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Sunday, July 9, 2017

💀 ☠ Triclosan ─ Neither Safe Nor Effective: Why Is It Still Commercially Allowed?

Thanks to misconduct last night, I never got to bed until 1:44 a.m. All I will say about it is that drinking had nothing to do with it ─ I only had one can of strong (8% alcohol) beer all evening.

I don't think that I spent five hours in bed before getting up this morning. I correctly assessed that there was no fashion in which I was going to have myself a favourable day ─ any plans were undone.

I hate feeling like this, yet I persist in bringing it all upon myself so eagerly.

Initially I had been alone in the house late last night during the wayward stretch, but my youngest stepson Poté arrived home ─ possibly ahead of midnight. Yet he did not seem to precede me by too very much in getting himself to bed.

Living under my circumstances is corrupting, and I cannot understand why God lends no helping hand to positively change these balefully unnatural conditions. Neither is there uplifting and encouragement ─ only the adverse attends me day by day.

I suppose that Poté had to work today, but he must not have hard to report in until around midday.

I at least accomplished what I expected to get done on a post I am constructing at my hosted website Thai-Iceland. I had that assigned quota completed before my younger brother Mark arrived home ─ he had spent last night at the home of his girlfriend Bev.

Fortunately, fairly early into my website work, I remembered that today is Mark's 65th birthday, so I fetched the 1.14-litre bottle of Scotch and the birthday card I had hidden away for him, making some brief comment in the latter and printing the names of my wife Jack and I. The bottle and card were on the dining table awaiting Mark's homecoming.

I wasn't to witness his discovery, however. It was time for a needed nap if I was to have any hope of restoring aught good within myself.

I resorted to my bed at 10:14 a.m., noticing through my bedroom window as I did that Mark's van had just come into view outside.

I did manage to nap a little; and after becoming aware again, it was a few minutes before I managed to get myself to rise for the remainder of the day at 11:15 a.m.  

I now wish that I had been able to take a photo of him posed with the Scotch and birthday card ─ I took these two photos on July 4, the day I bought the gifts:

The very tiny print inside the card wickedly answers the question that is presented on the front of the card.

I think Mark did try for a nap late in the morning, but he must have been too anxious to join his drinking companions (to celebrate his birthday) to have been able to relax sufficiently.

He left for the afternoon just before 12:45 p.m.

Earlier in the week, he had asked me to find out some information about airfare and bus fare costs for a trip during the first weekend in August to Kelowna ─ a round trip, of course. That will be a long weekend, and apparently marks the birthday of his girlfriend Bev's father, who evidently lives there.

So just before Mark took off for the afternoon, I summoned him here to my computer to get an idea on what he would be confronted with.

My nap did not help me too much. With my eldest stepson Tho home, I did not feel like stripping down to brief shorts to sunbathe on the backyard sundeck this hot day. But I did don cut-offs, and spent just over 40 minutes in the backyard, mainly sitting and facing into the Sun while barefooted and shirtless.

That session commenced at 12:50 p.m.

I am at a physical and emotional / spiritual low today. It's not helping that the pinched nerve I wrote of yesterday that is mainly affecting the rear left quadrant of my neck region, is doing a good job of making me feel semi-paralyzed and thus invalid.

At the age of 67, I do not need something like this reducing my personal sense of able-bodiedness even more than already is the case.

But I wish to speak of something else now.

You have probably heard of the antibacterial ingredient triclosan that is commonly included in various cleansing and other products.

It is harmful to us and the environment, and serves no true purpose ─ yet corporations keep using it.

The U.S. government last year claimed that they were placing a ban upon its use, but the weaklings did virtually nothing about enforcing it.

Few can rant as effectively in such a short amount of space as can the authour at this website, so I will refer you to his commentary:


He referenced the Environmental Working Group, so I dug up the material that he never linked to or even cited:


Of course, most of us as consumers are apathetic and blissfully ignorant, so there is no stimulus compelling governments or corporations to do much about the problem.

Besides, there is no shortage of things to worry about in this world of ours. As a result of that, it undoubtedly seems futile to get excited about just one of them.  

And so the status quo remains generally unchanged ─ just the way most people like it.

I am of an unusually negative frame of mind today, so I think I will just wrap things up where this post is concerned with this journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and probably no more than two houses up from Third Avenue.

I believe that I was a little over one month into a three-month contract of full-time employment as a truck swamper with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

S.A.N.E. only had a blue pick-up truck to work with, and it was generally driven by a great lady in her early 40s, Esther St. Jean.

I had previous association with S.A.N.E., but only under part-time employment of a day per week that I had enjoyed for much of the past back to sometime in (I believe) 1974. 

The old building that used to house S.A.N.E. in those early years is now gone, but it had been located where today the New Westminster SkyTrain Station spreads forth onto Carnarvon Street. 
FRIDAY, July 9, 1976

Up at 6:30 a.m., and tired; it's pouring outside.

Mark is 24.

Judging from yesterday's Church letter, the End Time is about ready to happen. And I've yet to win a saving lottery. Am I to be damned?

