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Saturday, June 3, 2017

Fresh Fruit Reduces Diabetic Risk or Complications │ Can Taurine Eradicate Beta Amyloid Plaques? │ Tamoxifen: NOT a Safe Option for Treating Metabolic Disorders

My younger brother Mark was in bad form last evening. He didn't arrive home until after 9:00 p.m. And then after making himself a fast supper which he ate at the dining table, he sat in his chair in the living room to watch what I had tuned in via our Android TV Box, and was unconscious in under two minutes.

I was even subjected to one of his extended bellowing sneezing fits that always last a few minutes, yet he never opened his eyes.

A couple of times during his unconsciousness he uttered some wholly irrelevant statement that had to have been directed to someone in whatever delirium he had sunk into.

I had thought to be getting to bed and leaving him there in the living room, but two factors made that impossible. First was the utterly unexpected arrival home of my wife Jack from Vancouver just ahead of 11:00 p.m.

The second factor was that the 45-minute debut episode of the new (or revived) series Twin Peaks that I had tuned in turned out to be double that in duration.

I had watched some of the original episodes back in its day, but I always found it too kooky to become too involved with it. I couldn't remember much about it ─ just the main FBI character, and the 'little person'who existed in some sort of dream reality who spoke almost like we were hearing recorded human speech being played in reverse.

This double debut episode had gorier violence than I could remember happening in the original series. And it seems like that dream reality may actually involve aliens ─ I cannot remember having that opinion from the original series.

Of course I also remember dead Laura Palmer whom we only ever saw in retrospect, but the actress (Sheryl Lee) playing her in the present in that dream reality looks pretty darned good to me ─ Wikipedia says that she's now 50 years old. I rather envied the lingering kiss she gave Agent Cooper.

I'll stick with the series to see where it takes us. I just hope it doesn't waste too much time presenting that dream reality with all of the red draperies and odd-tiled flooring ─ I fast get tired of seeing characters replaying the same scenes over and over.

I was surprised that Mark stayed up as late as he did once what passed for his senses returned to him. It must have been approaching 12:30 a.m. before he called it a night and went on upstairs to his bedroom.

I am now unsure of my own bedtime. Perhaps it was around 12:42 a.m. ─ that now pops into mind. Jack was busy fussing about on chores and such when I turned off the T.V. and anonymously went on upstairs to our bedroom. I had just settled into bed when she appeared for something, commenting the obvious in a question format, "Go to bed?"

When I assented, she approved, and said that she would soon be doing so, too.

I donned earplugs and my blindfold, and did my best to sink into sleep; but I was still conscious when finally she also came to bed.

I suppose that I actually slept reasonably well ─ better than I generally do when Jack is sharing the bed. It was 7:11 a.m. this morning when I checked the time and decided to rise for the day.

I fixed up a hot mug of strongly blended instant coffee / cocoa powder, and got to work compiling content into the new post that I have commenced at my Siam-Longings website.

Mark was next to rise for the day. And I think that Jack was up before 11:00 a.m., after which I soon halted my work on the Siam-Longings post.

I decided to do something different after that ─ watch a movie. Mark expressed interest in my choice, so I tuned in Logan.

Part of the reason I wanted to watch the movie was because of the low point I found myself in yesterday, as my blog post that day will attest. I wanted to feel myself inspired ─ a resurgence of spirit and strength.

I found that in watching this movie.

I had never heard of how it was to play out, and thus I never in my wildest expectations anticipated that both Professor Xavier and Wolverine would both very clearly die. There is no question of it, for Wolverine buried Xavier; and Wolverine's daughter and her young mutant friends buried him after he essentially died in his daughter's arms.

The only way they could live again would be if evil corporation Transigen clones them with the two mutants' DNA that the organization may possibly have in storage. But of course, the cloned Xavier and Wolverine would not have the memories of their deceased progenitors ─ that would be the ultimate in far-fetchedness.

Thus, the true personages / personalities of Professor Xavier and Wolverine are truly deceased.

It was a stirring movie ─ I needed this after where I was yesterday.

