In the interest of the frustrated public, here’s how you take WebRoot off your Mac.
Open the WebRoot window. Go to the General Settings and you’ll find a whole bunch of clickable options … find the one that allows to to Shut Down WebRoot. It is not checked by default for some users, others may have inadvertently unchecked this option. Check it .. get out of the WebRoot window. Now, go up to the top right of your Mac, to the left of your name, your search option, notifications, bluetooth icons, and find the WebRoot icon.
You should now be able to Turn OFF log out of shut down WebRoot. That option probably was shadowed and unavailable before this — right? Now you can shut it down from the icon.
After shutting it down, go to the Applications folder, find WebRoot and drag the icon to the trash, when you are asked, by WebRoot if you want to UNINSTALL, you’re going to click hell yes, oh wait, that’s not an option, click yes, login your user password and BLAMMO. It’s gone.
It’s an ok app. But a real memory hog on an older iMac. I’m not slamming it, had it for years but I don’t want to buy a new subscription. So I need to be able to say good bye to whatever I want off my Mac. That’s why we have Macs — click, drag, done.
hope this helps. If it does, let me know on Facebook.
see you on the internets.
My thoughts are thus: Nostalgia fuels memories. Memories fuel creativity. The reaction to the memory creates an action in the creative mind. Not the numbing sad mind, not the depressed mind but the whole mind. Paul King (computational neuroscientist) writes on Quora: Most likely, creativity is a whole-brain process, and creativity is maximized when information, knowledge, skills, and cognitive styles from all parts of the brain work in coordination to explore and organize as many divergent paths of thinking and feeling as possible.
The nostalgia train pulled out of the station a few weeks ago. Momma left behind a wicker basket filled with photos and letters. My mother always signed her cards and letters to me as “Momma”. That must be Cincinnati “momma” because she was not southern and it sure ain’t mama. The wicker basket’s been in my closet since she died (at 93) in 2009.
My first inkling that the basket existed came in 2003. Ruth (momma) was in our backyard under a huge pecan tree, cutting up letters. Whoa, there, little missy, I think, what’s this about? Turns out, she was shredding Daddy’s love letters from WWII, written while he was in Ithaca NY and New Orleans at OCS. He wasn’t apart from her for more than a few months, total, as they both moved to Norfolk, VA during the war. He an Army Lieutenant and she worked in the civilian personnel office, hiring ship and dock workers.
Nostalgia fueled creativity. And then action, as she did not need to share with us how much Daddy loved her — did not need to leave those particulars behind in her wicker picnic basket of memories. She told me some years later, that Daddy was quite explicit lower voice, embarrassed 87 year old woman voice, sexually explicit , and it was wonderful, thrilling, loving in 1942 but not so much in 2003. When I started reading what she left behind, the edited history with notes, photos and letters, I began a new journey with my assemblages.
There’s another discussion pushing around this thought – I worked for Archives Management, trained in state history department, graduate school and on – about how people edit their memories, choose their archives when they get older. Which fuels another thought, no one writes letters any more, there is no paper trail to follow. This is the saddest fact of the Internet Age and bemoaned by more than just me. More on that to come … I was a microfilm archivist, trusting only in one media method.
Creativity. Here’s where I’m headed – after 28 years of antidepressants, Lyrica, Oxycontin, Tramadol, lumbar fusion, basal thumb reconstruction, metal toe joints, nerve damage to C2-T1 squeezing off my arms and shoulders from feeling, – taking the medications prescribed for what renders me disabled – robbed me of creativity a little chunk at a time. Each little pill you take, each little swallow you make, they’ll be watching you, taking away your bits of neurons, the SSRI SSI disruptors, antagonists, good neural pathways, bad neural pathways, all diverted from medications that pharmaceutical companies can’t really explain “how they work but they do”. Then they want you to take medicines to counter-act the harm the medicines you currently take render your new dysfunction. OIC – yeah, Opioid Induced Constipation is created to counter-act the ill Oxycontin does to your bowels. We’ll discuss OIC more fully, believe you me, as my dance with pain meds ended when the reality of an injection in the stomach to make my intestines work correctly – enter Resistor and the most god-awful moment any oxycontin “taker” can experience.
Take your meds. Do not interpret the paragraph above as a stop taking your meds post. Don’t stop believing. It’s okay to trust your doctor, your pain management clinic. I’m here to tell my story. Not yours.
I weaned myself off of 8 years of prescription Oxycontin. Never abused, never mis-used. Simply prescribed to relieve pain that my wonderful internist used to refer to me as “you’re one of the people we don’t know how to deal with, how to help, so we throw medications at you, hoping something will stick, something will help you function.” My degenerative bone disease confounded every neurologist, internist, physical therapist, pain clinic, orthopedist and psychiatrist. My lumber spine aged out at 30 instead of 80. My neck started its dysfunction when I hit 40, so pain meds and antidepressants, NSAIDs and steroids have been a major part of my life since 1988, when my first big time surgery, lumbar fusion, occurred. It’s still good, that fusion, by god. Titanium rods and screws all still in place, put there by the competent hands of the best back surgeon in the US, Dr. Stephen Grubb, then of the NC Spine Center in Chapel Hill, NC.
