The way I explain it to my patients is that our neurons don’t regenerate. They make connections with each other and that’s it. If you don’t use your brain, they make fewer connections and, if one of them dies, you’re gonna miss it, because that was the only one that knew how to do X. Now, if each one of them has many, many connections, you won’t notice the difference when one of them dies. The others pick up the slack.

As of 2024, 45% of dementia risk factors are modifiable. Relevant to this conversation, 5% for less education and 5% for social isolation.

We absolutely are going to see the reflection of this, but it’s gonna take decades and it’ll be too late. So, for the love of your brain, pretend that it’s a muscle and make it work. People complain about “when am I ever gonna use this maths formula in my life?” You’re not. You’re teaching your brain to think logically. Those sinapses will be there for when you need to figure out your week’s schedule. English classes taught me how to interpret data and how to convey it in this text so it’s clear and you understand what I’m saying, not because I needed to justify why the curtain is blue.

Make your brain know how to do different things. Logic games, puzzles, taking care of a garden even if small, planning a church’s event or birthday, learn a new instrument, learn a few words in another language, look at a calendar every day, do some manual labor if possible. Do not, I repeat, do not let your brain get rid of sinapses by letting AI do everything. Your brain uses 20% of your body’s energy — do you really think it’s going to maintain connexions that aren’t in use?

Most cases of Alzheimer’s are sporadic, meaning no family history. Family history of a first-degree relative with Alzheimer’s starting before they were 80yo increases your risk in 2-3x on average.

this morning i got this comment:

and after i stopped blubbering over it, i picked up my writing notebook, and re-read all my fic research, and opened up my document again for the first time in weeks without being afraid of it

Anyway, she really, really loves it when I tell her stories. She loves stories anyway, and at first this manifested as "stories about Tad-Cu Bryn", aka my father (her grandfather) who died before she was born. This has been a lovely way to keep his memory alive, and she adores every story - she has her favourites, which she will request.

Then it became apparent that she specifically loves me telling her stories. She'll happily ask others for them too, but from me she just wants any anecdote at all; which of course is wonderful and demonstrates that she is a child of impeccable taste and wisdom and brilliance, but also she has ADHD and the energy reserves of a seven year old and so this gets Tiring very quickly

Yesterday, in the car on the way back from the wildlife centre, she asked for one of my longer stories, and I was like hey, how about we try something different?

And she was like, no, tell me a story about Tad-Cu Bryn

And I was like, this will be a brand new story and you get to play it and help me tell it

And she was like, explain

So I gave her three characters to choose from. The first was a warrior with a sword she could name, who was nonetheless dyspraxic. The second was a gymnastic elf who could commune with trees but was afraid of heights. The third was a dyslexic witch whose spells sometimes go wrong when she spells the words wrong.

She picked the witch. I pulled up an online d20 on my phone. I went to start, and she insisted my mother had to play as the elf.

So I told them that the new queen of the kingdom had called for them, because their palace treasury had been robbed - specifically, a single enchanted coin that brings luck and wealth to a ruler's reign had been stolen. And tales of enchanted coins were suddenly emanating from across the land, so each one needed investigating until the right coin was found.

It turns out kids who like stories will absolutely lap this shit up. She was enthralled. It was the simplest story - they had to get into a bank, revive some unconscious gnomes, then enter the vault, find the coin that had been deposited into it, then get back to the queen. Enough to fill a half hour car ride, basically, but she managed to fill it with all the wacky hijinks you get from a ttrpg, particularly when she tried to smash a door down with a hammer but rolled a 1.

We finished with the queen saying it wasn't the right coin, and then my niece demanded we go again, this time with her playing as a sapient reticulated python. That time we made it all the way to the final boss fight, which was a sorcerer who created a big coin monster out of loads of coins; I asked my niece what she wanted to do, and she described graphically how she wanted to constrict and eat the sorcerer and immediately rolled a 19. So, sure! Okay. The sorcerer is now very dead. The coin monster, though, was still there, and as my niece tried to say she would do the same thing, I was like, no, you're a snake and you just ate. You're now immobile.

At this point, my sister advised her to regurgitate the sorcerer.

Great! said my niece. I'm going to do it at the coin monster.

And rolled a 20.

So she projectile vomited a dead sorcerer into the coin monster, and won the day.

Anyway, today she immediately demanded we play "the game with the story where we choose", and my brother in law is now asking me how he can do this with her ("Are you making it all up as you go along??"). But yeah, turns out, this is a fantastic way to entertain a seven year old. Vague ongoing quest, then three steps: get into (place), resolve (minor puzzle), boss fight to finish. Boom. Easy.

