daily scratchpad

(5)
Time for me to butt out for tonight. It is now 2247L. I need to do another antacid pill. Then I need to eat for the first time today. Sounds yummy! Kootch has whipped up a huge pot of chili. Yum. Nighty night. Sleep tight. See you next week.

(3)
Happy Halloween! This link shows the profile of a witch in space, and has been named, 'The Witch Head Nebula.' She is staring at Rigel, a blue supergiant which is as bright as 40,000 suns. Strangely, the witch has a long beard. Huge stars like Rigel die very early, sorta like very fat humans on sugar and steroids. (Whoa! I just got an invitation to do a 15 minute survey on 'esthetics and astronomy.' Huh?)
Speaking of Sugar, I love that woman! I refer to Survivor, of course which I watch every week. What I love about Sugar are her facial expressions. I have never seen any facial expressions on Sugar which don't project love and/or amusement and/or joy. I would fuck Sugar at the drop of a hat. Furthermore she would love it! I guarantee it! The reason is that I am a natural man, uncircumcised. My natural dick would unite with her natural cunt in the way Mother Nature intended, with the result that we would both love the encounter and the memory of it. Sugar and I would then bond forever in some sense. Even though we might thereafter go our separate ways our private parts would remember. Penises and pussies never forget each other. They remember.

(2)
Whew! Enough of that. Believe it or not I actually prefer doctor T to doctor (Anna) K, the reason being that an honest opponent is easier to deal with than a liar. There is no hope with the liar.
Speaking of liars, the 'presidential campaign' is becoming surreal to the point of embarrassment. McCain is reduced to running as ex-hero-right-wing-Judeo-Christian-nut-case in mid life crisis, his 'Amour de moment' being Sarah Palin, an obvious Ditz! So funny! Meanwhile, Obama presents as intelligent, knowlegable, sophisticated, centered, non-ideological, tough, and competent. Obama comes across as the voice of reason whereas McCain comes across as a Japanese Kamikaze Pilot born too late for WWII into a rich American family with connections which prevented him from flunking out at Annapolis despite being very near the bottom of his class. Needless to say, I look forward to the next week with tongue in cheek. Be advised that, should McCain win, I will not become fearful for my life on this planet at my advanced age. Not at all: I will simply become more interested in current affairs: I will want to be there at the denounment, eyes open, awake!

(1)
I do have a way with words, sometimes, last week's entries being a case in point. The amazing thing is that I had planned a totally different series! But since this blog is also a sort of journal, and since I was already buzzing my brains out after having been ambushed by two small glasses of wine (while Kootch ate supper as we did 'Millionaire'), 'planning' gave way to 'journalizing.' I am happy to report that although the wine and whiskey more or less destroyed my brain for the night, my bowels were unaffected and I am now 'cured' for the time-being. Were I a scientist in the strict sense, I would repeat last week's scenerio at least one more time before returning to beer. But brain preceeds bowel, so tonight is beer night again. I will report the bowel results next week, but you can judge the brain results for yourselves.
Journalwise: Kaiser sent me a letter by 'certified mail' dated 10-16-08 informing me that I had been 'recommended for a colonoscopy' by my 'primary care doctor' and to 'please make an appointment.' I had been putting it off, but blood in my poop got my attention. I tried to make an appointment using Kaiser's lobby phone (being paranoid, I try to avoid using our home phone). I made several attempts over several days. The folks at the gastroenterology department were either 'in a meeting' or otherwise busy. I was placed in a queue. I waited and waited, then gave up and went home. Eventually I reached them, but their appointments were booked until mid-December at least. I decided to report the bloody stools to Kaiser. I then discovered that the delusional doctor Koloszko had been assigned as my PCP. Barf. Doctor K stuck his finger up my poor butt searching for evidence of blood. No joy, therefore no emergency. I went downtown to the Kaiser G unit to make the appointment. They sent me down the hall to their version of the brown telephone. I was advised that this telephone would place me at the head of the queue. I got the usual message, but my call was answered in less than 5 minutes. Joy! They offered me an appointment on Christmas Eve. Rat fuck. Then on the day after Christmas (I think). I took it. Then, surprise, suprise! They had a cancelation! 'Would 1030 tomorrow morning be ok?' You betcha. I took it, forgetting about my INR problem: if the good doctor chopped out a polyp I might bleed embarrassingly. I would remember the INR problem only much later. A call to the Coag Unit returned the information that I would have to cancel the offer. I did so. So now it looks like early next year. I could go on and on, butt this is boring stuff.
Here is my current evaluation: My genetic tendency to overproduce hydrocloric acid, plus my consumption of caffine in the morning, plus my consumption of beer in the evening sometimes overcomes my antacid medication, resulting in so much acid production that it literally burns the last foot or so of my large bowel, resulting in painful peristalsis and bleeding the next day. Mind you, this is only a theory. A working theory. Beer tonight will test the theory.

