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Saturday, August 27, 2016

A Case of Skimlinks Gone Mad │ "Your Olive Oil Is Almost Certainly Fake"

It was nearing midnight when I made it to bed last evening.

My younger brother Mark was still passed out in his chair in front of the living room T.V.  ─ that was predominantly his state from about 9:15 p.m. onward.

I have no idea when he awoke and properly went to bed.

I think it was around 5:00 a.m. when I felt like paying a visit to the bathroom to stroan and also drink some water, but the hallway light outside my bedroom door was on ─ that's generally the indicator that one of my step-sons has appropriated the bathroom.

As well, my youngest step-son was sleeping with his girlfriend, so it was not impossible that it might even have been she.

After about 10 minutes had passed and I failed to notice any sounds, I opened my bedroom door and saw that the bathroom was unoccupied ─ some thoughtless idiot had just left the hallway light on.

I had to force myself not to get overwrought about it, or further sleep would be off the books.

I did achieve some, fortunately.

And I believe that I finally rose well ahead of 7:30 a.m.

That was supposed to be my youngest step-son Pote's shift start-time today at the sports shop where he works over at Guildford.

At least he wasn't home ─ and I did hear his cellphone sounding its alarm when I had been using the bathroom earlier.

However, that does not always signify anything ─ it often sounds when he has no intention of getting up, and he has no trouble lying dead in bed, ignoring the noise.

I got to work at the new Latin Impressions post of mine that has been taking my mornings since this past Monday.

And finally, it is published ─ although not until late into the noon-hour:  eBay Auction II.

Unfortunately, every instance of the word 'eBay' has been given an advertising link because I have an account with Skimlinks.

Normally that sort of advertising 'in-text' linkage is a beneficial thing for me, but not so much in this instance.  And that's because the auction website has likely been mentioned a couple of hundred times in that post ─ if not even more. 

And every single mention was given an advertising link via Skimlinks.

That's probably going to look very shoddy to some visitors.

But if I did something in my Skimlinks account to exclude the website from being automatically linked to, that exclusion would be website wide ─ and not just in that single post.

I have no viable option but to leave the post as it is.

When my wife Jack was here yesterday afternoon, she was going to get her eldest son Tho to help me get a defective washing machine off the backyard sundeck and into a small shed in the backyard.

However, when he came home from work, I guess he made excuses about getting involved in the toil immediately.

She eventually left, and he never did offer his help.

Early this afternoon, my younger brother Mark hailed me to help him get it moved ─ Tho was in the boys' den area engrossed in the boys' computer.

So my 64 year-old brother and this 66-year-old blogger carried it into the small shed while the 21-year-old 'muscleman' did whatever it was that so fascinates him online.

I was looking forward to letting Tho's mother know how the job finally got done, but I missed my chance this afternoon.

The day has been clouding up, but I went outside in the afternoon anyway to sit in a chair and face towards the Sun.  I was wearing just cut-offs.

Possibly half of my time out there was in some sunshine, and I spent just over 40 minutes at it commencing at 1:58 p.m.

As it happened, I heard Jack in the house talking to Tho very soon after 2:00 p.m.  But I only heard her voice within less than a 15-minute period.

She had come and left again without speaking to me ─ or maybe she did not twig to the fact that I was sitting outside.

And of course, I remained there and did not come in to greet her, either.

But she left some frozen meat here to thaw, so it is clear that she intends to return at some point. 

When she does, the report concerning Tho shall be delivered.

I find it interesting that I feel considerably better today than I have the previous two days.  Might it have been the fault of the sunny, hot weather that has today begun to deteriorate?


I know that olive oil is very beneficial as a foodstuff, but I don't much ingest it.  The only time I have any is if my wife Jack puts it onto some dish she's preparing.

Nevertheless, according to a recent U.S. article, olive oil heads the list in that country of foods that are counterfeited to deceive the consuming public.

And I cannot see why Canada should be any safer in that regard.
Of all the instances of food fraud in the United States, according to a scholarly database tracking this very thing, olive oil leads the way, making up 16 percent of cases (followed by milk, honey, saffron, and orange juice).
Can you imagine?

