Showing posts with label Hives. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hives. Show all posts

Wednesday, 8 May 2024

Self-Help For Cynics #32: Tick Tock Boom

The Hives - Tick Tick Boom

I was in a meeting at work last week when a consultant psychiatrist explained something about how the brain works which I thought I'd share with you. I'm paraphrasing somewhat, but here we go...

Brain tissue is like muscle tissue - you need to use it to keep it working. If you want to build muscles, you work out with weights. But you need to steadily increase the weights you use or your muscle won't grow. It's the same with brain tissue. If you want to increase your attention span, knowledge, brain power, you need to set your brain increasingly harder tasks. 

Although he didn't state it implicitly, I inferred that the reverse was also true. If you stop doing physical exercise, the muscle tissue you've built will eventually turn back to fat. Similarly, if you stop using your brain to think, work things out and solve problems, eventually your brain will lose the ability to do so. Bluntly put, you'll get stupider. 

Thomas Dolby - My Brain Is Like A Sieve

Welcome to TikTok.

Walking On Cars - Tick Tock

Last week, we spoke about the negative effects too much social media can have on our mental health. We discussed how prolonged exposure to social media - in search of more and more feel good dopamine hits - can effectively rewire our brains. Facebook, Twitter (I refuse to call it X), Instagram, Snapchat... they're all guilty of this... but by far the worst offender in my eyes is the evil known as TikTok. 

Shyster - Tick Tock

Or as one writer in Forbes dubbed it a couple of years back...

Digital Crack Cocaine

Dillinger - Cocaine In My Brain

It's an article I'd recommend everyone reads - I even use it with students, ostensibly as a writing to argue exercise, but also to plant the seed in their heads that TikTok is something they should be wary of. That Forbes writer, John Koetsier, explains how he downloaded the app purely to research the article he was writing, and despite that he found himself immediately addicted.

Suede - Turn Off Your Brain And Yell

If you've never used TikTok - firstly, well done you. (I refuse to go anywhere near it, myself.) But you may be wondering just how it can be so addictive. The answer, according to Professor Julie Albright (as quoted in Koetsier's article) is that the platform works on the same principle as a slot machine. Sometimes you win (get a little dopamine hit from having viewed a photo or video or meme that you find amusing or emotionally engaging) and sometimes you lose (that next video leaves you cold). But you keep on feeding the machine in the hope of another win... and before you know it, it's three o'clock in the morning and you've just watched your 121st post of the night.

The Kinks - Brainwashed

And this is when the rewiring of your brain begins...

“Our brains are changing based on this interaction with digital technologies and one of these is time compression,” Albright says. “Our attention spans are lowering.”

The Weather Prophets - Worm In My Brain

That’s not just happening for kids: it’s happening for all of us. If you don’t believe that, try to watch a movie from the 50s, 60s or even 70s. In most cases, within minutes you’ll be wondering: when will something happen?

Morphine - My Brain

Which takes us back to that quote from my colleague the brain doctor at the start of this post. How to exercise our brains to stop them turning into pudding, as I fear mine might have been a few years back. 

Pink Floyd - Brain Damage

In the comments to this series a couple of weeks back, Alyson rightly questioned the amount of time I must spend on this blog, saying...

I do wonder if you substituted a couple of days of blogging for a couple of sessions of reading (I know you don't have time for this really enjoyable pastime any more) you would replace the dopamine hit with contentment and achievement. 

Green Day - Brain Stew 

I'm very much aware that my reading suffered over the last ten years. I used to read a book a week, but when I became a teacher (and soon after a father), I found it harder and harder to find the time, energy and brain space to focus on reading. And I did fall into the trap of scanning facebook instead of settling down with a book, because that seemed like something I could spend just a few minutes on rather than committing to a long read... then after a while, I found it harder and harder to pick up a book. That's something I've fought to rectify since leaving The Bad Place and starting the new job. And this year, I really feel like I've been able to retrain my brain to be able to focus on reading again. But it wasn't easy.

Robyn Hitchcock - The Abandoned Brain

Similarly, this blog. One of the reasons the post-length has grown and my subject matter has become more diverse and complex is that I'm pushing myself to write better. Because sustained writing is like sustained reading: it takes effort. Both are great brain exercise. Every time I write a post that verges on a thousand words, I'm pressing some serious weights. And every time you read one of these posts all the way through - which, let's face it, is no small investment - you're pressing some serious weights too. You might not realise it, but your brain will thank you for it. 

The New Radicals - Maybe You've Been Brainwashed Too

There you go - public service blogging at its best... and so much better for you than TikTok!



Wednesday, 7 February 2024

Self-Help For Cynics #22: A Window On The Past


Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny
But now you're sad, your mama's mad
And your papa says he knows that I don't have any money


A former colleague posted the two images above on the book of faces at the weekend and his stream was filled with warm, nostalgic comments as a result.