(4)




Do you understand that I am a loving person? I think you do. I think you understand. I know you understand! Time to wrap this up since I am drunk as a skunk.
I must have named this photo 'giant' because it was a 'giant' photo. Notice that she has a huge 'butt!' But notice her eyes. Notice that she is wearing 'schoolgirl socks.' Notice her vulva (under her panties). What we have here is a rare and glorious view of a beautiful woman.
Nighty-night!

(3)
Life is Fun. Click on the colorful link above for the Mozart Clarinete Concerto II. (If the title is colorful, it is a fun link.)
Before closing tonight I need to honor my fans. But which fans? I have many fans. If I try to name my fans I will inevitably leave some of them out. Barf. Those fans will still love me but they may feel slighted because I did not mention them specifically. Not to worry. True fans understand that they are part of an esoteric community. Egoism has no part in such a community. Furthermore, True Fans understand that they are not existentially committed to some or other path. They are Free Spirits! They decide moment to moment as they live their lives. True Fans can reject me instantly! This is the beautiful idea of a True Fan.
A True Fan is free.
Above all, a True Fan is free.

(2)
Number two. That's the problem. My GI upset begins with Hydrocloric Acid. Since I was about 20 years old I have been bothered by 'overacid stomach.' It began in 1955 when I began drinking coffee at Shiroi AFB Japan. I eventually discovered Alkeselzer. It cured my acid stomach. Burp.
Later, in the 60's, I dropped it in favor of (other antacids). My acid stomach continued to escalate, however, and I continued to escalate my medications. Enter Mylanta. I did Mylanta (and related medications) for many years. Those medications worked well over the years, but produced the side-effect that I would occasionally Poop in my pants while running to the bathroom. (Interesting experience. Try it. It's quite smelly but otherwise sensually interesting. Cleanup is, of course, onorous. Careful: neighbors might become attracted to the smell. You don't want that!)
Modern Science cured my problem with the introduction of modern antacids like Tagamet and Omaprazole. I stopped pooping in my pants. I became constipated instead. I got used to 'digging'
hard turds out with my fingers, then pooping out the rest. I learned how a woman feels while giving birth. It eventually dawned on me that I should poop any time I felt any urinary or alimentary discomfort whatsoever. As a result I have reversed my previous psychological anal state of 'retentive.' I am now 'anal expulsive.' I poop at the slightest sensual indication, bladder or otherwise. I have become an American. I fart often. I pee sitting down.

