Jenny--
You want to know where your kids have gone, don't drive yourself nuts.
Get web tracking software.
http://www.computer-tracking.com/blog/2006/02/web-site-tracking-software.html
Check out this:
http://www.spectorsoft.com/
Also your ISP konws because its sharing them with the Bush administration,
but they won't share with you.
It's normal not to have much of anything in your "temporary files/low" *as
I said. It certainly isn't very odd. I doubt you've ever seen that
path with muc Can you document seeing \low different? I've had this Vista
since it RTM'd and I haven't got but tow fil there. How about the first
file path I gave you? How do you know that your teenagers aren't deleting
temp internet files regularly? If you think you're seeing "all the
cookies" and if you see them on Day X and they aren't going anywhere by
Day Y, then they aren't deleting the cookies.
This is where I told you they are located. for all practical purposes.
Next to nothing resides in \low. What has been consistently in here? Do
you know? This is the key to whether they are deleting TIFs not the \low
file
C:\Users\<username>\AppData\Local\Microsoft\Windows\Temporary Internet
Files
How do you know anything less "is being stored" after April? I don't
think they deleted \low because I'm not sure there is a way to do that
unless they highlight what's there and hit ctrl+delete. I have 2 files
there.
As to Cookies\low, I don't think it exists. I don't find it. This is where
cookies are found in Vista asfar as I know:
C:\Users\[Your User Profile
Name]\AppData\Roaming\Microsoft\Windows\Cookies
Make a list of sites you think they are visiting if you know and block
them using Vista or other parental controls. Other than locking them off
the pc though, you can't anticipate what sites they
CH
Definition of "the surge": A pronounced surge in dead bodies of American
soldiers in Dover coffins and a pronounced surge in Iraqui women in the
thousands forced into employment as prostitutes in Syria to put food in
their mouth. Booya Bushie. 80% now killed by IEDs and other penetrating
bombs with no protection for them.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/06/17/AR2007061701351.html?hpid=topnews
Little Relief on Ward 53
At Walter Reed, Care for Soldiers Struggling With War's Mental Trauma Is
Undermined by Doctor Shortages and Unfocused Methods
By Anne Hull and Dana Priest
Washington Post Staff Writers
Monday, June 18, 2007; A01
On the military plane that crossed the ocean at night, the wounded lay in
stretchers stacked three high. The drone of engines was broken by the
occasional sound of moaning. Sedated and sleeping, Pfc. Joshua Calloway
was at the top of one stack last September. Unlike the others around him,
Calloway was handcuffed to his stretcher.
When the 20-year-old infantry soldier woke up, he was on the locked-down
psychiatric ward at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. A nurse handed him
pajamas and a robe, but they reminded him of the flowing clothes worn by
Iraqi men. He told the nurse, "I don't want to look like a freakin' Haj."
He wanted his uniform. Request denied. Shoelaces and belts were
prohibited.
Calloway felt naked without his M-4, his constant companion during his
tour south of Baghdad with the 101st Airborne Division. The year-long
deployment claimed the lives of 50 soldiers in his brigade. Two committed
suicide. Calloway, blue-eyed and lantern-jawed, lasted nine months --
until the afternoon he watched his sergeant step on a pressure-plate bomb
in the road. The young soldier's knees buckled and he vomited in the reeds
before he was ordered to help collect body parts. A few days later he was
sent to the combat-stress trailers, where he was given antidepressants and
rest, but after a week he was still twitching and sleepless. The Army
decided that his war was over.
Every month, 20 to 40 soldiers are evacuated from Iraq because of mental
problems, according to the Army. Most are sent to Walter Reed along with
other war-wounded. For amputees, the nation's top Army hospital offers
state-of-the-art prosthetics and physical rehab programs, and soon, a new
$10 million amputee center with a rappelling wall and virtual reality
center.
Nothing so gleaming exists for soldiers with diagnoses of post-traumatic
stress disorder, who in the Army alone outnumber all of the war's amputees
by 43 to 1. The Army has no PTSD center at Walter Reed, and its
psychiatric treatment is weak compared with the best PTSD programs the
government offers. Instead of receiving focused attention, soldiers with
combat-stress disorders are mixed in with psych patients who have issues
ranging from schizophrenia to marital strife.