It’s time to sort or be sorted. Art or get off the pot. And the announcement of my first annual ever Tear Up a Book Today Day.
Life is passing by, the spooks of yesterday’s art projects linger in the room. I am fidgeting through box after box of ephemera, paraphernalia and googley gooks. Some of you know I recently gave away 100s of vintage Look, Life and other 1950-1960s magazines to my fellow collage artists.
Paper grows old and becomes brittle. It also mildews and spoils. The best thing to do is recreate it, either give it away or discard it. Often the magazines people gift to me come with an added bonus — an odor. I don’t have any choice but to throw these in the trash or recycling. It pains me greatly to do so but the foxing and mildew spots will only increase. The odor will only become stronger. Some objects are worth saving. Paper, though, for the most part, is created with a limited lifespan. Take paperback books. If you don’t know it, let me tell you, the paper used for printing paperbacks is meant to disintegrate. It is of inferior quality. The paperback is not cheaper than the hardcover just because of the “hardcover”. The paper used for the pages is second rate.
With that in mind, I encourage everyone to tear up a book today. Create something else from the whole that you now have. Make a piece of art, start a small fire, just enjoy the feel of ripping something apart. Books are not holy objects. They are paper. Made from wood. Destroy a book today. Do it in the name of art. Do it in the name of destruction. Just do it with you own book, don’t tear up someone else’s. And for crap’s sake, don’t go to a library and tear up a book.
The illustration above is made from recycled books and magazines. I call it “Viaduct Lizzie” in honor of my Uncle Floyd.
Beginning parts deserve posting. This is the major focus area of a larger work. The round mirror needs some work so it will “fit in” to the piece. Most of the objects included in this area of the work are “found childhood” and the remainder came from “Remember When” in Greenville, my favorite store. Oh wait, the bottom right hand corner sewing bits came from a sewing basket bought at an estate auction in Farmville, Michael Cable [auctioneer extraordinaire]. The red bench belonged to a grand piano which I still own and will incorporate into a work at a later date.
Holiday Inn, 1965.
We took the first two weeks in Aug every year to go somewhere as family. Whirlpool shut down those weeks for maintenance and everyone went on vacation then. I guess Fort Smith (and Benton Harbor) emptied out and Labor Flight commenced.
Ann’s in college, the 5 of us are almost done traveling together en masse. This is the trip to meet Senator McClellan (powerful but not scandalous) in DC (not to be confused with Sen Wilbur Mills and Fanne Foxe –“The Tidal Basin Bombshell“, one of my favorite scandals, 1974, when Mills was caught driving drunk with stripper Foxe in DC, she jumped out of car and over side of bridge to escape) Daddy and McClellan were friends from Dad’s time on the United States Senate Select Committee on Improper Activities in Labor and Management since Daddy testified years previously during some hearings about collective bargaining and other areas of his expertise.
A response* to Alicia Schindler’s personal essay in the NYTimes [12-01-2014] .
Ms. Schindler wrote a blog post about her “aging” father’s knack for calling just as she began preparing dinner. [Motherlode: Living the Family Dynamic] The post struck a chord with readers and, to date, has elicited over 98 comments.
Mom explained it this way: For most of her adult life, five p.m. to six p.m. was the transition hour. Daddy came home from work, children tumbled in from the yard and sat down to homework, she began to fix dinner — we all transitioned both physically and mentally from public life to personal.
An influential artist once declared 2009 to be the “Year of Assemblage“. Those of us who remain firmly grounded upon the pocosin of common sense application can well appreciate the rumor in this announcement. Now it’s 2015 and we’re still in the Year of Assemblage. The Decade of Assemblage must and will go on, ever onward. Always forward into the past.
The beauty of the assemblagist mind, the pure and passionate intensity of their vision, unfanciful and undressed up. Such artists have nightmares in which they can not distinguish the true from the literate. Waking within the confines of a normal structure will determine the outcome of the moment.
In the development of the Absolute, the definition of the substance evolves into a pluralistic tenderly grounded firmly in the realism of the period.
This, then, is how the assemblage artist thinks. In concrete literal definitions of immutable objects. Lessened only by contact with reality, these objects become desires.
That’s all I’m saying… and it’s true. Those readers who do not embrace the Reality of Assemblage Combined have never visited a 91-year-old dementia patient who just broke their elbow and cracked open the back of their head because she forgot she no longer knew how to walk.
For real information about a Cubist Collage, click here for a more relevant post.
An attorney in Brooklyn, NY recently sent a link to a very interesting discussion concerning collages.
Since laywers have to go to collage for a long time, I figured he knew what he was talking about.