(1)
Looks like I'm back to my Friday 'booze night' schedule for the time being. The problem is gastric upset apparently related to all that beer in one evening. I say 'apparently' because the cause/effect relationship is a bit tenuous. GI upset doesn't seem to follow a rigid pattern but is only associated with all that beer. Sometimes there is no GI upset. Other times there is violent upset. In a most recent case an entire day separated the 'cause' from the 'effect.' So I am attempting to eliminate possible causes. Beer is the number one suspect, so no beer tonight, only whiskey (it may well be a short night!). Another possibility is peanuts (honey-roasted). No more of those until I have figured this out. And I will figure this out.
Unfortunately I can't say the same for my deluded HMO, Kaiser Permanente. You may recall that I visited Doctor Anna with a GI problem. She suggested (or agreed with my suggestion) for a colonoscopy given my history of colon cancer. But when I remarked that her suggestion was 'interesting' given that after my most recent colonoscopy several years ago I was pronounced 'cured and to come back at age 75' (optimistic!), she did an about-face, ordered me to take my panties down, stuck her finger up my ass, mashed my prostate until I felt a burning sensation, then proffered a new diagnosis of prostatitis and prescribed Cipro, the antibiotic of last resort. She then failed to inform me of her 'revised diagnosis', handed me a piece of paper and shooed me out. I got home, read the piece of paper, discovered that I did not have a bowel problem but a prostate problem?! Huh!? Very confused, I made another appointment with Doctor Anna. She was very pissed off that I had had the temerity to seek her again so soon. Her nurse called and tried to pre-empt the meeting. Failing that Doctor Anna kept me waiting for an hour. When we finally met in a private room I recorded our conversation. I asked her about the diagnosis. She confirmed the diagnosis and the recommended 'treatment' by Cipro.
I fired the bitch on the spot. Her mood changed dramatically from 'anger' to 'wounded ego.' She wanted to end the meeting. I reminded her that I had paid for the meeting, and insisted that she recommend a colonoscopy. She agreed to do it. We parted. I have the entire audio scenerio in a saved condition (along with other relevant audio scenerios going back to unknown dates.)

(3)
I just checked up on Kootch (at 1910L) and she seems to be asleep. Kootch is a good sport. Today was my turn to cook, but at the last minute (before my bike ride) I decided to booze it up and write my blog. I'd planned stuffed green peppers with rice, with fresh avocado. I helped by preparing the green peppers, chopping up the onion, and bifercating the avocado. I cooked six green pepper halves in the microwave for four minutes and prepared the pan by lining it with foil. Kootch then took over, kneading one egg, bread crumbs, one pound of ground beef, garlic, salt and pepper, and (oversized) chopped onions. She did it all 'into' the ground beef. She did not add ketchup or soysauce. (I do it differently: I add garlic, salt and pepper, soy sauce, ketchup, into a small bowl containing a mutilated egg. I mix the chopped onions in with the ground beef, then add the mutilate. I mix well, then stuff the result into the six halves of the green peppers which have first been cooked in the microwave for 4-6 minutes. I cook at 230F for 40 minutes.)
I then went on a 45 minute bike ride, returning to the desired scenerio: Kootch ready to eat; me ready to drink. We did yesterday's Millionaire together as we ate and drank. Fun as usual.
Kootch will wake me in the morning to secure the locks on the hallway door, as usual, before she leaves for the morning. It's a necessary precaution to prevent 'them' from entering our apartment while I am sleeping it off. They have done it before. Many times.
Kootch will return around noon. If I don't answer her knock on the door she will go outside below my bedroom window, where she will throw small rocks against the window to wake me up. It is rarely needed but it always works. I will let her in, then I will go back to bed until about 3 pm. I will wake up to her special tofu dish designed to mitigate hangovers (recipe in a later post). I will drink a diet pepsi or two, then I will eat supper, watch tv, or do some Civilization III. I will not sign on the the internet and read whatever I wrote while drunk the previous night. I will save that for at least two days later, when I can again feel comfortable about doing a little booze. Slightly buzzed then, I will read my blog. There will be no more booze for the rest of the week until 'booze night' when I once again do my blog, as I get drunker and drunker, enjoying my weekly high.

(2)

If you found yourself to be adjudged a Secular Humanist, take heart: Drink beer. Religion has been associated with inebriants for thousands of years, and Secular Humanism is a perfectly acceptable religion. Are you (heaven forbid) an Atheist? Argh. Here is my prescription: Begin with beer. Wine works too. Then read my blog (my blog is best read drunk, or at least 'high.'). If that doesn't work, drink beer or wine, read my blog, then do a hit of Ganja. Or... do the booze and Ganja, then read my blog. That should do it for you. No? In that event you are a hard case and need to do Acid.
If, after doing Acid, you still remain an Atheist, then you just don't understand. Acid ought to reduce you to at least the Nontheist level. You may, at that point, need to consult a psychiatrist as a last resort. But I would first suggest another Acid trip at three times the previous dose (300 micrograms, minimum). Bear in mind that psychiatrists can be very very creepy people, and that many of them are Aliens. You want to avoid them if at all possible.

