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Monday, October 24, 2016

To Thailand Goeth My Wife │ Hot Beverages and Esophageal Cancer │ Blood Pressure Medication and Depression │ Urinary Incontinence Treatments

My wife Jack showed up yesterday, possibly just ahead of 5:00 p.m.

She has been packing in preparation for a trip back home to Thailand to visit her family ─ and especially her mother ─ in Nong Soong village, very near Udon Thani (city).

She last saw her mother in early March 2013.

I didn't know just when she was making this trip, so last evening I asked her ─ she will be leaving this evening, possibly around 10:00 p.m.

The imminence rather caught me unexpectedly.

She's going to have to pay extra for the amount of baggage she will be taking ─ her two large luggage pieces are just crammed full, and are very heavy.  And she'll have a carry-on, as well as her purse.

I don't remember when it was that we got to bed last night ─ it was after 1:00 a.m., I am sure.

Over the course of the evening, I had imbibed about three or four ounces of spiced rum, three cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer, and two cans of average strength (5.5% alcohol) beer.

I know that she is probably beginning to feel some anxiety about the journey that she is undertaking alone.

As I lay beside her last night upon taking to bed, I wanted badly to put an arm about her to give her some comfort.  However, I was unsure if the action would be received or rejected; and after all, I did have a fair amount of alcohol in my system ─ my emotions were being coloured by this.

She had not consumed any alcohol.

So I withheld.  But it caused me tearful anguish there in the dark, and I lashed out at God in my mind.

How can He be content to watch my marriage die off as it is doing?

My wife and I have not been physically intimate in over 3½ years.  And lately, she does not even offer a token good-by kiss when we part ─ and I certainly do not move in to force one.

Yet otherwise, we're entirely amicable.

I just have lost her respect since retiring in early April 2011, and only being able to offer my weak pension income to help with all of our various expenses.

Of course, there are other things, including my flagging ability to 'perform.'  I am 67, after all; and she is 43.

I often present here in this blog that I cannot see myself achieving the age of 70 if my life's conditions do not vastly improve.

I have tried to derive a second income via the Web, but that has been a bust.  And I have certainly never won a lottery jackpot, despite trying for over four decades.

Coincidentally on this topic, Google just deposited today a payment into my chequing account of $101.23 for AdSense earnings ─ a threshold of $100 has to be arrived at in one's balance before a payment is made.

But this is only the second payment I have ever received since joining AdSense back in (I think) December 2008.  The first time I got a payment was around November 25, 2013.

So the first one took nearly five years, while this second one took almost three years.

If this is to be all I have going for me, then maybe I won't be alive to get that third payment if it's not going to show up for another three years ─ I would be 70 by then, after all.

Oddly, I am stating all of this while not feeling particularly depressed.  Usually I would find myself in one of my deep depressions before I would speak in this fashion, but today I am mostly being analytical.

My wife Jack left to take care of some errands earlier this afternoon ─ it is 2:43 p.m. at this moment; so I decided to take advantage of her absence and make a start on this post.

Her youngest son Pote went to work at Guildford, leaving with his older brother Tho's car late in the noon-hour.  Tho surprised his mother by presenting himself after getting up around noon ─ Jack had not realized that he had skipped work today.

So it is just he and I home for the nonce.

Once she is home again, she will probably remain until she is to go to the airport, so I will not have opportunity to do any further blogging.


My wife Jack arrived back home just a few minutes past 3:00 p.m.  But I was to learn that she was not be be home for too much longer.

She did some cooking; and then soon she had her eldest son Tho carry down her heavy luggage from our bedroom.

As I have explained in earlier posts, Jack uses a Vancouver friend's car.  Jack pays the insurance for the friend at a lesser rate than Jack is qualified for, and gets what seems to be nearly exclusive use of the car.

So she was going to return to Vancouver with everything that she is taking on her flight, and the friend will then drive her to the Vancouver airport, keeping possession of the car until Jack's return ─ which is not to be until November 21.

And thus it was that around 4:30 p.m., Jack was off to Vancouver.

Of course I saw her off, and she was even affectionate.  I got two good hugs from her, and she even said "Love you" during the second big hug. 

I got her to pose for this sequence of shots as she stood by the car:


When she had gone, it was a lonely feeling coming back into the seemingly barren house with only Tho home ─ he never even left his computer to see her off.

I came up here to work on this post, and then my cellphone rang ─ it was Jack.  She was at a nearby 7-Eleven store that can be quickly accessed on foot via a blocked-off alley that runs past our home here in the cul-de-sac we live in.

She wanted me to bring her a pair of shoes that she had forgotten ─ comfortable shoes for walking in.  She had forgotten them in our bedroom.

So I hustled over to her with them, and we shared a third good-bye hug.

She said that she will phone me this evening while she's keeping her lonely wait at the airport.


I have in the past consistently drank so much hot coffee that I have actually developed a bit of a sore throat.

You have probably noticed that it's easier to swallow some very hot liquid than it is to have it within your mouth ─ the tongue and mouth membranes are sensitive to heat, but for some reason we don't feel the heat as keenly when the swallow of liquid is going down our throat.

A review was done that was published back in June which implicated hot beverags as being a factor in the development of esophageal cancer.

This article reports briefly on the study:

A far more interesting report about the potential hazard is this one:


I just hope to get through life without ever developing any kind of cancer ─ one, that is, that has any impact whatsoever upon me.


I have no idea if I have some degree of elevated blood-pressure ─ it isn't something I fret over.  In fact, the only time I have ever tried one of those free 'cuffs' some pharmacies have for taking a measurement, was maybe back in the 1980s at my younger brother Mark's challenge.

I do know that a doctor did once say that mine was a little high when I was having a check-up ─ again, that was back in the 1980s.

So clearly I am not taking any medication to try and lower my blood-pressure.

But just how realistic is a reading of 120/80?  Back in December 2013, a report in the Journal of the American Medical Association declared that folks aged 60 and above were fine if their blood-pressure was no higher than 150/90.

For folks younger than 60, 140/90 was the ceiling at which the blood-pressure was still okay.

