Empathy, barfblog and rock and roll

I used to have Mick Taylor hair.

And then it turned grey, and went straight up, like Lyle Lovett.

I used to have a brain, but I feel it ever so slowly fading away, so I’ll get as much writing in while I’m somewhat together.

Personality, worse than ever, because I alternate between frightened, fearless and forlorn, and have no control over it.

This won’t end well.

Chapman asked me if doing all this end of life stuff like making sure my families were taken care of was a downer, and I say no, I’ve been fighting so long, it’s sort of cathartic.

My wife rolls her eyes and turns away when I tell people, I couldn’t remember my own phone number yesterday because I started taking pucks to the head in 1967.

She just thinks I’m a drunk.

Empathy may not be her strong suit.

Yet new research shows that just one concussion can mess the brain up.

I’ve had dozens, if not hundreds.

I’ve shared this with my physicians, but why not use this megaphone. When I die, someone please call this number and they’ll have a look at my brain. They’re hooked up with the CTE clinic in Boston (that’s a Sydney number, so needs a 61 first).

Research published by the American Psychological Association finds that even when feeling empathy for others isn’t financially costly or emotionally draining, people will still avoid it because they think empathy requires too much mental effort.

Amy’s had a lot to deal with and I blame her for nothing.

If I’ve learned anything on this journey, it’s the value of empathy (but like a good scientist, I want to know what works and what doesn’t, not just a bunch of catch-phrases).

I’ll stick with it as long as I can, because the reason I started the Food Safety Network in 1993 is still valid today: no parent, no individual, should say, they didn’t know the risk (followed by tragedy).

And where else would I get to play the music I love.

Freedom of the press belongs to those who own one.