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Sunday, April 9, 2017

Deceptive Food Packaging Label Claims │ All About Liver Cleansing │ Psychiatric Medications Hurt More Than They Help

The madness had me late last evening, keeping me from getting to bed at a sensible hour. It was only the arrival home of my youngest step-son Poté that compelled me to cease the insanity and betake myself to bed.

He must have essentially gone directly to bed himself after he locked the front door upon entering the house, for I had left the kitchen light on ─ he had turned it off, and there were no other lights on except here upstairs where my computer and my bedroom are.

I was prompt enough into gaining my bed ─ and a look at the time revealed it to be 1:30 a.m.

After sleep came, I was not awake enough to ever consider checking the time again until after 5:30 a.m. I then rolled over onto my stomach with my pillow longitudinally beneath my stomach and upper rib cage, and sought to return to sleep.

When I made my next time-check, it was 7:09 a.m. It was time to finally get up for the day.

I saw that it was wet outside, but it wasn't raining. The day was actually to become a mix of some Sun and lots of cloud.

I put content into the Thai-Iceland post that I should finally have finished tomorrow after working on it for about 10 days. However, I suspended work on it this morning to run an errand ─ a hike to the Fraser Valley and Northern Tax Services Office just over four blocks away to deliver the (hopefully properly) completed tax returns for my wife Jack and I, and also Poté. I have no idea what my oldest step-son Tho is doing concerning his tax return ─ he has said nothing to me.

It was 9:40 a.m. when I set off on the walk.

If I hadn't been feeling so low in spirits as a result of last night's misconduct, I might have visited a gardening nursery very near to the Tax Services Office. But I was just too unnerved for the social interaction.

I took four photos at the Tax Services Office.

Years ago, I worked for at least a couple of months every single year from 1982 to 1996 for Revenue Canada, usually in some capacity involving assessments of tax returns.

Back then, the two buildings that are today known as the Fraser Valley and Northern Tax Services Office did not both exist ─ or at least, the one resembling a small high-rise didn't exist until into the 1990s.

Originally, there was only the Surrey Tax Centre (9755 King George Boulevard). I took this photo facing towards its front entrance, as well as a selfie with it behind me:

Then I did the same for the newer, higher building that was initially known as the Burnaby-Fraser Tax Service Office (9737 King George Boulevard):

I know that I look pretty rough. It would probably help a little if I could just figure out where to look when I take these photos, and have my head centrally placed so that my skull doesn't look distorted or misshapen.

But after all, I am 67 years old ─ I can't be pretty forever.

If I remember correctly, it probably was not any later than 10:17 a.m. when I was back here into the house. My younger brother Mark was home after having spent the night at the home of his girlfriend Bev's.

I finished the work I wanted to get done today in that Thai-Iceland post, thinking that I might seek a nap. However, I have yet to do so, and it is 1:05 p.m. as I type these words.

What of my step-son Poté who immediately preceded me to bed last night? Somehow, he's still in bed, believe it or not! Who the hell can sleep like that? I can't even bear to be lying down for that long, let alone sleeping! My frame starts aching. (Note: I was to hear him in the kitchen just under 10 minutes after I typed those words.)

Mark left fairly into the noon-hour to hook up with an old friend of his who is just briefly visiting the area. I believe that they are to meet up at the Guildford Station Pub ─ Frank will likely be there with his wife Sandra.

I think they now live somewhere in The Maritimes, but they also have a Winter home in Arizona or someplace like that ─ or at least they did.

Mark first got to know Frank possibly as far back as the late 1970s when Mark worked as a first-aid / timekeeper, and Frank was a camp cook ─ this was at some isolated logging or mining camp somewhere in the wilds of B.C.

Frank has long since retired, but 64-year-old Mark still drives his large cartage truck, trying to build up as much of an RRIF or RRSP as he can before he retires sometime after he become 65 in July. Mark never did have a company pension plan to contribute into, so he is responsible for his own retirement fund.

I am unsure what Frank's situation is, but his wife is or was a lawyer, so he may have married well and has less to worry about.

But back to me.

If it was sunnier, I would spend some time sitting out in the backyard. There are just far too many thick clouds up there minimizing the sunshine breaks.

More wet weather is ahead, so today was my last chance for awhile ─ had it been sunnier, that is.


The only processed (or packaged) 'food' that I buy is bread; but I try to ensure that it is as 'natural' as possible ─ not loaded with chemicals I know nothing about, or ingredients I recognize but have no idea why they supposedly belong in bread!

I don't consider something like cheddar cheese or natural peanut butter or liquid honey to be "packaged" just because they come in a wrap or a container. I am referring instead to prepared foods that get packaged.