However, if practiced, that would reduce the profit the pharmaceutical industry makes from these blood-pressure products designed to reduce it.

This statement says it all:  "...Researchers with long-standing ties to pharmaceutical companies are doing their best to deep-six those recommendations."

Then there is this report published earlier this month telling of a new study:

I do NOT need to be taking anything I don't really require that's going to potentially increase my risk of depression ─ I struggle enough with it as matters are.


The only serious incontinence I have ever suffered has been when I have been drinking and found myself without facilities nearby for seeking relief.

I remember one such episode back in the latter 1970s, I think it was.  I had a 'snoot-load' of beer in me, and decided to hike out to Surrey from New Westminster.

That of course required hiking across the Pattullo Bridge.

Well, by the time I was over the summit of the bridge, I was already in trouble ─ I was starting to 'need to go' most badly.

I remember reciting as emphatically as I could ─ over and over ─ the poetic lines, "I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul."

It helped a little.

But the nearer I got to the other side of the bridge, the worse the situation became ─ it was as if the very nearness of the approach of relief was enough, and my body was now willing to let loose the floodgates.

I never actually made a full release, but I did inadvertently 'squirt' a few times, somewhat wetting my jeans.

I got to the other side of the bridge and immediately turned off to the side and ducked into adjacent shrubbery that was present back then.

I would hate to be someone with limited bladder control on an ongoing, daily basis.

There are two utterly dreadful treatments out there being tested for women with incontinence ─ check out this pair of reports:


I would first research natural-source bladder-control supplementation ─ for instance, I have seen crataeva nurvala and horsetail mentioned as being of benefit.

There is also such a thing as bladder training.

And then there are some women like Kim Anami who have taken some of that training to a remarkably whole new level, as this DailyMail.co.uk article tells: 'Intimacy coach' Kim Anami lifts weights with her vagina


I am closing now with a 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the tiny unit in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I was only working one day a week back then ─ usually a Friday ─ at a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.  I was a swamper on their blue pick-up truck.

Back then, S.A.N.E. was located on Carnarvon Street, in a building that used to exist roughly where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now empties out onto Carnarvon.
FRIDAY, October 24, 1975

I finally caught up on some sleep, not getting out of bed till 5:25 a.m.

I typed and shall mail a letter to Ron while on my way to S.A.N.E.

Bill & I were faced in the morning with a trip to Ladner to handle a load from a rummage sale; we had some aid unloading.  From it I took a pair of old boots and a book Fons Perennis: An Anthology of Medieval Latin.

On my way home I bought eggs at Safeway as well as 16 ozs of boysenberry yogurt to be used when I begin my first try at bread making.

Note: yesterday on my way to Bill's I am positive I saw Frank Adams on 6th as I approached it.  And on our trip to Ladner, we passed mom going home probably from Scottsdale.

Work after lunch consisted of another trip to Ladner for the smaller stock of a sale held at the Legion; Bob assisted.

On my way home, at Safeway I bought a box each of Red River Cereal and Roman Meal.

And as I finished writing this, about 5:12 p.m., Art knocked, even saying he knew I was in here; I risked my doubt on this.

Bill came over, interrupting some exercising; Cathy had phoned him and said my old man had phoned and was really mad, and going to drop in on me.  

Bill didn't stay long, wondering if I cared to visit her with him; but I said no, preferring to retire early...at 7:10 p.m.
The letter I typed was to Ron Bain, and American pen-pal I had.

My co-swamper at S.A.N.E. was an older fellow named Bill Sevenko, but I no longer remember him.  I just happened to have written down his last name once, and it stuck with me.

I have no idea whatever became of the Latin book.

The first stop at Safeway would have been when I went home for lunch.  Often going home for lunch is something else I no longer remember.

Neither do I remember "Frank Adams," but I was certain that I had seen him the previous day when I was going over to visit my old friend William Alan Gill.  Bill had a bachelor suite roughly three or four blocks from where I lived.

"Bob" ─ who assisted on that afternoon return trip to Ladner ─ is also lost to memory.

Once I was done with S.A.N.E. for the day, it was Art Smith whose knocking I ignored.  He was an older chap in his early 40s with whom I had worked at S.A.N.E. and formed a friendship, but he would have only come by to drag me off to his home to sit and drink with him late into the night.

I was trying to get away from late nights.

Bill was more welcome company.  "Cathy" was my younger brother Mark's girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther.  Mark and Jeanette were renting a home together located in Whalley.

Mark was away hunting that week.  My father Hector was an alcoholic who too often got into rages when he was drunk, yet he was such a dear and lovely man when he was sober.

I miss my father.  I am just over 4¾ years older than he ever got to be.

And now here it is just after 7:00 p.m.  I am looking forward to my evening drinks to assuage the sense of loneliness I am feeling.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Antioxidant Helps Curb Seniors' Muscle Loss │ 25 Largest U.S. Fast Food Restaurants Rated for Antibiotics │ Ben Stiller and His PSA Test

That Android TV Box!  I blame it for keeping me up last night ─ I may not have gotten to bed until around 1:20 a.m.

I think I started my day this morning around 8:22 a.m.  My youngest step-son Pote was up.

His older brother Tho hasn't been home since Tho showed up after finishing work Friday afernoon.  He must be staying at his girlfriend's residence.

Pote used his brother's car yesterday, but he must have decided to catch a bus to work this morning ─ he left here within a half-hour of my rising.

My younger brother Mark made it home before 10:00 a.m. from the home of his girlfriend Bev where he had spent last night.  But he never took a nap, and was gone for the afternoon before the expiration of the noon-hour.

For me, that betokens ill company this evening if he's getting a head-start like that on his drinking.

Over the morning, I managed to finish and publish the post I have been working on since this past Wednesday at my Latin Impressions website:  Jaheira Romance Walkthrough.

It's one for the 'gamers.'

I wanted to get out and accomplish a few things, but the state of my eyes required that I return to bed to rest them.  I never managed to nap, though.

It may have been as late as 1:47 p.m. when I was finally on my way ─ the sky had lots of dark cloud, but there were also breaks of some sunshine.

