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Thursday, June 1, 2017

Sunscreen Advice │ Three Main Goals of Type 2 Diabetes Medications │ Avoid These Barbecue Hazards

After my younger brother Mark arrived home last evening, he managed to remain conscious until it was time for him to betake himself upstairs to his bedroom for the night. And that was my cue to shut things down and hie my own self to bed ─ it was 10:46 p.m. by the time I was there, I believe.

One of the first shows I tuned in last evening via our Android TV Box was episode five of the current season of Australia's The Voice.

One of the judges is Boy George, and I must say that he exceptionally impressed me twice during that episode in his treatment of two different singers who failed to get even one judge to turn his or her chair around.

The first failure was a 17-year-old would-be 'Country & Western' singer named Heath Milner. He sang a Garth Brooks song 'Much Too Young to Feel this Damn Old.'

None of the judges have that sort of musical background, and the teen was singing North American 'Country' ─ not Aussie-style.

Neither of the lad's parents have an interest in that sort of music, and neither are they associated with any sort of farming, so Heath had taken on this interest entirely uninfluenced by his folks. He even dresses in cowboy garb, including a black hat.

Anyway, after failing to get a judge to vote for him, Boy George came to his defence (after at least one of the other judges offered some criticism of the singer as being just a bit too ordinary), suggesting that The Voice wasn't where he would get his break ─ he needed to get exposure in Nashville, and he ought to work at persuading his parents to get him a flight to the States:
“If you go to Nashville, you’ll work with people that also love what you do and you’ll be bathed in love,” George said. “I would definitely talk to Dad and Mum and get that ticket.”

However, moments later he decided to sort it out himself.

“Maybe I’ll pay for your ticket to Nashville ... in fact, I will pay for your ticket to Nashville!”

Unsurprisingly, the audience erupted into cheers, with Heath’s parents rushing to the stage to thank the UK star personally.

Amid the ruckus, Kelly Rowland [an American judge] shouted what everyone was thinking: “I love Boy George!”
It wasn't an empty promise, either. One follow-up news account said:
Boy George’s management reached out to the Queenslander...to finalise arrangements to send him to the country capital of the world.
The second contestant on that same episode that Boy George helped uplift (after she failed to get any judge's interest) had displayed excellent harmonica skills while singing a song called 'Mercy' that has been made popular by an artist named Duffy. This time the singer ─ Chelsea J Gibson ─ was 39 years old, and had forsaken a singing career to have a family.

One judge almost voted for her, but couldn't quite pull the trigger and do it.

When she was being talked to after her performance, and it was noticed that she had a holster of at least four different harmonicas around her waist, Boy George complimented her on her skill during her audition. She then gave him a small sampling of a bit of his own famous hit, 'Karma Chameleon.'

Boy George then started singing his song to encourage her to keep playing, and he even got the whole audience to join in.

At the finish of that impromptu performance, he announced to Chelsea that he had a tour of Australia coming up, and he would love to have someone join his crew who was as skilled at harmonica-playing as she is, for female harmonica-players are not at all commonplace.

Would she like the job?

Well, what else!

I think anyone who watched that night's episode had to fall in love with Boy George. Whatever his past faults, he has a good heart.

I slept unusually well overnight. It may have been something like 6:21 a.m. when I checked the time this morning and decided to start my day.

My eldest stepson Tho had gone to work ─ as had Mark before him; but Poté was still in bed. However, he was to rise a short while later, and then be gone for work as well ─ he probably left before 7:30 a.m.

I got to work on the post I will be publishing tomorrow at my Latin Impressions website, putting just half of the day's work into it that I had planned. I took the break to ready myself for the four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley because I needed beer replenishment.

The day was overcast, and there had been some rain overnight.

I left here at 9:47 a.m.

There was nothing remarkable about the outing. Halfway along, I cut through Surrey Place (Central City) so that I could cash in a lottery scratch ticket worth $2 ─ the ticket was part of a bunch that I was given for Christmas. I still have a few more left to scratch, so who knows?

There was a rain shower that commenced before I reached the liquor store, and it was still carrying on for some time as I headed on back for home.

And I was here at the locked front door at 11:22 a.m. It took a few minutes longer than it otherwise would have because during the return I had to make a detour as a result of construction.

I finished the work that I wanted to put into at that Latin Impressions post, and then had my first (small) meal of the day.

And then it was necessary to lie down for about an hour before I had it in me to commence work upon this blog post.

And that essentially brings me to the present at 5:50 p.m. ─ I am actually behind on this post due to the outing and that lie-down.


Because I am 67 years old and have 'baked' my skin since I was in my late teens in order to gain colour and thereby camouflage sundry complexion troubles, it is late now for me to be concerning myself with sunscreens.

I don't use them anymore, anyway. I just cover up if I figure that I have had enough exposure and I am still outdoors and exposed to the Sun.

This seems to me to be a fairly decent article on the topic of sunscreens, however:


I will leave it to you to delve into it or not.


I do not have type 2 diabetes, nor does anyone in my immediate family. As a result, I do not research much about the condition.

But if you are not so fortunate, perhaps the following article will interest you:


I am not intentionally promoting anything Dr. Marc S. Micozzi is selling ─ I have no idea if his 'protocols' are worth their cost.

However, I do know that people have claimed to have reversed their type 2 diabetes by forsaking the sort of lifestyle that brought the disease on. If I was not so short on time today. I wouldn't mind elaborating a little about this.