My current free cash stands at $3 as a result of lifting a deuce I had hidden away; but to finish the necessary shopping today, I'm also going to have to take some of my store of change. But I'm going to try and resist this.

I had a dry day, and indeed, some sun came out later with great heat.

In Vancouver Esther bought Took & I a small soft ice-cream; earlier an old woman gave us each an apple, and $1 Took neglected to share.

I bought 1 lb ($1.08) of mushrooms at Safeway, and after getting a ride home I walked up to National Meats and spent $2.07, my last cent.

Note: mom phoned me at S.A.N.E.; she & Alex last night were at Mark's.

My supper was a 4-apple pie with a quart of yogurt ─ quite filling.

I'm leaving for Mark's with his sunglasses about 7:30 p.m.

I hadn't gotten far when a honk caused me to recognize Bill waving at me as he too proceeded along the first rise of the bridge; he was home when I earlier passed by his place.

After I passed the summit, my wonderings seemed possibly confirmed as I saw 2 seeming red vehicles parked at the bridge's end. One was Bill.

So I got a ride to Mark's, finding no one there. A note on the door from Mark to me said to come to the Surrey Inn.

I reluctantly agreed to go there with Bill, but only to learn how long they planned to stay; then I'd come back for the TV viewing interesting me. But first, I wanted some cherries from the tree.   

Fortunately, while there Cathy arrived from writing an English exam for her substitute diploma; it seems Mark was with Garry & girlfriend.

I declined to join them after gaining this information, so Cathy unlocked the door so I could TV watch. And so I did.

Toward 12:30 a.m. she called, sounding sober, from Nell's, wondering if I cared to be brought over. 

Again I declined. That was alright with her.

I watched a Russian labour camp movie, committing myself to riding home with Bill (besides, I had my typewriter and Steranko's history of super heroes). 

It ended, and still I waited.

I was half asleep when the sounds of entry brought me around: Mark was looking drunk, Cathy quite good-natured, and Michelle surprisingly awake. Because the porch light was the only one on (it was well past 3:30 a.m.) however, it was assumed I'd left and Bill had gone straight home.

So did I, afoot.

And once here, I wolfed 13 slices of bread with peanut butter.

Bed at 5:20 a.m. 
My belief in the imminence of the End Time had influenced my entire life, for I fell under the spell of Herbert W. Armstrong's and Garner Ted Armstrong's radio programme The World Tomorrow at least as far back as 1962 when I was no more than 12 years old.

I was to amass and read every bit of their free literature that I possibly could, becoming convinced that society ─ the world ─ as we knew it would be coming to a close around the year 1975.

This belief led me to the conviction that it was futile concerning myself with building a life in society ─  higher education, a career, etc. ─ because there was no point in it. We were all living on borrowed time.

This mindset had much to do with my social isolation. 
"Took" was an Indigenous Canadian I swamped with that day. He was at least into his 30s, and a very nice guy. However, he owed me $20, which I could have well used. Thus, I am unsurprised that I noticed and remarked how he had kept the $1 the old lady had given us.

After getting the ride home from Esther at the end of our workday, I walked up to National Meats ─ a shop I now have no memory of, unless it was situated somewhere other than its current location of 690 Belmont Street in New Westminster. 

The apple pie I ate with the quart of yogurt was a pie that I had created myself ─ I was becoming quite adept at baking from scratch.

My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite that was likely no more than about four blocks from my room. I don't recall its actual location, but I evidently often walked past the building when hiking out to ─ or returning from ─ Surrey.

Had I known that he was intending to drive out to where Mark and Mark's beautiful girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were renting a home together on Bentley Road in Whalley, I could have ridden with him straightaway.

I think that I probably had Mark's sunglasses for well over a week ─ he had forgotten them during a visit one day.

The Surrey Inn no longer exists, but it was located right over by the King George SkyTrain Station (which itself did not exist in 1976) ─ a reasonably short walk. However, I was essentially broke, and therefore not interested in relying upon the mercies of others where the beer-drinking was concerned.

I had forgotten until reading this journal entry that the property Mark and Jeanette were renting had included not just at least one apple tree, but also at least one cherry tree. 

When Jeanette showed up while I was collecting some of the cherries, I was to learn that Mark was at the Surrey Inn beer parlour or pub with his best friend Garry Porteous, and Garry's girlfriend Cathy or Kathy.

So I remained there at the house that evening, watching T.V. Meantime, everyone had left the hotel and gone to my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson's home ─ weekends were just about always one long party there due to the size of her large household of drinkers.

Mark, Jeanette, and her two little girls (Michelle Lee Gunther was the eldest) did not get back until after 3:30 a.m. Bill hadn't bothered to ensure that I was not still there, so I had the brisk hike back to my room in the final hours of the night.

That was certainly a lot of bread I ate once I was back at my room!

Incidentally, I wonder if I left the Brother Deluxe portable typewriter I was going to bring back to my room with me ─ and Jim Steranko's History of Comics? I may have had both volume one and two.

I didn't have much of a Friday evening, did I? So much for celebrating Mark's 24th birthday.
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