First off I hiked the mile or so over to Surrey Place (Central City).  I had a lottery ticket to cash in that Mark had given me for my birthday earlier this month.  The ticket paid out $10.

Of note while cutting through Holland Park just before reaching Surrey Place (Central City) was an encounter I had with three people ─ a young Asian lad, and two White gals in their 30s or 40s.

I expected them to be religious proselytizers, but it turned out that they were taking as bit of a survey about vegetable gardening, and they gave me my choice of a packet of vegetable seeds ─ I ended up with some Swiss chard from West Coast Seeds, and priced at $2.99.

Anyway, after cashing in my lottery ticket, I then went over to Staples nearby there, just on the other side of King George Boulevard.  I wanted to print out two Public Service Health Care Plan claim forms.

The printer here at home cannot print black ink ─ the nozzle is too clogged.   To run a head-cleaning would require many ink-wasting purges, and I know damned well that at least two of the ink cartridges would be expended.

So better to pay less than $3 (I think) than to be buying replacement ink cartridges.  (The free Swiss chard seeds actually may have put me ahead in any 'profit & loss' calculation!)

By the way, as I was walking alongside Staples and heading to its entrance, a young woman coming from the other direction was in a pair of black tights, and she had the most incredibly muscular legs I have seen in real life in a long, long time.

I wish that I could have photographed her to prove it.

Anyway, once the printing errand was done, my final destination was the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard there in Whalley.  I bought a dozen cans of beer.

I was home again no later than 3:30 p.m.

The two outings I have had ─ one yesterday, and this one today ─ are the sole exercising I have gotten this weekend.

No one was home when I got back, so I am going to see just what I can post here today ─ my wife Jack said on Friday that she would next be home today, but I have no idea when.


A supplement I would buy if I was not as financially limited as I am is Pycnogenol, which Wikipedia says "is a dietary supplement derived from extracts from maritime pine bark, [and] is standardised to contain 70% procyanidin."

Apparently no matter how much an elderly person may exercise, muscle loss is unavoidable due to ageing.  All the exercising will do is help maintain more of the muscle mass than would otherwise be possible, but it is still going to start to happen.

That's ugly, if true.

A study using seniors aged 70 - 78 "exhibiting symptoms of muscle loss, sarcopenia and fatigue but otherwise healthy" had the following results after taking 150 milligrams of Pycnogenol for eight weeks:
  • Participants who took Pycnogenol® daily demonstrated greater muscular function and endurance in daily tasks such as carrying items (4-5 lbs.) (71 percent improvement with Pycnogenol®/23 percent control), climbing stairs (52 percent improvement with Pycnogenol®/20 percent control) and distance walked (38 percent improvement with Pycnogenol®/17 percent control)
  • Pycnogenol® measurably reduced oxidative stress, a common measurement of sarcopenia which prevents the body from normal detoxifying and repair, by 14 percent
  • Supplementation with Pycnogenol® reduced proteinuria – presence of protein in urine which, with normal kidney function, can indicate waste from muscle erosion, by 40 percent
  • Individuals who took Pycnogenol® demonstrated improved general fitness scores by more than 46 percent in comparison with a control group who did not take the natural antioxidant
I am 67, so not too far off from 70.  But I would hope that if I stick it out and achieve the age of 70, I would not yet be evidencing any sarcopenia.

But even without any onset of sarcopenia, those figures the study bore out suggest to me that anyone should be able to experience considerable benefit from the supplement.

I just can't afford it.

Here's a report on the study:


What I am wondering is if it is the pine bark procyanidin that is the key ingredient that helped the seniors so much ─ Pycnogenol is supposed to be composed of 70% of this flavonoid.  If it is the procyanidin, then why not just supplement with procyanidin alone?

I'm wondering out loud, for I do not know.


You no doubt are aware that the meat and poultry industry uses antibiotics far too liberally, and the environment and the consumers are paying a price in health risk.

Six nonprofit activist organizations in the States reviewed 'the 25 largest US fast food and "fast casual" restaurant chains on their antibiotics policies and practices.'

Are you curious how the restaurants fared?

Check the report out for yourself:

I would like to see a similar report on Canadian restaurants.


Did you hear or read anything about actor Ben Stiller proclaiming that a PSA test saved his life from a symptomless prostate cancer?

I had not.  I had to research and find a report bearing his claim:


Well, there is a mass of alternate opinion out there ─ here are a sampling:



I am quite firmly with the active surveillance crowd.

Too many men's quality of life have been ruined by unnecessary prostate cancer treatments and surgeries because they had a low risk tumour, but were terrified into going ahead with the medical meddling because their specialist played their fears perfectly.


It is now 5:49 p.m., and I am still home alone. 

I am going to try and close today's post off now with a 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster

The house I was renting the tiny unit in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

My plan for the day was a long, long hike out to my mother Irene Dorosh's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.  Although the house is now gone, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue ─ it was my main mailing address.

To have hiked directly to her home would have taken about 1½ hours of fast walking.  But of late, I was extending that journey by hiking the King George Highway all the way out to Newton.  

From there, I would access the railway tracks that cut across the highway, turning right onto them, and then following them until I could access the Surrey terminus of 90th Avenue on Holt Road, very near to Scott Road (120th Street).

My mother's home was a half-dozen or so houses down 90th Avenue, on the right-hand side.

I had gotten to bed the evening before this journal entry at 7:55 p.m.
THURSDAY, October 23, 1975

Very sleepily I got myself up at 1:45 a.m.

Before leaving for my Newton walk to mom's at 5:15 a.m., all morn I felt so tired I nearly convinced myself to sleep instead and leave later in the morning.

I walked, but hard.

I found at mom's a Plain Truth which came yesterday.

We both wished to do some shopping, so I awaited as she received one phone call after another, delaying us until 11:00 a.m.

At Safeway I bought a jar of Sunny Jim peanut butter, then at the health food store I bought 8 ozs of baking powder (49¢), and 2 lbs of wheat to sprout, some of which will be going toward bread I eventually plan to make.