By the way, I finished 'My Stroke of Insight.' Excellent. The book explains much about the meaning of the drug experience, and why drugs and religion are so interlinked, even though the woman who wrote that book seems to have absolutely no clue at all about why. Highly recommended. I am, meanwhile, reduced to rereading 'god is not Great' while sitting on the potty. That will change in the near future, I hope.

(1)

It's a great time to invest! (tnx to Growabrain)


Point taken. But if you're the adventurous type you might see the current situation as a golden opportunity to 'get in at the bottom.' Where is 'the bottom?!' You could buy stocks now and lose your entire shirt, possibly ending up as a jumper. Are you willing to risk that? If so, here is my advice: check out your possible downside futures. Sign on to Beliefnet. Take whatever quizzes you need in order to determine your 'religion.' Using that information, do the appropriate hedge maneuvers with the appropriate 'Almighty.' Then invest. Throw it all in! What the hell!? You only live once!? Huh!?
That was the plan. But unfortunately I scored 100% Secular Humanist. Barf. So, with Nobody to pray to, I decided to learn a little something about the subject of 'investing' before putting myself in a possible 'dive off the balcony' situation.
Stay tuned. I will keep you informed.

(1)
After reading the last post (8 below) just now, I signed on to Blogger to see whether I had prepared a 'next post.' Nope. So we'll never know what I was alluding to. The series got increasingly goofy, as usual, the result of 14 Natural Lights (no whiskey this time) over eight or nine hours. Indeed, at first glance, (7) below would seem to be evidence of insanity! Darn. But as you know, I'm not a believer in UFOs, or Bigfoot, or the Loch Ness Monster, or the Yeti, or the Tooth Fairy, or Angels and Devils. Neither do I believe in Ghosts, Spirits, or Gods.

But I do believe in aliens. Aliens are humans who are genetically evil. Aliens are not a Nurture thing; aliens are a Nature thing. They are nobody's 'fault.' This belief of mine goes beyond modern psychology, of course, and is derived entirely from my own personal life experience. I would describe 'aliens' as that class of people who are genetically evil and who cannot be rehabilitated and who should therefore be segregated from the rest of us. Future genetic techniques may 'cure' them, but until then we should keep them locked up. It is important to note that 'nurture' cannot 'cure' an alien. Not possible. No loving mother can cure her alien son. An alien is 'fixed genetically.'

Interestingly, 'aliens' are not necessarily stupid. Some of them are, of course (and are discovered and incarcerated early on). But others realize their 'different-ness' early enough to compensate for it on the surface of their lives. This compensation is not a 'conversion' but a strategy. A life strategy. Many of them later become lawyers, politicians, and ministers. One of the attributes of alien 'psychology' is a lifelong thirst for power. McCain is an alien.

(7)
My guess is that most of you know an Alien without realizing that you know an Alien. The rest of you think that an Alien comes from another planet. Not so. The fact of the matter is that Aliens are produced constantly all over our planet. 'Alienism' is genetic. Aliens are the result of human reproduction. Aliens are produced by 'alien genes.' Aliens do not arrive from outer space. Some of us carry 'alien genes,' and produce Alien Offspring. It is an evolutionary thing. Why? Aliens are valuable, evolutionwise, as a 'hedge.'
'Hedge' is an economic concept, and I will leave it to you to connect Economics with Evolution. Aliens are ultimate economic insurance in a wide-open evolutionary scenerio. Get used to Aliens. True, you should not execute Aliens as a matter of course. Bad idea, evolutionwise. You need to tolerate Aliens because they are a hedge. A valuable hedge. But you need to jail them as you find them. Keep your hedge population constrained, but available in case of emergency. Mother Nature may, in a future scenerio, present us with a situation such that we as a species could not survive without our Aliens.
Conclusion? Jail Walter Gerash and family immediately but do not execute them! We might need them later. Way, way, way, way, later.