Even though Walter Reed maintains the largest psychiatric department in
the Army, it lacks enough psychiatrists and clinicians to properly treat
the growing number of soldiers returning with combat stress. Earlier this
year, the head of psychiatry sent out an "SOS" memo desperately seeking
more clinical help.
Individual therapy with a trained clinician, a key element in recovery
from PTSD, is infrequent, and targeted group therapy is offered only twice
a week.
Young Pfc. Calloway was put in robes that first night. His dreams were
infected by corpses. He tasted blood in his mouth. He was paranoid and
jumpy. He couldn't stop the movie inside his head of Sgt. Matthew Vosbein
stepping on the bomb. His memory was shot. His insides burned.
Calloway's mother came to Walter Reed from Ohio and told the psychiatrist
everything she knew about her son. Sitting in the office for the
interview, Calloway jiggled his leg and put his head in his hands as he
described his tour in Iraq. His mental history was probed and more notes
were taken. The trivia of his life -- a beagle named Zoe, a job during
high school at a Meijer superstore, a love of World War II history --
competed with what he had become.
"I can't remember who I was before I went into the Army," he said later.
"Put me in a war for a year, my brain becomes a certain way. My brain is a
big, black ball of crap with this brick wall in front of it."
After a week in the lockdown unit, Calloway was stabilized. They gave him
back his shoelaces and belt. On the 10th day, he was released and turned
over to outpatient psychiatry for treatment. And Calloway, a casualty
without a scratch, began the longest season of his young life.
Inside Walter Reed
The Washington Post began following Calloway after he was brought to
Walter Reed last fall with an initial diagnosis of acute stress disorder.
He had all the signs of PTSD, but it would be the hospital's job to treat
him and then decide whether he met the Army's strict guidelines for a PTSD
diagnosis -- which required a certain level of chronic impairment -- and
whether he could ever return to duty.
Calloway's physical metamorphosis was rapid. The burnished soldier turned
soft and fat, gaining 20 pounds the first month from tranquilizers and
microwaved Chef Boyardee. He lived at Mologne House, a hotel on the
grounds of Walter Reed that was overtaken by wounded troops. His roommate
was another soldier from Iraq with psych problems who kept the curtains
drawn and played Saints Row video games all day until one day he
vanished -- poof, AWOL, leaving nothing behind but empty bottles of
lithium and Seroquel.
For the first time in almost a year, Calloway had a plush bed and a hot
shower, but he was too angry to appreciate the simple comforts. On an
early venture outside Walter Reed, he went to downtown Silver Spring and
became enraged by young people laughing at Starbucks. "Don't they know
there is a war going on?" he said.
Wearing a rock band T-shirt, Calloway looked like any other 20-year-old on
the sidewalk, but an unspeakable compulsion tore through him. He said he
wanted to hatchet someone in the back of the neck.
"I want to see people that I hate die," he said. "I want to blow their
heads off. I wish I didn't, but I do." He made similar statements to his
psychiatry team at Walter Reed.
Violence seeped into his life in a thousand ways. When he cut himself
shaving, the iron smell of blood on his fingertips gave a slight euphoria.
But it was the distinct horror of his sergeant's death that was encoded in
his brain. The memory made him physically sick. He would sweat and shake
as if having a seizure, and sometimes he felt as if he were back in the
heat and sand of Iraq.
The recognized treatment for PTSD is cognitive behavioral therapy, in
which patients are encouraged to face their feared memories or situations
and to change their negative perceptions. A key technique is known as
prolonged exposure therapy. It involves revisiting a traumatic memory in
order to process it. The idea is not to erase the memory but to prevent it
from being disabling. Highly structured, one-on-one sessions over a
limited time period have proved most effective, according to Edna B. Foa,
a professor of psychology in psychiatry at the University of Pennsylvania,
who has been contracted by the Department of Veterans Affairs to train 250
therapists who treat PTSD.
But Calloway and a dozen other soldiers from Iraq and Afghanistan
interviewed by The Post described a vague regimen at Walter Reed's
outpatient psychiatric unit, Ward 53. They get a heavy dose of group
sessions such as "Reflecting with Music," "Decisions," "Feelings
Exploration" and "Art Expressions." Calloway reported to his "Reel
Reflections" class one morning for a screening of "The Devil Wears Prada."
Only two hours a week are devoted to a post-traumatic recovery group,
according to a copy of their schedule.