Mom said one of the callers was Cathy; mom assumed I didn't feel like conversation, so said nothing when Cathy expressed her wish that I phone.

Still Mark hunts.

My walk to mom's was a torment of indigestion, and I experienced some heading home too; fortunately it was nippy out, for I was extremely tired before leaving mom's.

I finally bought a can of McColl's, this at Econo-Mart for $2.17, a good price these days.

Bill expects me for some TV tonight.

I saw my first seasonal frost this morn in Surrey; leaving Bill's, I was amazed at the cold outside.

Bed:  8:10 p.m.
I often ran some of the hike, but I only walked fast this time.

It was my brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther ("Cathy") who had phoned my mother and expressed her wish that I call her.  She was likely feeling lonely with Mark away hunting.

I am truly surprised that I never called her, for I adored the young woman.  Perhaps I was concerned that she would invite me over, and I would have a really tough go of it declining the offer.  I was just too tired ─ it was going to take everything I had to walk directly back to New Westminster.  

Mark and Jeanette were renting a home together in Whalley.  If I went there ─ about a 4¼-mile hike from my mother's home ─ I would be expected to visit for quite some while.  And then I would still have to walk to New Westminster.  I just wanted to get to my room.  

"McColl's" was a brand of peanut butter ─ it would have been the 48-ounce tin that I bought at Econo-Mart (part of a now-defunct chain), a store in the Townline shopping plaza at 96th Avenue & Scott Road.

My old friend William Alan Gill lived three or so blocks from my room.  He had a bachelor suite and a colour T.V.  But I could not have watched too much T.V. with him if I was to bed by 8:10 p.m. 

Okay, I have to proofread this and get it published ─ my wife Jack showed up just after I began this section.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Pain Relief Alternatives to Harmful Medication │ The Epidemic of Fatty Liver Disease (and Its Avoidance)

I logged into my AdSense account and was a little surprised to see that it had accumulated 4¢ today thus far.  I wasn't so much surprised by the figure, though.  Rather, it was the source that generated that figure:
  • siamlongings.blogspot.com.eg
That is the Egyptian domain for this blog.  I never even realized that it existed.

I ought to be getting out soon (it is 2:31 p.m. as I type these words) and mail an envelope for my wife Jack ─ she left it with me yesterday.  It contains her Employment Insurance Job Search Form.  I think that it's already a bit overdue.

I want to mail it at Pearl Photo / Canada Post over at Surrey Place (Central City), roughly a mile from here where I live.  My feeling is that by mailing it there, it will likely be collected today for sorting, and thereby has the potential to get delivered on Monday ─ its destination address is in Abbotsford.

But I'm a bit tired.

Thanks to having my younger brother Mark opting to sit up later than usual last night as we watched T.V. and drank, it was 1:11 a.m. before I was in bed.

I think I had a break in sleep just after 5:00 a.m. and used the bathroom, and then returned to bed until I next checked the time at 8:28 a.m.  I rose a few minutes thereafter.

I didn't feel as well-slept as one might have expected.  Maybe I had a beer too many last evening.

The day has been predominantly overcast, but dry.

I think that my eldest step-son Tho may have spent the night at his girlfriend's residence.  Or else he was up early and took his younger brother Pote to work shortly before I got up ─ I heard someone leave the house, and then the car drive off.

But Pote may just be using the car if his brother slept at his girlfriend's residence, for Tho is under a driving licence suspension.

Whatever the case, I have not had either of the boys here since I got up.  And Mark left ─ probably for the day, since he usually stays at his girlfriend Bev's residence on Saturday nights ─ whilst I have been working upon this post.

By the way, earlier this month I mentioned here in my blog that back in 1975, I finally received a book titled The Fantastic Art of Frank Frazetta that I had mail-ordered.  It had arrived on that same October day 41years earlier.

I had said that I would scan the front and back covers, but I kept forgetting.  So here they are now:

I have often thought that a few of his images would be absolutely fabulous imprinted on the back of traditional-styled denim jackets.  By 'traditional-styled,' I mean the denim jackets that only reach to the waist and are torso-enhancing ─ not the sloppy loose affairs, nor the ones that extend well below the waist.

Back in the mid-1980s, a young chap where I was then working had just such a jacket that he said he applied the image to by himself ─ it was an action scene featuring Conan, and it covered most of the back of the jacket.

I guess they call the process screen-printing.  I do have a jacket I bought soon after that which featured an extremely eye-catchingly colorful steer skull with possibly a pair of crossed feathered lances.

I had mail-ordered it from a Western clothing company called Cheyenne Outfitters that apparently went bankrupt in November 1998, if this reference is correct.

I received so much praise over that jacket that I rue I never bought others at the time.  I still have it, but the denim has separated in spots; and once I even had to have the collar replaced.  Unfortunately, the tailor only had brown corduroy to do it with.


Yesterday I mentioned a study that implicated NSAIDs in ─ among other ills ─ heart failure.

I included suggested alternatives to the medications, but I want to add this little extra as encouragement ─ these are a couple of reports on a study that has identified options for pain-relief of various conditions:

One other pain-relief alternative was reported on back in 2009 at ScientificAmerican.com Why the #$%! Do We Swear? For Pain Relief.

Unfortunately, if you are a frequent swearer as a matter of course, then this pain-relief method will likely fail you:
There is a catch, though: The more we swear, the less emotionally potent the words become, [psychologist Richard] Stephens cautions. And without emotion, all that is left of a swearword is the word itself, unlikely to soothe anyone's pain.

Have you ever heard of non-alcoholic steatohepatitis (NASH)?  It is possible that you or a loved one may have it.  After all, anywhere from 2% to 5% of Americans have it, most have no idea that they do, and there is no treatment as yet.

None, that is, except a liver transplant.

NASH is the escalated end result of non-alcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD) ─ and anywhere from 10% to 20% of Americans have that!

As the following article about it reports, pharmaceutical corporations are trying to cash in on this by devising a medication for it, but none have struck gold as yet:


The best course of action is to try and prevent it in the first place.  We can undoubtedly thank the food manufacturing industry for this epidemic.