The recruiter is not your friend. The military employs child psychologists to learn how to make you think the recruiter is your friend.

The recruiter is allowed to lie to you and makes more money if they do.

The recruiter is paid a commission to groom children into cannon fodder.

The recruiter will tell you you're special and will go into special smart soldier programs instead of combat. They're lying.

The recruiter may tell you they can tell if someone can get PTSD or not and only recruit people like you, who won't. They're lying.

The recruiter may tell you you'll be too busy attending free college (!!) to go overseas. They're lying.

The recruiter may ask what countries you want to travel to and promise you bougie placements on military bases in those countries. They're lying.

Even "It's just four years!" is a lie - the government is allowed to hold you past your enlistment period with a stop-loss order.

The recruiter actually has zero power to decide anything that happens to you after you enlist and they more importantly don't care what happens to you.

If you enlist, you will be brainwashed to make you willing to do things to other humans that you would never be willing to do today.

You will be ordered to do things that will kill children. And you'll do them.

The military is not the only way or even the best way for you to go to college or start a career.

Military brainwashing will actually make you into a terrible university student because it degrades your ability to think critically and question your sources.

Having PTSD and/or a TBI will make it harder to be a student and keep a job.

Veterans' benefits suck these days.

Being a veteran drastically increases your risk of homelessness, suicide, alcohol and drug dependence, prison time, and becoming an abuser to your loved ones.

The military will expose you to chemicals that will drastically increase your chances of developing cancer.

The military will withhold information about your rights to conscientiously object after enlisting.

I wanted to enlist because that propaganda machine promised my life structure, a place to stay, relevant skills & job prospects afterwards, and the idea that I was doing something “good.” It was seven years after realizing I would have to do something else that I first saw anyone talking about alternative options that also fulfilled those wants. I unfortunately can’t find the post but I think it would be worth adding here if anyone does have alternatives to suggest.

Tomato ketchup is a popular condiment, used on everything from french fries to meatloaf. Fans of this red pasty sauce dribble it on almost every food you can think of. Ketchup begins with a combination of organic ingredients. Coagulated blood, urine, cocaine, nutmeg, more cocaine, and rubbing alcohol. As coagulated blood is the base ingredient, workers start the process by using a box cutter to uncover the giant vat of imported gore. After peeling back the biohazard protection cover, one of the workers scoops some out into a cup like ice cream. This part isn’t crucial to the manufacturing process, but it’s a required ritual to keep the gods at bay. Once the lords of the underworld have been appeased, the vat of guts is slowly pushed underneath an air-driven pump, while the machinist eagerly awaits to press a button. (pause) There, he pressed it.

Tentacles above begin to suck out the gore, sending bits of the blood to larger holding tanks located on the other side of the warehouse. Intricate hydraulic piping mashes the former bits of human in a nightmarish way. However, this step readies the base ingredient for the kettle cooking phase. Technicians continuously observe the sadistic stew from above, making sure the mixers properly thin out the crimson mash. Now, it’s time for the cocaine. This particular company uses 100% pure, uncut Colombian cocaine. And they use a whole lot of it. The worker continues to add a lot of cocaina to the mixture until it’s ready for the pee. It can take a fully staffed warehouse over 2 days to fill each bucket with urine, so sewage lines are sometimes used as backup.

The last ingredient is the rubbing alcohol, a critical component to its astringent flavor profile. Meanwhile, the packaging line prepares 100%, non-recycled package for shipping. A bunch of machines do a bunch of things with the bottles, but who’s to say what is actually going on here. They continue down the line until they reach the filling stations. Eight mechanical syringes pump gory mash into the bottles, as the never-ending cycle of horror continues over and over. Some say the echoey screams of the souls inside can be heard as they make their way into their plastic. But the scooping ritual from earlier prevents any actual ghosts from making their way out into the warehouse.

The next machine, a capper, carefully seals the mix of human life and narcotics, insuring there’s an airtight fit on every bottle produced using automated circular belts. Decorative neckbands are sliced and diced on a separate assembly line, which are then slipped over the containers, in what workers affectionately call the Colombian necktie phase. A quick blast of 800 degree steam shrinks the plastic neckband, which is also probably made from non-recycled materials. Friendly-looking labels are printed and affixed to the front and back of the bottles, in an effort to liven up the horror show that comprises the inside of each and every container.

This machine grabs each bottle and sends it to the packaging department, which resembles a ski lift—albeit with more pain, suffering, and hazardous waste. It’s hard to believe there are no actual tomatoes in a ketchup recipe. But this pasty red goop continues to be one of the most popular condiments of all time.

hot croc bun