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Thursday, December 7, 2017

☠💀☠ Alcohol Health Benefits May Apply Even Above Recommended Daily Limits │ The True Reason Flu Vaccine Refusers Are Being Fired

My wife Jack had gone out without any offered explanation fairly early yesterday afternoon, but I was eventually to correctly suppose that she had gone to Langley to visit her friend Fanta, who owns a Thai restaurant there.

Well, apparently Fanta was loath to relinquish Jack.

I kept wondering when Jack was going to return, for there were a couple of things that I knew that she wanted to do here at home before she returned to Vancouver where she normally spends most of her week.

It must have been around 10:00 p.m. before she finally showed up in a great rush, and swiftly got busy cooking up a stir-fry dish that she had partly laid out the ingredients for earlier in the day.

She was not home a half-hour before she was done, and then left on the drive to Vancouver.

If my younger brother Mark thought anything of the brief appearance, he never said aught. Perhaps his brain was too dormant, for he had been passed out in his chair in the living room and missed most of both episodes of Mr. Mercedes and The Inhumans that I had tuned in for us to watch.

There was a silent break between those two episodes of a half-hour or more to add to Mark's space of oblivion, so he was actually out quite some while ─ perhaps two hours or more.

I realize that he gets little sleep during the workweek due to having to rise no later than 4:20 a.m., but these episodes cannot be ascribed to that alone. There is no question at all that his years of heavy beer-drinking are exacting a great toll on his 65-year-old brain.

Neither of Jack's two sons were here during her short late-evening appearance.

After Mark went on up to his bedroom awhile later for the night, I could have been to bed very soon after 11:00 p.m. However, I had been dropping my guard over the day, and that full surrender of defence was to find me sitting up past midnight until the moral erosion was complete.

Poté arrived home during this time, but I was resolute in my descent. I don't think his older brother Tho came home at all last night, and must have gone to work this morning from somewhere else ─ probably his girlfriend's residence.

I seemed to enjoy a longer than usual initial block of sleep, and never made a check of the time overnight until just after 5:00 a.m. I think that I rose for the day about an hour later.

I required more sleep than I managed, but I busied myself meeting the morning's assigned quota of content supply at the post I am constructing at Latin Impressions, one of my six hosted websites.

Had I been better slept, I would have tried to put at least another half-morning's worth of work into the post, for it may be at least three days yet before I will be finished and can publish the post.

Poté ─ who has the week booked off work ─ rose around 8:30 a.m. for some reason. And about 1½ hours later, he left home. I thought that he must have driven away, but I was to discover his car still in the open carport; so someone had picked him up.

When I finished the morning's work on that website post, I resisted returning to bed for a nap because I had thought that Poté had merely nipped off to pick up a coffee and maybe a snack ─ I didn't want to lock the front door if this was so.

I felt unusually hungry, so I fixed myself up a feed of some of the fare Jack had cooked when she was here yesterday.

When that was eaten, and I had discovered Poté's car to still be here, I locked the front door and was to bed shortly after 11:00 a.m.

I was only down for about an hour, but I did manage a needed nap during some of that time.

The morning was mostly foggy, but by midday it became obvious that the sky was sunny and clear. We'd had our third very frosty night.

Yesterday before my wife Jack headed away early in the afternoon, she noticed that we had some mail and brought it into the house.

Included was a Christmas card from Sandra Turner, the lady-friend of my old friend William Alan Gill ─ later that afternoon, I took a photo of both the front of the card, and the message page within:

I suspect that she alone was responsible for the card, and at most may have just let Bill know that she was including his name in that greeting.

Poor Bill is resident and essentially bedridden in an extended care facility over in Victoria, whereas Sandy lives in a Vancouver apartment. For her to visit him requires an ordeal involving  practically an entire day, for the ferry ride alone is dreadfully boring and long.

It would be even worse for me ─ just using public transit to get into Vancouver from Surrey where I live is sufficiently dreadful. I cannot imagine making the extended day-consuming round-trip journey over to visit Bill in Victoria.

And so it is that I have not seen him in possibly a couple of decades, and I am not ever likely to see him.

I do not drive, so public transport is all I would have.

I cannot afford overnighting it in Victoria. Heck, even to find the care facility where Bill is would require me to take a taxi, for I have no familiarity with the city.