Guess how researchers develop NASH in mice so that the researchers can run these treatment studies?

Mice were kept "...on a diet high in trans-fat (40%), fructose (22%) and cholesterol (2%)..."

That's from the abstract of a study titled Obese diet-induced mouse models of nonalcoholic steatohepatitis-tracking disease by liver biopsy (doi: 10.4254/wjh.v8.i16.673).

A report on another study ─ the one the STAT news.com article concerned itself with ─ is available here:

If you are eating lost of processed foods, then you are getting lots of trans-fats and fructose.  And your odds are excellent of developing NAFLD, and then NASH.

This is the advice from NewMarketHealth.com concerning avoidance of that specific liver-damaging diet:
It's the perfect recipe for fatty liver disease -- high fructose corn syrup, fructose and partially hydrogenated oils. Things you'll find in drinks like soda, tea and even fruit beverages -- as well as in everyday foods like bread, ketchup, cereals and salad dressings.

And trans fats are found in numerous bakery items and processed foods.

So here's what you need to do to keep yourself and your loved ones safe:
  • HFCS isn't just in soda! All sorts of foods and drinks contain this laboratory sweetener. Read labels and put back anything that contains it.
  • Also ditch anything containing fructose, fruit sugar and crystalline fructose. These are typically just disguised names for very potent versions of HFCS.
  • Check labels for partially hydrogenated oils. The FDA has recently banned its use in food, but it will take years for that to fully go into effect.
The only kind of fructose you want is the natural kind found in apples, peaches and pears -- in other words, real fruit. The fiber slows its absorption and allows it to be digested in a different and healthy way.

I managed to get out and mail that letter for my wife Jack.  There was a fair amount of weak sunshine.

I left here at 4:37 p.m., and was back at the front door by 5:16 p.m.  I do not believe that I have walked that vigorously before in the entirety of this year ─ and it felt good!

I am going to close now with this 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The house I was renting the little unit in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
WEDNESDAY, October 22, 1975

I arose about 5:45 a.m., hoping I am able to adhere to my dietetic resolutions; however, it is evident to me I dare not yield up flour products, nor go hungry; I may consume a lot, but must never overeat again with currently one-meal regularity.  I shall fortify myself with supplements.

I typed up Jean a letter to be mailed on my way to dad's this largely clouded day; I heared upon me radio in the morn that there may have been some frost during the night.

Anyway, the posties are still striking, day two.

I leave for dad's ─ all exercises done ─ before 11:10 a.m.

I misjudged the cloud; my walking was mostly in sun, both ways.

I stopped at Woodward's, but they still haven't decent canned peanut butter.

Dad wasn't home; a note on his door explained this.

After draining in some brush, I came home.

I later went to Bill's for his idea of a chili supper; since my lunch, I have had indigestion, which possibly may be due to my vitamin pills and such.

Anyway, bed at 7:55 p.m.; cold out!
The letter I typed was for Jean M. Martin, an American pen-pal I had.

My father Hector and his girlfriend Maria Fadden lived in an apartment at (I believe) 5870 Sunset Street in Burnaby.

They had only been there around three months; I always walked both there, and back to my room again, whenever I visited.  

If a note had been left on their door, it must have been intended for me.  Perhaps they had some important appointment ─ my father hated missing my visits.

It seems that I required a little bathroom relief in the outdoors before undertaking the long walk back.

Woodward's used to be located where the Royal City Centre Mall is now on Sixth Avenue.  They had their own brand of peanut butter ─ a natural peanut butter that tasted unique to me.  So I always tried to acquire a 48-ounce tin of it.  If the link remains valid, you can see a tin of it here.     

My old friend William Alan Gill probably didn't live any more than about three blocks from me ─ he was renting a bachelor suite.

But so much for this day in 1975!

I shall proofread and then publish this post, have a bath, prepare a very quick light supper, and settle in for some Android TV Box T.V. programming while enjoying some drinks.  As said earlier, I do not expect my younger brother home this evening, so I will be alone in the living room.

Friday, October 21, 2016

Alcohol Reduces Depression │ NSAID Painkillers Raise Heart Failure Risk │ 'Personal Space'

My wife Jack just left (around 3:20 p.m.) to return to Vancouver.  She had utterly surprised me by showing up last evening after my younger brother Mark had gone upstairs to his bedroom for the night.

Incidentally, he was senseless company once more.

Anyway, Jack had come to stay the night.  She professed to be extremely tired, and was sagging in a doorway for proper effect.

Yet when I noticed her finally go to bed, and then I followed suit, it was 1:00 a.m.

I think my first major break in sleep was perhaps just after 5:00 a.m., but I didn't resort to the bathroom.  That became necessary about an hour later.

I resumed bed, and it was 8:45 a.m. when at last I checked the time with an eye to rising for the day.

I did not expect to be able to get much done on the post I am working upon at one of my hosted websites, but I surprised myself by adding as much content to it as I have done on each of the previous two days.

Even so, I do not expect to have it published any sooner than Sunday.

Both my youngest step-son Pote and his girlfriend had today off work, so they slept together last night and pretty much spent most of the morning in bed.

Pote's older brother had gone to work in Burnaby...driving his car there.  This is the third time this week he has driven.

And we're into the rain again.  It kicked in fairly early this afternoon.

I want to post the following photo ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the photo filed:

Jack, Tukta, and Tumma ─ the photo was taken on a Koh Samet beach in Thailand by Tukta's sister back in either late January or very early February 2003.

It was my very first time in Thailand, and these three ladies did a grand job of keeping me safe and cared for.

I was to marry tall Jack in late May 2005 ─ my third and last time in Thailand.
I wish I could have remained in Thailand upon marrying Jack.  Bringing her here to Canada in 2006 ultimately proved to be detrimental for me.

She changed far too much.

Tumma was to get a visa to go and join her husband in the Netherlands ─ she and Tukta had married at the same time to two Dutch friends.

However, Tukta's husband was deemed unable to support a wife, and she never did get a visa.  His health has gone downhill in the interim, and now it is impossible for him to even work. 

In April 2015, Tukta was in a serious traffic accident.