These soldiers said they are over-medicated and treated with none of the
urgency given the physically wounded. One desperate patient, a combat
medic who broke down after her third tour in Iraq, said she begged her
psychiatrist: "We are handicapped patients, too. Cut off both my legs, but
give me my sanity. You can't get a prosthesis for that."
In an interview this month, Col. John C. Bradley, head of psychiatry at
Walter Reed, said soldiers with combat-stress disorders receive the
accepted psychotherapeutic treatment there. He said they are placed in a
specially designed "trauma track" and are given at least an hour of
individual therapy a week and a full range of classes to help them cope
with their symptoms. Exposure therapy is as effective in group settings as
in individual sessions, he maintained -- a belief that runs counter to the
latest clinical research.
Bradley acknowledged staff shortages and said vacancies in his department
go unfilled for as long as a year because of the Army pay scale and the
high cost of living in the Washington area. He recently asked to increase
his staff by 20 percent, and last month he brought on a reservist to help
doctors with the time-consuming duties of preparing reports for the
soldiers' medical evaluation board process. "We are constantly looking for
innovative ways to provide service and outreach and support to soldiers,"
said Bradley, who deployed to Iraq last year with a combat-stress unit.
One of the country's best PTSD programs is located at Walter Reed, but
because of a bureaucratic divide it is not accessible to most patients.
The Deployment Health Clinical Center, run by the Department of Defense
and separate from the Army's services, offers a three-week program of
customized treatment. Individual exposure therapy and fewer medications
are favored. Deployment Health can see only about 65 patients a year but
is the envy of many in the Army. "They need to clone that program," said
Col. Charles W. Hoge, chief of psychiatry and behavior services at the
Walter Reed Army Institute of Research.
Instead, Deployment Health was forced to give up its newly renovated
quarters in March and was placed in temporary space one-third the size to
make room for a soldier and family assistance center. The move came after
a series of articles in The Post detailed the neglect of wounded
outpatients at Walter Reed. Therapy sessions are now being held in
Building T-2, a rundown former computer center, until new space becomes
available.
Joshua Calloway reported to Ward 53 five mornings a week in his uniform.
He was a tough patient from the start, angering easily and impatient with
anyone who had not experienced combat. He was irritated that he had to
attend groups with soldiers who had bombed out of boot camp or never
deployed. He participated in processing exercises using work sheets to
help him manage his fears. ("For example, original thought: 'I'm in a
crowd, they're looking at me, they're all going to jump me, the enemy
looked at me in Iraq and shot me, I leave.' Feelings: Anxious. Behavior:
Leave situation.")
With the exception of the post-traumatic stress group run by Joshua
Friedlander, a clinical psychologist and former Army captain who had
served in Iraq, most of the classes felt like B.S. sessions to Calloway.
"Civilians reading from a booklet," he said.
Ultimately, his treatment was in the hands of a civilian psychiatrist.
Before taking a contract job at Walter Reed in 2005, the doctor had worked
at Washington's St. Elizabeths Hospital and specialized in addictions and
pedophilia. On Ward 53, he was responsible for about 30 soldiers, many
back from Iraq. Calloway felt little validation from the psychiatrist.
Sometimes the doctor typed on his computer while Calloway talked.
There was another, more delicate, problem. The psychiatrist was Indian.
Calloway had a gut reaction to anyone he thought looked Iraqi, a paranoia
shared by many of Walter Reed's wounded.
"You are seeing a [expletive] Pakistani?" asked Spec. Isaac Serna, a
fellow war-wounded soldier in the 101st Airborne. "I'd freak, dude."
Calloway confessed his bias to the doctor. "I want to kill Arabs," he
said.
"Does that include me?" the Hindu doctor asked, according to Calloway.
"You can say it."
Antidepressants are most commonly used to treat PTSD, and Calloway was on
a total of seven medications by Christmas, including lithium, used to
treat bipolar disorder. He had now gained 30 pounds and was too lethargic
to exercise. Bored one night, he took out the sweat-stained spiral
notebook he had carried in Iraq. Grains of sand were still between the
pages scribbled with Arabic commands. He repeated the phrases that loosely
translated to "don't speak" and "shut up."
"Balla hashee!" he said. "In chep!"
