys and driving glasses weren't where I thought I had left them.  My meds- and brain cooties-impaired memory may not be as meds- and brain cooties-impaired as I thought.

I'll leave myself a note in the car about the opener.  Maybe I'll be able to find it the next time I go for a somnambulistic excursion.

Retail Therapy

It's a fucking struggle to do anything.

I've been trying to buy groceries for over a week.  Even shopping online is too much effort.

Yet at the same time I feel as if buying a bunch of kitchen gadgets will solve all my problems.  I haven't thought like that for 13 years.

Once upon a time I could go garage saling, looking for obscure utensils.  Even if it was something I'd never use, a couple of cheap, culinary geegaws would frequently cheer me up.

Now that it's no longer a good idea for me to do any cooking more complicated than rice, the urge to buy kitchen gadgets is a sick joke my brain is playing on me.

What would really be useful: updated glasses.  The depression has reached that point of intensity and duration where it permanently affects my vision.  This has happened to me often.  I can go years without needing an adjustment in my lens prescriptions, or maybe just minor ones.  But there comes a time during these long-running periods of intense depression when my vision will begin to rapidly deteriorate and I need a significant change in my lenses.

The problem is: there's no point in seeing an eye doctor until it's over, as my eyes are just going to get worse until this episode is over.

I'm well aware of outdated lens prescriptions triggering depression.  That's not how it works with me.

Of course this has to hit me this time of year.  I'm much more depressed when the sun is out.  I've tried going nocturnal, but it doesn't work.

I'd really hate my life if I bothered to care enough about it.

Artifact from the Big Iron Age

This is what coding looked like from the 1980s through early 2000s.  Back when I could code my way out of a paper bag.  

There are probably all sorts of legacy systems still running on RPG, nurtured by tenured programmers who have no fear of ever being fired, because they are the only ones who know how the damned things work.