On August 7 that year, Tukta E-mailed me the following ─ this is just a portion of her message, and I am presenting it in her unretouched words:
My rib broken 3, pelvic broken 2 , punctured lungs I still be alive .. Today 4 months already.. I used wood walked support and don't know when I can be normal again.. And this evening I try to walk without walker it hard but I try,,

I have son I send photo to you so long time Now he is 2.7 year ( I adopted child )... His mom pregnancy and not need she want to do out,, But that time 3 years already I have good job.. And I think I can take care him..I gave money to her and asked her to keep kid for me.. Now I think I will be alive for him.. I have big problem in life now.. I no job , no money ,debt pay house and car . and bad health now ..

You still remember I married with Natherland man.. But he good man and love me but he so poor .. I can not get visa to Natherland and he visit me a few time then not more... His healthy not good also..  That time I have job I don't care I can be and not looking for marry again...I'm not alone I have son to take care.. And I don't how to solve now..And don't know I can work like before or not.. I'm 43 years not easy to find job ..In Thailand they like young people becuase pay not much money..The reason it hard for me...
The "wood walked support" were crutches that she needed to use to get around with.

She had some sort of supervisory or even managerial position, but because of her accident and subsequent period of rehabilitation, she lost her job.  Job security is nothing like it is in the West.

I wish that I could help her out, but I cannot.  I just haven't the resources any longer.


When I was a young man, I would drink to lose my crippling social inhibitions.  It gave me a confidence that was not naturally there in social situations.

In later years, I found that when I was extremely depressed and anxious, drinking brought some calm.  It would even numb my sensitivities and erase the anxiety.

Of course, there were those 'mornings after' where I would find my nervous system nearly a wreck, and I would feel timid and insecure as hell.

I hated to leave the house ─ a very bad thing when it's Monday morning and it is necessary to go to work.

Nevertheless, researchers have found that alcohol seems able to lift depression ─ and its effect can last for up to 24 hours.

I guess the key is not to get plastered and end up with a nervous hangover the following day.

Here are a couple of reports on that study ─ done in mice, incidentally:



There were a couple of periods in my working life where my job brought me such intense stress that I even prayed to God to kill me in my commute ─ preferably on my way to work at the start of the week, and not Friday when I was coming home!

My working life was a brutal agony.

I would arrive home and soon get into some drinking, for it would numb the fears and pain.

I could go on and on about this, but I dare not.

I cannot see how medical researchers will be able to resolve just how someone who is depressed is going to be administered a reasonable quantity of alcohol.  If someone is profoundly depressed, a little is not sufficient.

But I think I will leave the topic at that.


A study has found evidence that NSAIDs (nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs) elevate a person's risk of heart failure.

That's on top of previous implications in things like heart attack, stroke, and kidney failure.


Concerning alternatives to NAIDs, NewMarketHealth.com offers this:
...As the National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health -- the federal agency that studies alternatives to mainstream drugs -- has reported, numerous risk-free treatments, such as acupuncture, yoga and tai chi, can be just has effective in dealing with chronic pain.

Also, arnica has been used as a pain reliever for hundreds of years. It's available as an ointment and cream, and is very effective for soothing sore muscles and aching joints. It also can be taken orally as a homeopathic remedy (those tiny pills that you put under your tongue).

Capsaicin, a key ingredient in chili peppers, also can be found in various topical pain-relieving products, where it helps to soften the body's pain signals.

Unfortunately, too many of us are still in the dark about these much safer pain-relieving options and continue to take drugs that more and more studies are revealing to be unbelievably hazardous to our health. 
It's tough for those who are strictly limited financially, who lack mobility, and who are socially isolated.  Those alternatives are not all feasible.


If you go to Wikipedia and seek out the topic 'personal space,' you are taken straight to an article titled Proxemics.

I am aware that there is such a thing, but I have never felt compelled to delve into it to the degree that the Wikipedia article does.

Still, I know that the topic is fascinating to some people.  In fact, there is a recently-published study about it:  The magnetic touch illusion: A perceptual correlate of visuo-tactile integration in peripersonal space (doi: 10.1016/j.cognition.2016.06.004).   

It's a tough read, and I just haven't the interest in the topic to struggle with the study.  However, I did find the following report on the study to be of considerable interest ─ maybe you will, too.

It is easy enough to understand ─ its target audience are laypeople like most of us. 


Here is where I close with a 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 yars old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The house I was renting the tiny unit in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

On tab for the day was a long hike out to visit my mother Irene Dorosh in Surrey.  Her home was my main mailing address.  And although the house no longer exists, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

The hike directly to her home from my room was about 1½ hours of fast walking.

But of late, I had been extending the distance considerably.  

I would follow the King George Highway all the way to Newton.  And from there, I would turn right onto the railway tracks, and follow them to where I was able to access the Surrey terminus of 90th Avenue at Holt Road, very close to Scott Road (120th Avenue). 

Just a half-dozen or so homes down 90th Avenue ─ on the right-hand side of the street ─ was where my mother lived.

The evening prior to this entry, I had gone to bed at 7:00 p.m.
TUESDAY, October 21, 1975

I slept badly, finally arising short of ─ no, after ─ 1:40 a.m.; so badly in fact that last night about 10:30 p.m. I arose and mealed on 4 pancakes, chewing leisurely.

Anyway, I shall be leaving for mom's via Newton before 5:20 a.m.; Bill is to appear there today for our first venture at health food cooking.

Shortly after arriving, I began to glut to what must have approached record proportions.  In fact, I swore off this type of dieting until I at least drop down to 175 lbs.

I shall eat alternately eggs (1 doz)  one day, 1 lb. liver the next, milk the third, and porridge the last; each day as well will see me eating any fruit I come across, or raw vegetables, depending on conditions, as well as an allotment of wheat germ and food supplements; perhaps as well a slice of bread with spread until I exhaust my supply.

I am determined.

Yesterday's mail was my Olympic swimming 8¢ + 2¢ stamps, a Church of God letter, and Mark's gift of an Olympic Lottery ticket; the nation today is experiencing a postal strike.

Mark is still a-hunting.