Mark sought a nap after the long movie, but I think he finally decided that too much of the day had elapsed due to the movie. He was soon enough back downstairs, and then had gone ─ probably for the day, since he usually spends Saturday nights at the home of his girlfriend Bev.

Jack also left fairly early in the afternoon, undoubtedly to return to Vancouver ─ I think she may have left before 2:00 p.m. She took with her the last of some fermented bok choy that she had prepared a couple of weeks ago.

Yesterday I had finished consuming the last of my own fermented effort that had comprised a red cabbage and two red onions; so as soon as Jack left this afternoon, I got busy and sliced up into a large lidded rectangular plastic tub about seven or eight stalks of celery, a leek, and another purple cabbage. I covered the sliced-up vegetables with water, mixed them together well, and then applied some Mediterranean sea salt over-top the blend.

The batch is now sitting covered up. I will mix it up again tomorrow; and then each day after that. By about Wednesday, it should already be fermented enough to start helping myself to enjoy ─ a superbly natural probiotic and probably even a prebiotic.

I actually feel rather good about things today. As I said, I really needed the change. I cannot survive many moods such as the one that beset me last afternoon.

Today began as overcast, but I see that it is becoming sunnier with the passage of the precise mid-afternoon. If I did not have to concern myself with this blog post, I could be seated out in the backyard enjoying the day.


Have you ever heard that fruit-eating is not necessarily a good thing to do much of because of the fructose that fruit contains? The argument there is that it wreaks havoc with one's blood sugar ─ the last thing diabetics or 'prediabetics' want to be doing.

This is why fruit juices are condemned.

Well, fruit juices merit condemnation...but the whole fresh fruit is an entirely different matter.

The following article helps explain this:


Among the references for that article was this ScienceDaily.com report: Fresh fruit consumption linked to lower risk of diabetes and diabetic complications.

But getting back to the first article, the "Ayurvedic Fruit-Eating Rules" are just about irrelevant to me. I do not snack, so having snacks of fruit is not a practice I exercise. I would only ever eat fruit as part of a meal ─ albeit maybe a fairly light one.

Sure, if I lived in an environment where I was constantly active and 'on the go' throughout the day outdoors, fruit snacking might be a constant. But that is not a life that I live, unfortunately. 

As I often enough lay out, I am in essence under house arrest here in my debtor's prison, and seldom even venture forth on a hike to do any shopping. I am not a public person, so being hemmed in by untold miles of roads and traffic, homes and other buildings, and of course people, I generally dislike leaving my property.  

I do not drive, so the isolation is just about complete. My entire social world involves just my younger brother Mark, my two stepsons, and my sometimes-home wife Jack.

There is no one else in my life ─ only by E-mail. It is one reason why my depressions can be so threatening for me.

But at least today is good....


Normally I am reluctant to post any Jack Harrison articles for which I can find no referential substantiation; but if this one is telling the truth, then the potential good news is too good not to have it broadcast:


I probably spent in excess of half an hour trying to find even one other mention of this supposedly very recent study of taurine, but I could locate no trace of anything at all recent.


I have one other Jack Harrison report to offer, but first I will present a report hyping a study claiming that a nasty breast cancer drug called tamoxifen "reduces food intake and prevents fat accumulation, insulin resistance, and fatty liver deposits" in female mice, and thus may also do so in post-menopausal women:


And now here is why women should NOT resort to this toxic concoction:


The website BCcancer.bc.ca has a 13-page .pdf document on Tamoxifen that is fairly technical, sure; but it would merit anyone considering the drug to check out the side-effects beginning on page two, and just below a section on "special precautions" that leads off with this:
Carcinogenicity: Tamoxifen is carcinogenic.
How's that for a drug that's supposed to be used to prevent and treat breast cancer?!

Jack Harrison's advice at the end of his article is really the only better option for women battling metabolic problems.


Here is where I close out my post with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. "Home" was a tiny rental located in a house on Ninth Street, and maybe two houses up from Third Avenue.