(6)
Whew. I live a very strange life. The important thing about my life, however, is that I am so solid! I know. You don't know. And that solidity has been achieved over many years. And now even Kootch is beginning to think the unthinkable. I won't press her, of course. She needs her space. An over-stressed or paniced Kootch would be a significant liability to what remains of our family. We need to learn how to handle this problem collectively. Together we can win. Isolated, we will certainly fail. I explained this to her back in the early '90s but she seemed not to understand. Now, many years later, we have a chance.
----------
It's a bit early, but I began boozing it up early. Seems to me that now is the time to abandon all caution: I need to inform you about Aliens. It is impossible to understand Aliens. Aliens are a special breed. Aliens recognize one another. The result is that they connect easily. We don't have a clue about Aliens. See (7) above for more.

(5)

Kootch and I are making progress! Alright!

You might have noticed that the title of (3) below does not seem to fit with the text. The title is, 'Poor Family.' Yet there is no mention of 'family.'

In fact, there was a significant entry describing my feelings concerning how wounded my family is nowadays as a result of the Jewish faggot stalker Gerash's attacks over the last 30-40 years. I am attempting to resurrect the body of (tiny) text, so far with no success. My guess is that the Jewish faggot Stalker Gerash (JFSG) found that text to be too true and somehow screwed it up such that it would not appear in the final published version. Stay tuned...
(3)

I just checked on Kootch. She is 'making leftovers,' in this case, broiled Mackerel (Saba). (Shred the leftover saba, add soy sauce, mix with hot rice, serve with Kimchee.) 'Boy they good!' And while I'm on the subject of Kootch, I showed her the Today Show version of 'Ann as comedien.' Kootch didn't get the jokes. Oh well... Update: we just did another (previously recorded) 'Millionaire' while She ate dinner and I drank beer. Fun as usual.

Looks like the stalkers have taken over the formatting again, so we will have to live with it for the time being. (later) They have also taken over our electrical system, apparently. The fan in the bathroom and the bathroom lights began to act up today as I was doing the blog. I tapped the breaker lightly. It flipped. Not only that: the other breakers also flipped when I tapped them! All four fucking breakers flipped! All were solid until just now. Kootch was pissed. I tried to explain to her what was happening but she did not want to hear it. And by the way, Kootch's computer died last night, probably from power starvation. I have offered to buy her a new computer. She declined my offer. I will let her suffer for a while, then I will install a back-up power supply on her system, which is a Japanese hand-me-down from her sister in Tokyo. In psychological terms, Kootch is in denial. She cannot bear to contemplate the damage to our family which her previous denial has done. We had a chance against the stalker as long as we were united, but that was back in the early '90s before she bought the 'diagnosis' from a Jewish 'psychiatrist.' Poor Kootch. Poor kids. Poor grandkids. Poor family. The Gerash family has won.

If you can read that, good luck!

Wahoo! Looks like I was able to resurrect the entire post by increasing the font size! Alright!

(4)
Which brings us, I suppose, back to psychology. I am nearly finished with my potty book, 'My Stroke of Insight.' As I was taking a shit today I read the following: (formatting problem gone now)
'Another reason many of us may not choose happiness is because when we feel intense negative emotions like anger, jealousy, or frustration, we are actively running complex circuitry in our brain that feels so familiar that we feel strong and powerful. I have known people who consciously choose to exercise their anger circuitry on a regular basis simply because it helps them remember what it feels like to be themselves.' Weird. Very weird.
(Whoa! I just now plugged Kootch's computer into a (spare) fully charged back-up power supply and instructed her to power it up. Kootch was extremely skeptical, but she did it. Surprise, surfuckingprise, it powered up! Immediately! Kootch was impressed. (later) I just checked on her and found her playing one of her favorite video games. She is very embarrassed at the moment, and - little does she know at this time - her brain is beginning to rewire certain circuitry regarding my psychological competence. The faggot fucked up!
(Come to think of it, McCain seems to fit the syndrome above! Whoa!)
(The Jewish faggot stalker Gerash certainly falls within that category.)
So: are we to believe that Judeo-faggot-stalker forces are able and willing to manipulate the various electrical circuits in our apartment just in order to get themselves mentioned on this blog? Really!?