He spent the holidays reading "The PTSD Workbook" and eating Starbursts in
a room piled high with goody boxes from his church back home.
"You are in our prayers, Josh," one card read. "We are so proud of your
service to your country."
Unabating Anger
In Iraq he was infected with MRSA, a microbe that makes the skin boil, and
at Walter Reed he suffered a painful outbreak that landed him in the
hospital. Festering sores brought a respite from Ward 53. In the hospital,
he got Percocet and "The Daily Show," and late at night he read a memoir
by a soldier who served in Iraq called "The Last True Story I'll Ever
Tell." A friend in the 101st lent it to him with underlined passages, and
Calloway read aloud the one on Page 172 about trying to fit back in after
war.
I spent most of my time watching the rooftops and side roads, looking into
my rearview mirror to make sure no one was creeping up on my car from
behind. . . . Every time I saw someone sitting contently inside a coffee
shop or restaurant, I wanted to yell at them, wake them up.
A social worker with a clipboard came to his room the next afternoon. "The
surgeon general is concerned about all the soldiers coming home with
smoking habits," he said.
Calloway said he never smoked before Iraq but smoked three packs a day in
theater.
"Have you ever considered a patch?" the man asked.
By his fourth month as an outpatient on Ward 53, Calloway had learned
breathing techniques to ease his panic. He had been asked to recite
statements of self-love in group therapy. He had learned to cook in
occupational therapy. But his core anger was as high as ever, made worse
by the relationship with his psychiatrist. They met once or twice a week,
mostly to discuss meds and argue. "Why don't you ever come in here and
smile?" the doctor asked, according to Calloway. "Why don't you ever come
in here and think today will be a good day?"
Walter Reed officials refused to discuss individual patients for this
story, citing privacy concerns.
Calloway wanted to scream. Disillusioned, he stopped faithfully attending
the combat-stress group he first found helpful. In the cold of winter he
went down to Capitol Tattoo on Georgia Avenue, where the milky skin of his
arms became a canvas of colors and death poetry. In honor of Vosbein, he
had a silhouette of a soldier drawn on, with the words: "Lay down your
armor. And have no fear. I'll be home soon."
Even with his nihilistic markings, Calloway still saw himself as a
soldier. On Sunday mornings he attended a VFW brunch in Arlington, feeling
at home with the snowy-haired veterans who sipped coffee under an American
flag. As an Iraq vet, he was treated as part of the newest generation of
warriors. One Sunday, he was accompanied by a girl from Ohio who'd come to
visit him at Walter Reed. She wore his dog tags, and his eyes were full of
light. "Thank you, ma'am," he told the waitress who brought his biscuits
and gravy.
But the girl went back to Ohio and Calloway came to the next brunch alone,
secretly terrified that in 30 years he'd be sitting in a support group
like the Vietnam guys. With his nightmares and balled-up fists, what woman
would want him?
"I'm not getting any better," he told his mother on the phone.
His step-grandfather in Ohio spent a morning making calls, trying
unsuccessfully to reach anyone at Walter Reed. "He's meeting with people
15 minutes a day, he's been written off," said Greg Albright. "Josh has
not been cooperative, he's been insulting to the doctor. But that's a
function of the place he's been." Albright met with an aide from the
district office of Rep. John A. Boehner (R) in Ohio. He wanted help
bringing Josh home for treatment, and the family was willing to pay for
it. But Calloway was still in the Army.
One night in his room, Calloway put in a DVD and watched the opening scene
of "Saving Private Ryan," the American G.I.s coming onto Omaha Beach,
retching in fear as they unloaded from the boats and faced a rain of
German bullets. Limbs severed, necks punctured, foreheads blown open, but
the grunts kept charging.
"See why I picked infantry?" Calloway said, his leg furiously twitching.
"There's no other place in the world where you can have a job like that.
It's a brotherhood that's deeper than your own family."
His romanticized ideals clashed with reality. His anti-nightmare
medication made him a zombie in the morning, and he slept through his
alarm. After missing morning formation, he was ordered by his platoon
sergeant to pick up trash, but in the middle of his work duty he had an
anxiety attack; shaking and unable to focus his eyes, he was taken to the
ER, where he overheard his sergeant tell the doctor that it seemed to be a
big coincidence that Calloway had an attack while doing work.