I was into at least my third week of full-time employment at a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that at that time was housed in an old building that has since been demolished ─ the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto Carnarvon Street roughly where that building had been.

My employment was on a three- or four-month contract, and the plan was that I (and at least one other chap) had been hired to be trained as furniture reupholsterers for the rougher donated furniture. However, a few weeks in, and we had yet to be so trained, and thus had virtually nothing to do.

Time dragged.

I had previous employment with S.A.N.E., but only for one day a week ─ for a year or more I had been a part-time swamper on their blue pick-up truck. I longed to be doing that again, but S.A.N.E. already had hired swampers for that role.

Anyway, today S.A.N.E. is known as Fraserside Community Services Society.
THURSDAY, June 3, 1976

Up at 5:00 a.m.

I feel pretty bad about dad; quite guilty and cruel. 

For several days now I've had reason to believe my upper right third-from-last molar may be suffering from a decay.

About 7:40 a.m. I lied down to catch up on my rest.

This statement and onward is being penned tomorrow. I was engaged sanding early at S.A.N.E. alone in the workshop when Art came in. Ever the fool, I allowed him to drag me off for a drink. Hah!

Let's just say that, after the Windsor, Begbie Room, Legion, Mr. Sport (Jock's Cabaret), and Art's place, not only did I not return to work, but I spent all but $3.

No glutton weekend for me!

I left late and went to Venus, buying a large beef, mushroom, & onion. I don't know when I retired.
The opening comments concerning my father Hector related to his two appearances ─ early in the a.m. Tuesday, and then just before midnight that same day.

He was beaten up, and almost exhausted from extended drinking and lack of sleep. On both occasions I let him sleep in my room and have some spare change I had on hand. He was on a bender, and would remain so until he finally ran out of money ─ which he seemed to have already done, but was struggling not to have to sober up and go back to his apartment in Burnaby and the girlfriend he had fallen out with.

If I showed too much openness to my father when he was like this, he would abuse our relationship and be at my door constantly. But it always made me feel like a bad son.

Art Smith had been a S.A.N.E. co-worker when I swamped on the truck. He was in his early 40s, and old enough to know better than to be taking advantage of me like he did just to have drinking companionship.

I am rather amazed at the number of places we went to. The Windsor Hotel beer parlour was not one that I ordinarily would have visited, for it would have had a much older crowd of patrons. I can't say that I recollect anything about the "Begbie Room." I don't think the Legion is in business at the same New Westminster location anymore, either; nor do I precisely recall just where it was. However, the Mr. Sport was a newer incarnation of the Russell Hotel (740 Carnarvon Street), and not at all far from S.A.N.E.

Apparently we ended up at his home ─ he and his family rented the bottom portion of a large house, and didn't live all that far from S.A.N.E. He was married, and had three kids.

The pizza that I bought after leaving Art's home had to have helped reduce me to the $3 I claimed to only possess after the day's excesses.

It was little wonder that I often tried to avoid Art. I was quite weak willfully back then ─ he just about always was able to overpower me with his own will and make me do his bidding, even if I hated it.

Note: I had this portion of my post interrupted around 6:30 p.m. by some knocking at the house door. My eldest stepson Tho had earlier answered knocking that turned out to be a couple of proselytizing Christians.

I wasn't sure if either of my stepsons were home, so I crept down the stairs to have a peek, but Tho appeared from the boys' den area and said that it was a cop. Tho answered while I hung back in plain view and observed, but once I got the gist of what the conversation was about, I came forth and participated.

Apparently a woman (I believe the young Mountie said that she was 40 or 50) had been groped in the very short alleyway right beside our home. The alleyway is blocked off to traffic, but pedestrians use it as a shortcut to connect from our cul-de-sac and the main avenue.

Apparently the incident happened around 5:00 p.m. ─ a  man wearing a turban had groped her breast. The Mountie was canvassing in the hope that someone hereabouts had a surveillance camera. We do not, but I have long wished that we did ─ maybe even a couple of them.

Young children regularly use that alleyway all of the time ─ even after dark, for it gives access to a nearby convenience store.
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