Because of that, I pretty much feel myself unaffected by the findings of a new study involving the ingredient claims on labels ─ but maybe you will benefit from learning about the study. Here are some reports on it:




If you do happen to eat a lot of packaged food, this next item might be of further benefit to you.


Have you even thought that maybe you could benefit from undergoing a liver cleanse?

We so badly abuse our poor livers ─ it's impossible to avoid doing so because of the phenomenal amount of toxins in our food, water, air, cosmetics, and practically everything else that we surround ourselves with.

If you have any interest in trying a liver cleanse, the following will help you:


The bottom of the article speaks of a podcast being held that night (April 3), but it has been recorded and is available there if you truly wish to learn the background of liver cleansing, and be guided as to how you can perform it for yourself.

It is not something to be taken lightly ─ it is a serious process.

I have never tried it, but I would consider it someday. As things are now, however, I don't have the time in my days to immerse myself into becoming properly educated about the protocol.


The psychiatric profession has long been in love with mood-altering medications ─ is there a movie or T.V. drama involving the commitment of a patient that doesn't delight in scenes involving the force-feeding of medications to those confined to whatever mental institution is the setting?

But even the general public is receiving far too much similar medication ─ whether antidepressants, or sleeping medications, or any other type of psychiatric drug.

There have been several articles out recently that seem to be decrying the situation as it has become in America, but maybe America isn't entirely alone in the world for this abuse.

Here are a few of those articles, if you are interested:





An old friend ─ Philip David Prince ─ went from being a beautifully built, athletic teen who turned me onto nutritional supplementation back in the latter 1960s, to a mood-altering medication zealot who commonly read pharmacopoeias to learn all he could about available 'uppers' and 'downers' that he might be able to con any medical professional to prescribe to him.

He visited as many doctors as he could get away with seeing with the level of the free medical coverage that he had.

Too often, he would wash down his medications with cheap alcohol ─ often, just salty cooking wines.

He died in 1984 at the age of 35 all alone in a skid road hotel in Vancouver.

I miss him a lot now in my old age ─ I would have loved to have him around to share time's passage with.


I want to close today's post now with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. What I had was quite small, but it was all I could afford; I was renting it in a house located on Ninth Street, and a couple of houses up from Third Avenue.   
FRIDAY, April 9, 1976

I forced myself up about 5:15 a.m.

I had a pretty erotic dream; a sexy girl wearing jeans and a flimsy top gave me a kiss that nearly set me off.

I shopped at Woodward's for 6 cans of mackerel (55¢ each); I basked in more sun than cloud, though the latter seems to dominate.

I want so much to win a lottery; it's the only way I can effectively practice running, or even become fit!

I badly wanted some pornography this morn, but resisted due to scarce funds; still, this sensibility doesn't always prevail. So, at 11:00 a.m. I could endure the privation and tedium no more, and went to the store; but once there, I lost my vile resolve to some extent, and came back home with all my money.

I rested from 12:15 p.m. - 2:30 p.m., and got some sleep, though I initially thought I'd do poorly; as it was, while coming out of it, I believed I was abed for the night after having wasted my day with no exercising. 

Once started, I about half finished when Cathy knocked; I went with her this very sunny day to pick up Mark; she invited me to supper and a go-out tonight, but I explained how I had to possibly go with mom to Bellingham in the morning.

However, when I did phone mom tonite, I learned Alex wasn't going, and that Greta is expected for the week-end.

I planned to go to Queen's Park, but but got no further than 4th St.

I'll bed at 10:00 p.m.
Woodward's was fairly close ─ it was up on Sixth Avenue where the Royal City Centre Mall is today.

It was my younger brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther who interrupted my exercising following my good nap. I suppose that she was on her way to pick up Mark from wherever it was that he was working.

The Bellingham trip was to have been confirmed with an arranged telephone call I was to make to my mother Irene Dorosh ─ her husband Alex had been voicing his intention to make a bus trip to the Okanagan. If he was indeed going to pay that visit, then my mother wanted to make the drive to Bellingham with my company.

I must have used a payphone later after I had been let off back at my room by Mark and Jeanette, for I had no phone service of my own. 

However, Alex had decided against his bus trip, so the Bellingham jaunt was off.

Greta was a Dutch friend of my mother's who was then living in Barriere

I was roughly halfway to Queen's Park before I gave up on the idea ─ it had an outdoor fitness circuit that I sometimes used for exercises like chin-ups and parallel-bar dips.

I sure wish that I had such a fitness circuit today that I could walk to around here, but Surrey has none anywhere that I know of. I used to know of four fitness circuits that I actively used in Surrey over the decades, but the equipment was all ripped out of them nigh on a decade ago ─ for whatever bizarre reason.  
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