'I Can't Handle Another Day'
He often wondered why he snapped. Several factors make PTSD more likely --
youth, a history of depression or trauma, multiple deployments, and
relentless exposure to violence. Calloway hit most of the criteria. He had
been depressed in high school, and four months out of basic training he
was in one of the most dangerous sectors of Baghdad.
Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, 502nd Infantry Regiment got to Baghdad in
the fall of 2005. The roads around Yusufiyah, where they patrolled, were
littered with bombs. A first sergeant was lost right away, and the
casualties never stopped. Living in abandoned Iraqi houses, Calloway went
weeks without bathing and days without sleep. He went on raids at night,
kicking in doors and searching houses to the sound of gunfire and screams.
Calloway had never felt such excitement or sense of belonging. His best
friend was Spec. Denver Rearick, a grizzled 23-year-old on his second
tour. In his Kentucky cowboy wisdom, Rearick warned Calloway: "Your entire
body is a puzzle before you go to war. You go to war and every little
piece of that puzzle gets twisted and turned. And then you are supposed to
come back home again."
The pressure and dread and exhaustion began to smother Calloway. He
survived several bomb blasts. Some soldiers were sucking on aerosol cans
of Dust-Off to get high, and one accidentally died. Sleep deprivation
mixed with the random violence scrambled Calloway. He wore it on his face.
One of the sergeants asked him, "Are you gonna kill yourself, Calloway?"
Music was his escape. On rare nights on base, Calloway, Rearick and
Vosbein would strip off their armor and climb up to the roof to play
guitars and harmonica. Vosbein loved Johnny Cash. He was from Louisiana,
free and easy with his affections, and at 30 he treated Calloway like a
kid brother.
The day Vosbein died was sunny and hot. A convoy patrol in three Humvees
pulled over to check a crater in the road. As Calloway was opening his
door, Vosbein was already moving toward the crater. The force of the
explosion rattled Calloway's teeth and knocked two other soldiers to the
ground. Vosbein -- whistling, happy Vos -- was eviscerated. Parts of him
were everywhere.
Calloway buckled and puked. Then rage. He wanted to shoot the first Iraqi
he saw, but his legs weren't working. He was useless to help clean up the
scene. Later that night as the chaplain gathered the platoon to talk,
Calloway stood off to the side with two sergeants, crying. They
confiscated his weapon. Rearick sat up with him in his room until he fell
asleep. His commanders watched him closely. "We want to do what's best for
you," the company commander told him with compassion. "You need to tell me
what you need."
"I can't handle another day of this place," Calloway answered. He was sent
to the combat-stress control trailers, where the decision was made to ship
him to Walter Reed.
In his room at Mologne House, Calloway kept photos from Iraq on his
computer: Vosbein grilling steaks at their patrol base. Calloway's gang
piled on a tank with their guitars. Driving through a blinding orange
sandstorm. Rearick, wiry and invincible, smiling in a dirty cowboy hat.
"He was able to handle it," Calloway said.
But Rearick was in bad shape. While Calloway was at Walter Reed, Rearick
was home in Waco, Ky., sleeping with a .45 and the furniture pushed in
front of the window. He was so anxious in crowds that he no longer went to
bars or restaurants, ordering his meals at the drive-through window. To
rouse him in the morning, his father tossed a boot from the doorway
because he startled so violently when touched.
Rearick had sought help after coming home from his first tour in Iraq.
While asleep one night, he knocked his girlfriend to the floor. "I damn
near broke her nose," he said. Without telling his commanders at Fort
Campbell, he went to the VA hospital in Lexington, where he was prescribed
antidepressants. He didn't like the pills, so he drank himself to sleep,
while gearing up for his second tour.
"All the banners said 'Welcome Home Heroes,' " Rearick said. "But the
moment we start falling apart it's like, 'Never mind.' For us, it was the
beginning of the dark ages. It was the dreams. It was going to the store
and buying bottles of Tylenol PM and bottles of Jack."
Rearick retired from the Army earlier this year. In the bucolic green of
Kentucky, he threw himself into the physical work of breaking horses and
moving cattle. The only places he feels safe are the pastures and his
barricaded room.
"At least Calloway doesn't try to sugarcoat it," he said. "He's like, 'I'm
[expletive] up and I'm pissed off.' "
Rearick knows his outlaw paradise of guitars, guns and Willie Nelson is
just a cover.