The windows are part of the old Victorian mill building in which the local radio station where we all worked was located, from the 70s through the turn of the century. The station's not there anymore, it's moved twice in the intervening years before being dissolved into the generic nationalised slush that all local radio has become in recent years. About the only thing "local" about it these days is the breakfast show and the adverts. It's even losing its identity in April, to take on the same name as a million other "local" radio stations across the world, because there's no longer anything to differentiate it from them.


But this post isn't about the sad death of local radio... it's about the glorious times in its past. Those windows at the top of the page represent that. The building in question has been converted into luxury flats these days... I know, they don't look particularly luxury, do they? But this is Bradford we're talking about. 

Only life you ever knew 
Looking back at what you used to do
Pass a dump along the road, 
Rearview mirror turn it into gold


Among those reminiscing, the comments included people talking about how the corridors sometimes smelled of sewage (the station was in the basement), how the windows in question often got bricks through them, and, of course, The Ghost (actually, those comments came from me). But despite all that, what got to me was how much love people felt for the old place... 

"What a place that was... so many memories!"

"I'd love to have a look inside..."

"Such fond memories, wish I could rewind time."

"The place dreams began! We were all so lucky to be there!"

"Feels like a lifetime ago since we were there."

"And that building still hosted the greatest days of our lives."

I certainly have some happy memories of that old radio station - it was a great job with (mostly) great people. Over the years I was there, it gradually went downhill... as all things do. That's entropy for you. I was there for 23 years, and for me the first ten or so were the best... yet some of those comments come from people who were only there in the second half of my time, and even after I'd gone. There are a number of things we can take from that - nostalgia is viewed through rose-tinted glasses, one person's Golden Days are another person's 'Meh' Months... but things are never as good as they were in the past. And yet, I also know I was miserable for a large part of my time there, and if you'd asked me then, I'd have said I was hoping my life would get a whole lot better when I was older.

 
This made me ask a question...

Do our brains give priority to happy memories?  

To answer that, I turned to the American Psychological Association, who started by telling me that we actually have more happy times in our lives that sad ones, "because people seek out positive experiences and avoid negative ones." Beyond that, though...

The other process at work involves our memory system treating pleasant emotions differently from unpleasant emotions.

Pleasant emotions have been found to fade more slowly from our memory than unpleasant emotions. One mechanism for this uneven fading may involve a process known as minimization. In order to return to our normal level of happiness, we try to minimize the impact of life events. This minimization process - which occurs biologically, cognitively and socially -- is usually stronger for negative events than for positive events.


However, this process doesn't work for everyone. In fact, if you're suffering depression, chances are it's because your unpleasant memories aren't fading as quickly as they should be. I wonder if that's linked to what we were talking about a couple of weeks back - how our emotions only last 90 seconds unless we choose to dwell on them, thereby creating moods which can go on and on. 

"This implies that there is a tendency to 'deaden' the emotional impact of negative events relative to the impact of positive events," says a doctor who's researched this kind of stuff. "Such deadening occurs directly because people are motivated to view their life events in a relatively positive light."

Goldie & the Gingerbreads - Think About The Good Times

I take a kind of comfort from all this. And I'm glad the memories I have of my time in radio are largely good ones. Even some of the bad things that happened, I can now look back on and smile... or even laugh. Distance gives us clarity. 



Thursday, 30 August 2018

Neverending Top Ten #8.1 - And I've got such a long way to go to make it to the border of Mexico




Listening to Christopher Cross's Ride Like The Wind in the car the other day with Sam (furthering his extensive, unfiltered musical education), I was faced with the following question:

"Daddy, why do all the singers want to go to Mexico?"

I had to stop and think about this for a second. I guess there must have been a few songs on recent in-car CDs featuring people going to Mexico. Maybe The Coasters - Down In Mexico. Definitely Blake Shelton - Playboys of the Western World. Possibly some others from my old Top Ten Mexico Songs.

"Well," I tried to explain, "sometimes if somebody does something really naughty in America, and the police are after them, they go to Mexico to escape. They could go to Canada, I guess... but the police in Canada are more likely to send them back to America."

Thus began Sam's new obsession.

Every song that pops up on the car radio...

Lloyd Cole.

"Daddy - where is he from?"

"England."

Fountains of Wayne.

"Daddy - where are they from?"

"America."

Elvis Costello.

"Daddy - where is he from?"

"Ah... England."

(I had to think for a second whether Declan Patrick MacManus was actually Irish. But no, even his Dad, the Secret Lemonade Drinker, hailed from Liverpool.)

Del Amitri.

"Daddy - where are they from?"

"Scotland."

The Smiths.

"Daddy - where are they from?"

"Manchestooooor."

Fleetwood Mac.

"Daddy - where are they from?"

"Erm… well... some of them are from America and some of them are from Britain."

The thing is he's retaining this information too. The young mind is a sponge.

Two fine examples of this...



"Daddy - where are they from?"

"Sweden."

"Oh. They must know First Aid Kit then."



"Daddy - where are they from?"

"London."

"Oh. Right. Just like The Real Tuesday Weld."

Is four years old too young to be entered for Ken Bruce's Popmaster?


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