Phyllis came over in the morning some while.

Bill in the late afternoon arrived after phoning; we went to a health food store at Kennedy Heights.

Before being dropped off at home, I went with him to his mother's.

I am to come over later to view some TV.

Bed at 9:20 p.m.
My old friend William Alan Gill did not live too far from me ─ he had a bachelor suite.

I remember nothing of this "first venture in health food cooking" that we were supposedly embarking upon.  But my mother was a superb baker, and could make incredibly large mounds of yeast-raised dough ─ she often experimented with mixes of whole-grain flours, as well as including other types of flours such as pea flour.

My normal weight at barely under five feet 11 inches was usually in the lower 180s, but I had a serious weakness for food when it was laid before me because I was unable to afford much of it myself.

I cannot say that I recall that plotted diet.

The stamps I mentioned that had come in the previous day's mail were the latest Canadian commemorative postage stamps.  And the Olympic Lottery ticket was a late birthday gift from my younger brother Mark.  Lottery tickets had to be mail-ordered back then.

Phyllis is my older maternal half-sister.  She dropped by for a visit in the morning.

Anyway, I was spared the walk home, thanks to Bill.

So much for my day 41 years ago.

When my wife Jack left this afternoon, she said that she would be back again sometime on Sunday.  I have no idea when her trip to Thailand is to begin, but she has already pretty much packed up.

She will be going home to her village in Nong Soong, near Udon Thani (city), to visit her mother.  Jack hasn't been back since fairly early in 2013.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Resveratrol Against Inflammation and Respiratory Tract Infections │ Bisphosphonates Contribute to Macular Degeneration │ The Big Sugar Lie

Last evening was another of those in which my younger brother Mark was the most disagreeable presence.

I will say no more on that.  But at most, it was 10:20 a.m. when he headed on upstairs to his bedroom.  I don't know just what he figures he needs to do in preparing for bed ─ I know that he shaves, and probably brushes his teeth ─ but it seems to take him about a half-hour.

It was 12:04 a.m. by the time I was settled into bed.

My first break in sleep that saw me seek out the bathroom was around 4:00 a.m.  To my considerable surprise, I saw that Mark's bedroom light was on, and he appeared to be moving about.

He normally sets his clock-radio for 4:20 a.m.

There have been times when the darned besotted fool has gotten up very early in the a.m. to use the bathroom, and suddenly he comes to believe that he was up because his clock-radio had alerted him to rise for the day.

He will then shower.

The last time this happened, it was not even 2:00 a.m. yet.  But he clued in during his shower because it dawned upon him that he was not hearing his clock-radio playing ─ he keeps it set to a talk station.

Other times he has gone downstairs and made his morning coffee before eventually cluing in that he shouldn't yet be up.

He gets scant enough sleep-time as is.

So who knows why he was up?  Maybe he just couldn't sleep any longer ─ alcohol withdrawal will do that.

I used the bathroom and returned to bed, and soon enough found some further sleep.  It was 7:13 a.m. when at last I checked the time and decided to rise for the day, although it did take me three or four minutes to kick into gear and actually do it.

When I came downstairs to make my morning's hot beverage, I saw that just as was the case yesterday, my eldest step-son Tho's car was parked in Mark's spot.

Tho is under a driving suspension, so it may be that his younger brother Pote is either driving him to work in Burnaby, or else at least taking him to the SkyTrain.

However, unlike yesterday, Pote was not up ─ he was back in bed with his girlfriend.  If I remember aright, she did not spend the previous night here with him.

Or if she did, she had to leave early to get to work.

I spent a couple of hours working on an unfinished post at one of my hosted websites, and then began readying for that four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley.

Pote and his girlfriend were up by that point.

Nonetheless, I was able to get away unnoticed while he was showering ─ it was 10:48 a.m. as I set off.

The day was grey, but calm.  I even saw a few blue patches, but never experienced any sunshine.

As I was cutting through Holland Park ─ which is nigh on being around half-way to my destination ─ I encountered Hugh on his constitutional.  He tries to get out and put in a few miles ambulating about the park with some gusto.

Hugh used to live in the area where I reside, but he was only renting a suite or something.  He now lives in an apartment beside Holland Park.

He's a colorful sort of guy ─ fairly large, but in rather ill health.  I suppose that he's into his 60s.

As engaging as I do find him, he was once a member of a biker gang that he has never named, so perhaps he has mellowed in his later years.

We probably chatted for close to 10 minutes.

I wouldn't mind spending time drinking and talking with the guy some day, but he doesn't drink ─ I think he said that he quite about 36 years ago. 

Anyway, the only other experience I had that was worth mentioning out there was being solicited for change by an unwholesome-looking woman who clearly was destitute ─ this was outside of a Subway franchise essentially adjacent to the liquor store.

I had purposefully brought along change for just such an eventuality, for I rarely carry coinage anymore, now that just about all of my shopping is done with my debit card.

So I am sure she was rather delighted to find $3.40 dumped into her open palm.

I was likely back home by 12:30 p.m.  Tho's car was gone, and no one was home ─ but neither was the damned house door locked.

Pote can be so bloody feckless.

I had visions of cooking myself up a superb feed based upon some frozen ground beef, but I had barely finished puting away the two dozen cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer I had bought, and changed into my house clothes, when I heard Tho's car arriving back.

Pote and his girlfriend had evidently gone forth to pick up Tho from somewhere to bring home ─ Tho had himself another short day at work, obviously. He told me yesterday that there is a shortage of business at the mattress factory or whatever it is that engages him, so he has been getting let out early this week.

Fortunately, only Tho came into the house ─ the other two left again with his car.

But I won't be cooking the ground beef.  Instead, I have a package of two turkey thighs thawing in the sink.

On another matter, I received a Google notification this morning that it had automatically created a collage of four photos of mine from this date in 2012 ─ this is it:

Three of the images relate to an outing I participated in with my wife Jack and her two sons ─ we ended up having a meal at what may have been the Shang Noodle House in Richmond.