I went to collage in North Carolina, South Carolina, Arkansas, and even Holland (that’s The Netherlands for your purists).
Collages… my favorite way to learn:
“Collage has thus been deployed both as a mode of political resistance and as a protest against the commodity form, as an instrument of totalitarian propaganda and as a capitalist advertising tactic. It was this oscillation—a sweeping applicability to both the popular and the political, consumption and negation—that would usher in the late-twentieth-century turn to collage as a common and essential form of rethinking, repositioning, and reworking media.”
That’s from ArtForum, a very remarkable read for anyone artistically inclined.
While researching Cubist collage techniques, the history of Matisse and his Cubist contributions, this nice bit of “how to” came up on Google. Many thanks to Ken Schwab for posting a lesson plan geared toward high school-age art students on IncredibleArt.org.
The Assemblagist gives you these “Tips”:
1. Magazines to cull for photos, text, color in collage construction can usually be found on the FREE table at your local library.
2. Take old old magazines from your doctor’s waiting room. The 2008 May 25 issue of Time magazine is not relevant to any patient. Seriously.
3. Check sites like: Create for Less clearance section for more supplies. (not a paid endorsement)
4. AC Moore, Michaels, you know the drill, JoAnn’s ….
5. plywood can be used in place of cardboard or mat board, 1/4″ thickness.
6. I frequently use parts of discarded chests of drawers for my base — disassemble the drawer and use the bottom or side pieces of wood. The better made furniture with dove-tailing on the joints makes for interesting art.
And now for your lesson, again thanks to Ken Schwab:
1. After reviewing Picasso and Braque with a video (several titles are available – Google it) and a text portion of Cubism (Art History), students are set up with a ruler, newsprint, pencil and eraser. Have a group of objects set up in the room for a still life. Ken likes to use the same things Picasso and Braque used such as guitars, wine bottles, fruit, violins, trumpets, etc.
2. With the students around the still life have them begin with a few straight lines on the newsprint, some vertical, some horizontal and some diagonal (about five to start). Talk to them about stylization and simplification of form into to flat shape.
3. When they start to draw these contours of objects, have them start at the top and move down the page. When they get to the lines, shift over and continue to draw the object. Add more lines from parts of the objects that they have started. Have them make at least three studies differing the object used and new lines.
4. Pick out the best design and transfer it to the scrap matt board and this will be the color of the picture.
5. Outline the design with a narrow black pen. Plan out a value pattern using a black felt tip pen.
6. Select at least three areas to collage newspapers or sheet music and use a spray adhesive to glue them down.
7. Use the palette and watercolors to produce a faux wood grain by painting lines, blending with a moistened brush and putting a tone across the area for a light value.
8. Lastly use white and black charcoal pencils and graphite pencils to draw into shapes and make gradations where you like.
Part 2 will discuss Cubist Collage as an art form, yes, it’s backwards. Part 1 should discuss history and technique with Part Deux being the actual creationist part of the collage.
So check back irregardless of contextual order. I’ll post the Cubist Collage Dialog on Monday.
The post-NAFTA South is depending on tourism to bring it back from economic disparity. Everyone seems to blame NAFTA for their economic woes. Towns like Washington and Columbia, North Carolina, are hoping to capture tourism dollars to replace tax dollars formerly paid by factories like Hamilton-Beach, Procter Silex, Singer furniture, and the like. But it’s a hard row to hoe. Two new ideas have come to the forefront, lately.
I wrote that in 2003 on Popmatters. Wow, it’s come true. Here in Washington NC, the local tourism pimps are pushing the envelope with their fine sampling of swamp fun — including Agri-Tourism.
The first is our latest entry in the tourism field of dreams competition. Agri-tourism. It seems people will pay good money to drive a tractor, weed collards, and pick cotton. Guess it’s that Green Acres land-spreading-out-so-far-and-wide urge in folks. It causes a compulsion to mix it up with the aphids and the cow dung. And the second idea? Eco-tourism. Which is popular all over the damn place these days. In Washington County, North Carolina, they’re building camping decks at $10,000 a pop in the swamps of the Roanoke River so the canoeing/kayaking public can take in 130 miles of swamp without ever seeing a telephone pole or an SUV. Beaufort County, NC and the Pamlico River has some fine camping platforms now. Not a snarky comment, a true one. The platforms are pretty damn skippy.
Check out the Pamlico-Tar River Foundation.
The cypress trees are truly an awesome sight and I’m not denying the beauty of the area. Truth is, the mosquitoes there come in two sizes. Small enough to fly in through the holes in the screens or big enough to open the door and come on in. And gnats, snakes, alligators, bears, panthers (yes Virginia, there are still panthers in eastern North Carolina), red wolves (recently introduced to the area by our forward thinking environmentalists despite the fact that red wolves are not an indigenous species, not native to the area, they eat yard dogs and small farm animals, and they wander into people’s back yards and scare the bejesus out of some hamburger grillin’ farm family). (more…)