This applies even to supposedly healthy extra-virgin olive oil.  And one of the ways counterfeiters concoct their extra-virgin olive oil is by "diluting real extra-virgin olive oil with less expensive oils, like soybean or sunflower oil."

So instead of the olive oil being a healthy choice, the consumer ends up consuming some oil that is most unhealthy ─ soybean oil!  An oil many of us would never willingly consume!

For details about why I claim that, check out this January 2013 article:

Here is the article on olive oil I was quoting from:

The article gives some advice on how to best be sure you are buying what you truly want.

And NewMarketHelath.com offers these tips on ensuring that you are buying quality olive oil:
Tip #1: Good ones can range from green to gold. And make sure to buy your olive oil in dark-shaded glass, not plastic.

Tip #2: Don't buy "light" or "extra light" varieties. Good, healthy olive oil should have a "vibrant and lively" taste, sometimes bitter but never rancid.

Tip #3: Don't think you have to buy an oil imported from Italy. One expert said that Chile and Australia received the highest grades for extra virgin quality in a U.S. Trade Commission report. And I'll add California. That state has its own council and "certified" label on certain brands that will guarantee you real extra virgin olive oil.

Tip #4: Check the date! Avoid olive oil that doesn't list a "harvest date" on the label, and buy the one that was bottled most recently. The usual "best buy" date is two years from bottling, but you still want to look for the freshest harvest.

And once you get it home, be sure to keep that bottle in a dark location. Olive oil degrades very quickly in light, especially once it's been opened.
It seems to me to be far easier to just stick with my coconut oil.


Here now to close today's post is an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The house I was renting my room in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
WEDNESDAY, August 27, 1975

I slept till about 2:00 a.m., and from then on slept intermittently; there was a heavy thunderstorm in progress, but that wasn't the source of my difficulty, I'm sure; I arose about 5:50 a.m.

My shower showed that my mammae are still painfully sensitive as a result of the friction of my wet T-shirt yesterday.

The forecast for today is clouds and showers.

Will I ever feel fully rested?

It is shortly after 9:00 a.m., and I am leaving for dad's (9:15 a.m.).  

First though, at Safeway I bought a 2 lb. box of Roman Meal (89¢).

It began raining not too long after I arrived; apparently dad & Marie had pretty well just walked in when I buzzed them.

Things went smooth, but no doubt if dad won a lottery he would strike off on his own. 

I ate a good quantity, but didn't have my usual bloat problem.

I left about 4:15 p.m.or so, getting somewhat wet on my walk home.

Tonight, bedtime at 8:00 p.m.
I misused the term "mammae" ─ it applies solely to the female gender, as I now understand.

When I truly got into running, I found myself unable to wear any sort of top.  It seldom failed that once I got deeply into any run, no matter what I wore would ride across my nipples, and the friction would result in such intense burning that I could scarce touch them thereafter.

I hurt as if a flame had been touched to my nipples.

This would later cause complications even to just don a shirt or tee-shirt to just go walking ─ that causal act could not be done without my top casually moving across my inflamed nipples, and the result was agonizing.

I remember sometimes applying tape across my sore nipples just to keep them from contacting the fabric of whatever top I might wear. 

I had forgotten all about Roman Meal cereal ─ if I remember aright, it was a product that had to be cooked much as a porridge.  I wonder if it still exists?

Whatever the case, I was bound on a hike to visit my father Hector, who was sharing an apartment with his girlfriend Maria Fadden off at 5870 Sunset Street in Burnaby.  

It was a commendable distance for a walk ─ especially since I would return to my room in the same fashion.  I eschewed buses.

The thing about visiting my father was that he and Maria were so-called 'problem' drinkers, and I never knew what I would find upon arriving at their apartment.  Often, they were blitzed.

The worst of that was when the two were fiercely squabbling.

It used to defy my comprehension why my father remained with Maria for as long as he did.  But I now realize that they were both lonely.

They also had a long history.  I think my father may even have known Maria long before he ever came to B.C. and eventually met my mother Irene.

I wish that I had been more curious about his early life when he was alive, but we never expect either of our parents to be taken from us before we are prepared for it, do we?

It all ends with me anyway, it seems.  Sadly, I have no children to be delivering family history lessons to. 

And it makes struggling with depression all the harder.
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