The bottom two photos are inside the restaruant, and the top left one is one I took as we were making our way back to Jack's car:

The other photo was taken on the backyard sundeck after we all had gotten home again:

I rather enjoy these occasional automated collage-reminders of past photos and events.


I wish that resveratrol supplements weren't so expensive ─ I had to quit buying them after my employment salary ceased and I had to rely on a pension income back in 2011.

It's known that resveratrol is able to somehow reduce the inflammation within us that ─ while necessary to fight infections, for instance ─ can run amok, as in cases of many auto-immune disorders.

Research has now found that resveratrol is able to help overcome a specific pathogen that is behind upper respiratory conditions like bronchitis, pneumonia, attacks of asthma, and chronic obstructive pulmonary diseases (COPD), as well as enable a reduction in inflammation by enhancing a protein known as MyD88 short which imposes limits upon the inflammation response.

The reports I have found concerning the study are rather formidable for my comprehension due to the little scientific knowledge I have in this area, but I will list two:



A truly 'dumbed-down' report that may nonetheless faciliate better understanding is here:

While I was researching this study, I stumbled across what appears to be bad news for folks with multiple sclerosis (MS) insofar as concerns resveratrol.

You can tackle that report on still another recent study for yourself over at news-medical.netResveratrol worsens MS-like neuropathology and inflammation, study finds.

I have already spent longer on this topic than I allotted for ─ I dare not get deflected off into this additional area.


I don't think that it was more than two or three days ago that I included information on a study that has found how bisphosphonates ─ a class of medication prescribed for people suffering from osteoporosis ─ can bring on the 'wet' form of age-related macular degeneration.

Oddly enough, bisphosphonates can even result in bone breakage ─ including that of the strongest bone in the human body, the femur (thigh bone).

This was a report I offered on the potential of failing vision due to the medication:

Options to bisphosphonates include vitamin D3 and vitamin K2 supplementation, but I have also learned that "consumption of olives, olive oil and olive polyphenols has been shown to improve bone health."

I took that quote from the abstract of this recent study:  Olives and Bone: A Green Osteoporosis Prevention Option.

One study mentioned how olive leaf extract ─ rich in oleuropein ─ increased the blood osteocalcin levels by 32% after a year of treatment.

As the Wikipedia article on osteocalcin states, "higher serum-osteocalcin levels are relatively well correlated with increases in bone mineral density (BMD)."


There is a very good report discussing how the sugar industry bamboozled the world in the 1960s, and successfully got everyone to focus upon dietary fats and cholesterol as the culprits behind increasing coronary heart disease (CHD) ─ when sugar itself was a huge risk factor.

And of course, sugar still is an enormous risk factor for heart disease, as well as diabetes. 

Remember, carbohydrates break down into sugar or sucrose, so 'high-carb' diets are unquestionably injurious.

The article ─ and it is a good read ─ was published on October 10 at DrMicozzi.comHow big sugar got such a sweet deal for so long.

It gave two references ─ the second one is available in its entirety at JAMAnetwork.comLowering the Bar on the Low-Fat Diet.

The second reference only yields the abstract of the study being referred to, but the entire study is available at DrPerlmutter.com as a six-page .pdf document:  Sugar Industry and Coronary Heart Disease Research │ A Historical Analysis of Internal Industry Documents.

We just cannot trust the 'Big Food' industry ─ they have done nothing but corrupt true food, polluting and denaturing it.


The Sun seems to have some prevalence this latter afternoon.

But I am going to close now with a 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The house I was renting the small unit in was situated on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
MONDAY, October 20, 1975

My possibly fateful welfare appointment day, and I slept quite badly, finally getting up just about 5:30 a.m.; but I wasn't preoccupied with the meet.

I did my laundry early this overcast morn, having the entire time there to myself.

I even cleared up all my exercises before 12:30 p.m., having lied down from 11:00 a.m. - 12:00 p.m.

I kept my 1:30 p.m. welfare rendezvous.  

David Prince was in line before me, and we talked. 

Doug Hardy was there, and so were Moose & Paula.  

I stood the entire time.

Finally ─ I don't know when ─ Mr. Jeffs pushed ahead my appointment to 9:00 a.m. November 14 due to lack of time; I walked up to Bill's, and am certain I arrived sometime after 4:30 p.m.

His mother was with him, and because of this, we did not go to mom's and begin amassing bread-making supplies as projected; I went along as he took home his mother, and was driven home in turn.

Bed:  7:00 p.m.
I was only employed one day a week through an employment initiatives or incentives programme in place between my employer and New Westminster social services.  I didn't entirely know why social services had summoned me in, but I feared that it was going to be a review of my situation ─ and of course, I was fearing that it would be to my detriment.

The laundry I took care of was in a laundromat that I believe was on Sixth Avenue, very near to the public library.  It would have been most unusual to have had the place entirely to myself throughout. 

I probably did not expect to see the mass of people at the social services offices ─ which I think were on Sixth Street, not too very far above Columbia Street, and on the left-hand side of Sixth Street as one walked downhill.  

Philip David Prince was an old friend who was also living in a room in New Westminster.  

I have absolutely no memory of a "Doug Hardy."  "Moose" was a (former?) co-worker of my old friend William Alan Gill, but I do not recall "Paula." 

Russ Jeffs was my social worker ─ a rather ruddy-complexioned, reddish-haired, elderly Englishman who was really quite likeable.

I expect that I should have written that my appointment was pushed back; but since time is experienced as the finite creatures that we are, the appointment had indeed been pushed quite far ahead into the future.  

I must have waited at least 2½ hours, though, before the rescheduling.

Dear friend Bill lived fairly close to my room ─ he was renting a bachelor suite.  His mother Anne Gregory was ─ I think ─ living in Maillardville in a house she was renting. 

This is the first time in my journal I mentioned anything about bread-making supplies, so I have no idea what that was all about.

I commonly wrote portions of a day's journal entry at several sittings over the course of the day, and undoubtedly I often forgot what I might or might not have written in previous entries.

Also, I never realized that I would be sitting here in 2016 reading what I had written, and have lost recollection of so many tiny details ─ such as what this bread-making affair was to have involved.

These entries are such mind-trips.