"Everyone thinks you are a badass," he said. "But you are scared of the
dark."
Going Home, Far From Cured
Calloway put a Johnny Cash song on his cellphone to describe his sixth
month on Ward 53.
I'm stuck at Folsom Prison
And time keeps dragging on
One night he mixed Monster energy drink and Crown Royal and got so drunk
he was taken to the ER at Walter Reed, which landed him in the Army's
alcohol counseling program. He had to submit to a breathalyzer test at 7
each morning. "I am losing my mind more and more while I'm here," he said.
His psychiatrist had referred him to the Deployment Health Clinical
Center, but Calloway blew his chance at getting into the coveted program
when he missed appointments. He blamed his meds and memory problems. He
had been exposed to multiple bomb blasts in Iraq, but after seven months
at Walter Reed he had not been tested for traumatic brain injury, which
affects memory. Instead he was given a Dell PDA to help him remember
appointments.
The relationship with his psychiatrist was barely tolerable. The
frustration seemed mutual. "He complained about his problems but did not
seem eager to listen to any suggestions I provided him," the doctor noted
in Calloway's records. He added that Calloway showed up to Ward 53 not in
uniform but in cutoff shorts with his tattoos showing.
Even on high doses of sedating drugs, Calloway's rage crackled, and one
night he started breaking things outside Mologne House. He was again taken
to the ER, where he screamed that he wanted to kill his psychiatrist.
Finally, Calloway got what he wanted -- a new doctor. Lt. Col. Robert
Forsten had served in Iraq and had published studies on combat stress.
Right away, Calloway noticed Forsten's combat badge and his listening
skills. Forsten agreed that the violence of Iraq was transforming and
harrowing but said it should not define the rest of Calloway's life. The
doctor also tried to reframe the experience. "You're a soldier," he said,
according to Calloway. "You went to Iraq. You did your job.' "
Something clicked for Calloway. But it was so late in the game. His
physical evaluation board process was nearly complete, and he would be
going home soon. His worries turned to what diagnosis the Army would give
him and how he would be rated for disability pay. His case worker had told
him that she could not locate anyone at Fort Campbell to provide written
proof that he had witnessed a traumatic event in combat. Forsten picked up
the phone and within days had an official statement:
"During a routine route clearance in August 2006, PFC Calloway's team
leader (SGT Vosbein) was clearing a suspected IED crater while PFC
Calloway was inside his M1114. SGT Vosbein stepped on a crush wire that
detonated 2X155 mm artillery shells. The detonation killed SGT Vosbein and
knocked the remaining soldiers to the ground. PFC Calloway came to the
site and saw his team leader blown apart into several pieces."
Forsten would soon get another assignment and leave Walter Reed.
The evaluation board diagnosed depression and chronic PTSD in Calloway,
and ruled that his conditions had a "definite impact" on his work and
social capabilities. He was given a temporary disability rating of 30
percent, which meant he would get $815 a month. He would be reevaluated in
2008. He would report to the VA hospital in Cincinnati for treatment when
he got home.
After eight months at Walter Reed, Calloway showed "some improvement of
his symptoms," according to his medical records. But his step-grandfather,
Greg Albright, who came from Ohio to help him pack, was astounded at his
volatility. "He's a grenade with the pin half-out," Albright said.
Even on his last night, Calloway avoided the open grassy spaces in front
of Mologne House. He chain-smoked under the awning. He wondered what home
would be like.
At dawn the next morning, he set out for Ohio, a combat infantry sticker
on the bumper of his car.
jenny1980 said:
Chad,
Thank you, but I seem to be having some other problem besides them being
deleted. I know where my tif's are located and I know how to access
them.
The file actually seemed to be ok until about the beginning of April. Up
until that point, I can see all the cookies, webpages, etc. visited.
However
after that date, nothing seems to be being stored anymore. The only
things
being stored are e-mail items I get and items from accuradio.com. In the
cookies file located in the roaming file, it is the same way, except
when I
go to the cookies/low file. There, I can see all of the cookies that
have
been stored since April. When I go to my TIF file, there is no temporary
internet files/low. It is a very odd problem, I cannot figure out what
is
wrong. Is it possible my TIF/low file was deleted somehow, and if so
could I
possibly recreate it?