(3)

I just checked on Kootch. She is 'making leftovers,' in this case, broiled Mackerel (Saba). (Shred the leftover saba, add soy sauce, mix with hot rice, serve with Kimchee.) 'Boy they good!' And while I'm on the subject of Kootch, I showed her the Today Show version of 'Ann as comedien.' Kootch didn't get the jokes. Oh well... Update: we just did another (previously recorded) 'Millionaire' while She ate dinner and I drank beer. Fun as usual.

Looks like the stalkers have taken over the formatting again, so we will have to live with it for the time being. (later) They have also taken over our electrical system, apparently. The fan in the bathroom and the bathroom lights began to act up today as I was doing the blog. I tapped the breaker lightly. It flipped. Not only that: the other breakers also flipped when I tapped them! All four fucking breakers flipped! All were solid until just now. Kootch was pissed. I tried to explain to her what was happening but she did not want to hear it. And by the way, Kootch's computer died last night, probably from power starvation. I have offered to buy her a new computer. She declined my offer. I will let her suffer for a while, then I will install a back-up power supply on her system, which is a Japanese hand-me-down from her sister in Tokyo. In psychological terms, Kootch is in denial. She cannot bear to contemplate the damage to our family which her previous denial has done. We had a chance against the stalker as long as we were united, but that was back in the early '90s before she bought the 'diagnosis' from a Jewish 'psychiatrist.' Poor Kootch. Poor kids. Poor grandkids. Poor family. The Gerash family has won.

(2)
I'd planned to do this yesterday (Wednesday) but couldn't get enough sleep Tuesday night. Determined to do it today, I hit the sack early and managed to get enough sleep in spite of the radiation which was quite violent at times. My log reads: 'Bed at 2045 (TCR all night. Heavy PRUB, IRFS 0130-0430, 0700-0745) Up at 0745.' Living with an insane stalker can be... inconvenient, especially when he has plenty of money and plenty of surrogates, not to mention plenty of 'tribe members.'
Speaking of stalkers, The 15 Nuttiest Celebrity Stalkers of All Time. Not that I'm a 'celebrity' (far from it thank god). But this will give you an idea of how creepy and dangerous stalkers really are. And every stalker is different. As I have said before, 'Stalkers are like turds: no two are exactly alike, but they all smell pretty much the same.' And so do their 'supporters.'
Circumstitions. 'Reasons' given for infant sexual mutilation.
Which do Women Prefer? The natural? The unnatural? Mother Nature wins this one.
Understanding current events: The Money Meltdown. This Wikipedia timeline is interesting.

(1)
I saw this recently on a Jimmy Kimmel Show rerun. Very funny, and I loved the music.




Here is another Kimmel gem: Religulous.

(6)
Time to wrap this up. It is 2318L. As I review this series of posts I am minded to place a value on this most recent series. Will do: My hands-down evaluation is that you all (my admirers!) need to do personal research in the matter: Look here! I love you and you love me.

(4)
Whew! All that heavy stuff out of the way I can finally close in on personal matters: I am now on page 156 of my current potty book, My Stroke of Insight. I am near the end. Interestingly, I can now report to you that what we have here in this book is a revelation. This glorious woman has experienced, in a physicial way, a medical way, the Buddha Experience. She came to the Buddhist conclusion independently as her left brain recovered from a stroke. For a time she existed only in her right brain. It was gloriously beautiful but nonsensical.
As her left brain recovered it provided her with her sense of self again.
My readings in the subject tend to reinforce her claims. She is a textbook case of a person who has been disabled 'personally' but who has been able to eventually reclaim her egoistic view of The World. She then melded her two 'world views' into a single balanced persona. This woman would understand 'The Fourth Way' instantly.
If you never take anything else away from this blog but the above link you will have succeeded in your quest to acquire the tools to understand All and Everything.