It has only been within the past decade that I think I have been made aware of the dangers inherent in using wire brushes on barbecues.

Amateur barbecuers ─ especially those with children ─ really should pay heed to reports such as the following two:



I have no doubt that impaling one's tongue with a bit of wire from one of those brushes would be most unpleasant, but swallowing the darned wire is beyond awful. 

Why not just ensure that each bite is thoroughly chewed or masticated before swallowing? Doesn't that merit being mentioned as an example of practiced caution?


Closing out today's post is a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was renting it in a house located on Ninth Street, and perhaps two houses up from Third Avenue.

I was employed full-time on a three- or four-month contract with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I had been working there on this contract for a few weeks at this point, but I practically had nothing to do ─ it was dreary as blazes. Supposedly, the few of us who had been hired at the same time were going to be trained in furniture reupholstery, but the project had yet to get started.

I had previous work experience at S.A.N.E. on a part-time basis of just a day a week, but I had been kept busy then as a swamper on their blue pick-up truck. 

My latest involvement with the organization was almost cruel.

In those years, S.A.N.E. (we often referred to it as "the store") was housed in an old building that no longer exists, but it used to be located right about where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station today opens up onto Carnarvon Street.
TUESDAY, June 1, 1976

Up at 5:10 a.m., and dead tired.

Jean is 20 today.

Toward 6:30 a.m. I heard faint knocking redolent of David; then came a soft "gravelly" voice sounding of my name. I arose to answer, but found no one.

Then the voice came again after I shut the door.

It was the old man, beaten up, unshaven, and naturally hungover. But he wasn't too much bother. Shortly beyond 7:30 a.m. he acceded to bed down as did I for a nap; I slept little, but remained abed till near 9:30 a.m.  

Leaving dad $1, a note to help himself to some further change, and him asleep, I headed for S.A.N.E., seeing and being seen by Art afoot on his way to Zellers; he walked me to the store and said he'd drop in later.

About 12:30 p.m. David showed up.

I got a phone call ─ from Sandy who said Haulaway was looking for help. She put Randy on and I learned 'twould be for a week, near double shift at about $5.50 a regular hour; it's a special junk week next coming for Delta. I said to put my name in for possible consideration.

I left David at the store at 1:30 p.m., and went to Woodward's for some T-shirts (2) & a pair of wool socks, plus groceries. I came home and found dad gone; a note said he'd not impose, and took $1.55 or so in change.

I forgot to mention Dwayne & I had 2 joints this morning.

Back at work David eventually showed up anew. Then Art phoned and invited me over; a short while, I said.

He called later requesting I get him a mickey of vodka.

I couldn't shake David.

After the booze I bought some groceries. We 2 then went to Art's. And stayed till about 7:30 p.m. David drank about a third of a 26er of scotch he bought.

He came home with me. I got him to finally leave by agreeing to walk him home. Doing so, Allan & Marie honked on 4th Ave. at 6th St. I spoke briefly with him, then went and saw David's place, promptly leaving.

I weakened and decided to see Bill, forsaking my last chance for evening exercise. I left at 10:00 p.m.

Cause I had a shot of vodka from Art, I skipped my night cup of milk.

Bed at 10:50 p.m. (Rent paid after leaving Bill.)
I think the birthday girl must have been my U.S. pen-pal Jean M. Martin (née Black).

My father Hector would go on drinking binges that could last for several days. I would normally have nothing to do with him in that state, but he must have been in a most depressed state physically and mentally.

I met Art Smith on my way to S.A.N.E. He and I had previously been co-workers there. Art was in his early 40s, married, and with three kids. They didn't live all that very far from S.A.N.E., and were renting the bottom portion of a large house.

Philip David Prince was an old friend of mine whom I had known since the 1962/1963 school year when we were both in Grade VIII at Newton Junior High School out in Surrey. He was at this time living in a room at 330 Fourth Street, but I had yet to visit him there.

At some point that morning at S.A.N.E. I had the two joints with Dwayne Johnston or Johnson. a nice young fellow who was swamping on the S.A.N.E. truck.

It was my maternal cousin Randy Halverson and his wife Sandy whom I spoke with on the phone at S.A.N.E. about a possible week-long gig serving as a garbage collector for Haulaway ─ that company no longer exists, from what I understand. I think Randy was a truck mechanic for them.  

At my lunch break, I hiked up to shop at Woodward's which was then located on Sixth Avenue, three blocks beyond my room.

David must have been feeling lonely ─ I tended to avoid him, but I was his closest friend.

After David and I visited Art and then David came home with me, he would have remained until I finally had to go to bed ─ that was why I had to use the ruse of walking him home to get him to leave earlier. It was only a walk of about three blocks to his room.

Al and Marie Varga were friends of my maternal relatives the Halversons, but the couple lived in New Westminster ─ the Halversons were all living well out in Surrey.

After seeing David's room and then leaving him, I dropped in on William Alan Gill, another old friend of mine living in a rented New Westminster bachelor suite perhaps four or so blocks from my room.

That statement I made about not having my nightly cup of milk because of having some vodka with Art does now perplex me, for it makes no sense. 

Did I drink milk nightly to assist me in sleeping, but felt that the vodka was going to serve that purpose? I sure have no idea anymore.

Gosh, I had a large social world back then!
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