I know I said earlier that I can access the cookies/low file, that will
give
me at least some of the websites visited. But, it doesn't give me the
actual
pages and not all websites store cookies on my computer. My son is also
VERY
creative in the websites he will go to, things you wouldn't suspect by
the
name until you acutally check it out. I know there are programs/settings
I
can use to help with this problem but unfortunately my son is also very
tech
savy in that area as well. Still, if I could benefit from those
programs/settings, I would still like to know what is up with my TIF
file.
Thanks,
Jenny
Chad Harris said:
Hi Jenny--
Your kids have probably not hidden TIFs from you at all but they may
well
have erased them every time they visit a site they think mom wouldn't
approve.
If your teenagers are savy enough to delete history, I'm willing to bet
that
they can delete tifs. In Vista, to find TIFs are located at these two
file
paths:
*Location of Temporary Internet Files:
C:\Users\<username>\AppData\Local\Microsoft\Windows\Temporary Internet
Files\
C:\Users\<username>\AppData\Local\Microsoft\Windows\Temporary Internet
Files\Low\
To see them you have to type "control folders" (lose the quotes) in your
run
box>View tab>Advanced Settings Dialogue Box>radio button in "Show hidden
files and folders" and take the ck. out of "Hide Protected Operating
System
Files". The second one is not likely to have anything helpful that will
allow you to ID websites they have visited.
You can get to the top file path, that has essentially what you will
want to
see if they haven't deleted the TIFs most but not all TIFs by simply
going
to the toolbar on an IE window and going to Tools>Options>Settings>View
Files.
Location of Cookies:
Another place they may not think of deleting are Cookies in Vista. You
can
access the cookies by going to:
C:\Users\[Your User Profile
Name]\AppData\Roaming\Microsoft\Windows\Cookies
Cookies will reveal the websites that they went to if they have not
deleted
them.They can be deleted by going to Tools>Options>Delete>Cookies.
You or your kids can delete TIFs by going to Tools>Options>Delete>and
when
you hit delete Microsoft has misnamed the name at the top of the
dialogue
box by calling it "Delete History" (because you can specifically Delete
History)--I like to keep mine because I find it useful to go back to
sites I
forgot I liked or just plain forgot months later.
There are a number of parental control type softwares, and there is
parental
control in Vista.
http://www.microsoft.com/windows/products/windowsvista/features/safer.mspx
http://www.microsoft.com/windows/products/windowsvista/features/details/parentalcontrols.mspx
You can also access info in Help & Support on the start menu. The
problem
though here is that most of these controls depend on your knowing which
websites you want to keep them from reaching. While you may have some in
mind, teen agers, like many adults are able to surf and search and find
an
endless number of sites that you don't want them spending time with or
viewing.
They know how to erase the Tifs and History, and you can get a clue to
where
they are by viewing cookies, but they are probably alert enough to erase
the
cookies as well. But they might not be.
Location of History:
History can be checked by putting up any IE windows and hitting the Ctrl
+ H
and you should see whatever history is there for the number of days that
it
has been set.
Setting for Days History is Kept up to 999:
History days kept are set by going to Tools>Options>Settings. They
could
delete it every time they visit a site they don't want seen. If they
forget, you can see the sites they visit by going to an IE browser
page>ctrl+H.
To Delete History:
Tools>Options>Settings>Delete History
If someone wanted to delete the entire history folder, they could delete
Index.dat and info on that is here:
http://blogs.msdn.com/jeffdav/search.aspx?q=index.dat&p=1
This is also helpful info--and I seriously doubt your kids will be able
to
delete history in the way the link below does.
http://www.pctools.com/forum/showthread.php?t=31509
Good luck,
CH
Hi, I recently installed Vista and I am using IE7. I have teenagers
in
my
house who like to go onto sites that I don't allow and they are very
aware
of
how easy it is to delete from the history menu. I used to just go and
check
in my temporary internet files but now I can't do that for some
reason.
The
file is there and it stores some things but it is not keeping track of
at
least 90% of the info on sites visited. It is not even keeping track
of
cookies. I know where the cookies are kept elsewhere but I really
need to
see the actual web cache. Could my son have posibly done something to
hide
it from me? (he is very sneaky) Is it something to do with Vista?
Please
help, it has been this way for a few months now.
I also need to add that it is the same exact way on my laptop.