(3)
Which brings us to the most recent presidential debate between McCain and Obama. I found it mildly interesting until the (being gassed here, RLG) question of Israel surfaced. Both candidates did the accepted Modern American Political Maneuver in that regard (both needing Jewish money and Jewish votes). But in a question of 'Israel vs Iran' both seemed to regard Israel as a kind of Western Infant amid Muslim giants who were about to devour the poor little fledging 51st state. What nonsense! I can tell you this, folks: it was painful for me to watch them both kiss the American Jewish Ass in such an obvious way. But I am a pragmatist. I understand. True, I don't personally kiss Jewish ass, but on the other hand I am not running for anything. So I understand. I tolerate. Politicians will be politicians. As Jesus once said: 'Politicians you will always have with you.' So:
Question: Is Israel really a 'babe in the woods?'
Answer: I think not. Israel has long been in possession of hundreds of nuclear weapons.
Question: But what about Iran? Isn't Iran a real threat to Israel?
Answer: Not exactly. But Project Daniel seems to disagree.
These Wikipedia articles pretty much summarize the matter, but there is more. (Aren't you glad you don't work for the State Department?.) And don't forget The Sampson Option.
Meanwhile we have to consider the question of whether the IAEA is currently a reliable ally in the war against weapons of mass destruction given the current international climate of, 'Huh?!'

(2)
To make matters even more interesting, a giant Pepsi machine had previously occupied the basement near the washers and driers and I had conjectured that it was a 'cover' for the obvious power needs downstairs, and that at the time they were tapping the building supply. But the Pepsi machine eventually moved out, and it only took a 'power outage' (if that!) to tap our supply.
So here is where we now stand: the circuit breaker is apparently working nicely. There is no longer any fluctuation in fan speed, nor flicker in bathroom lights. The electrical system appears to be working perfectly.
But notice that the apartment downstairs has been up for 'lease' for a couple of months, the previous occupants having moved out. This means that a rerouting of power downstairs would have gone unnoticed by any 'occupants.' And so it goes...
My Test Dummy status remains secure, meanwhile, the most recent notable experience being that of the night of 9-26/9-27, when there was 'Heavy LFTCR (low frequency teeth-chattering radiation) all night - morphed into IRFS, SR, MTR, PRUB, etc 0530-0700, then back to LFTCR until up at 0945) There followed a TCR hangover until at least 1122. The 'morphing' is important: I had noticed this 'relationship' some time ago: when TCR was obvious there was little or no other radiation. But as other symptoms developed there was a concurrent decrease in TCR. The obvious conclusion was that the same equipment was being used to generate the total symptoms.

(1)
I'm really beginning to like boozing it up on Wednesdays. One of the reasons is that I get to watch the girls more on the weekends, instead of wasting half of Saturday hungover.
There has been an interesting development in the 'radiation test dummy' department: I had long suspected that the electric power for the radiation 'devices' downstairs was coming from our apartment. The reason for that suspicion was that whereas it was obvious to me that most of the radiation originated from below, periodic checks of the electric meter for 104 showed very little electricity use (and the unit was obviously empty). I conjectured that 'they' had tapped either the building electrical supply or our electrical supply. Now comes evidence that it was our electrical supply which had been tapped, not the building supply. Here is the story:
Some weeks ago the lights in the bathroom began to flicker, and the exhaust fan began to vary noticably in speed. Concurrent with that, the power supply to my computer began to 'beep' from time to time indicating power fluctuations. I confirmed the power fluctuations with my trusty digital AC voltmeter. I re-routed power to my computer. Indeed, I removed all loads from that particular circuit (bathroom/my bedroom) and began using power from the circuit to Kootch's bedroom to power the computer, lights, and fans. There was no load at all on the circuit breaker to the bathroom. The light flickering and the fan speed fluctuations continued, however. I began troubleshooting the problem, suspecting the circuit breaker. I eventually 'confirmed' my diagnosis by tapping the circuit breaker with the handle of my screwdriver. Every time I tapped the circuit breaker it would flip off, even if there was no load on the circuit. I tested the breaker numerous times over several days: it flipped off every time I tapped it. What we had here, it seemed to me, was a very flakey circuit breaker. But being the paranoid person that I am, I reminded myself that a circuit breaker very near the maximum load might also manifest the same symptom (mechanical shock sensitivity). I decided to 'observe' the 'problem.' (You can learn quite a lot from just observing a problem over time.) I noticed yesterday that the 'problem' had 'disappeared.' (I tapped it again just now. Solid as a rock.)