But I cannot even afford a taxi, let alone a room for the night.

He never should have moved to the Island as he did back in the latter 1990s. However, he was more mobile then, and able to walk. Had he realized that he would come to his present condition of ill health, I doubt that he would have gone there to live.

He grew up in Holberg over on the Island, and has relations in the Victoria area. So it must have seemed appealing at the time to be nearer to his roots. But except for maybe the year 1980, he had lived over here in New Westminster and Surrey since...well, gosh, I don't know. I believe that I met him in 1962, so he was living out here at least as far back as then.

Back in the 1970s, my maternal relatives the Halversons and their broad social world were to become like family to Bill.

If he was in a care facility locally ─ say here in Surrey ─ he would have regular visits from many people.

Over in Victoria, he is probably lucky in any one week to have a family member come by.

Despite his dreadful health, he had his 71st birthday this past April ─ it boggles me that he has made it this far.

I will speak a little more of Bill later in this post.

Have you ever noticed that when we hear or read about studies that have found that people who drink alcohol have better health overall than do teetotalers, the amount of alcohol that is recommended by the researchers to achieve these health benefits is unrealistically low?

Why bother drinking at all if a person is never to exceed one drink in an entire day ─ or two drinks at very most? 

I limit myself most days of the week to just one can of strong (8% alcohol) beer, but that is because of financial limitation ─ my monthly pension cannot sustain the sort of drinking that I would prefer I be doing.

I can barely detect any effect from that single can of beer. Sometimes, I even feel that I experience nothing that is noticeable.

I would love to be able to consume enough each evening to at least have a truly fine and enhanced 'buzz' going on.

Well, I today read an article by Dr. Marc S. Micozzi that seems to me to more broadly open up the scale that is allowed for drinking to still be gaining health benefits:


Even women having three drinks a day and men having four were found "twice as likely to be cognitively healthy compared to non-drinkers," according to a recent study.

Men over 65 were supposed to cut back on a drink, though.

As Dr. Micozzi points out, the researchers tried to claw back those results by making excuses for why the study may have made any such revelation. 

The 'nanny state' doesn't like it when anything flies in the face of its decrees about what is healthy and best for everyone.

It gets much worse when that 'nanny state' is in cahoots with 'Big Pharma' ─ that is, the pharmaceutical industry and the pharmaceutical lobby.      

Key in that latter context are the various mandated vaccination policies.

Note this good article:


'Big Pharma' and the 'nanny state' backing it would eagerly crush any and all who dare resist officialdom's lies about universal vaccinations.

This is the reference that article cited but did not link to:


Big industry and governments are killing us. Look what they are doing to the farms of the world ─ the following article is reporting on an alarm sounded by British politician Michael Gove (Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs):


Where world farming is concerned, three years ago a U.N. representative warned that if the present rate of soil degradation continues, we only have about 60 years of farming remaining.

We need to return to sustainable and regenerative farming practices before there is no turning back, but the involved industrial concerns would rather continue the push for massive profits.

I've got to get off this topic. 

In fact, I think I will close today's post with this old journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 27 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and not more than two houses up from Third Avenue.

My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite maybe four or so blocks from my room.

I mentioned earlier in today's post that I do not drive. However, back then, I had taken some classes at John's Driving School in New Westminster, and I had already taken one of two road practice drives. 

I had successfully acquired my learner's driving permit, allowing me to be taking those practice drives with an instructor.

The first drive a week or two earlier was actually with John himself, to my surprise. And I am sure that he must have noticed, but I was very much intoxicated from considerable drinking late into the previous night ─ I was undergoing a building breakup with 20-year-old girlfriend, Melody St. Jean.

She and her furniture were actually with Bill ─ when she and I were together several weeks earlier, she had moved in so that the two of them could find accommodation where the three of us could live together.

And then she proved unfaithful and hooked up with young Chis, a co-worker of my brother Mark.

Now Bill had to put up with Chris hanging around with unwanted regularity.

Anyway, back to topic, my second practice drive was scheduled for this day.

Also scheduled for much later in the day was a wedding rehearsal I had to attend for my maternal cousin Bruce Halverson and his fiancée Donna Montroy, for I was Bruce's best man. 

This was to be held in Whalley where they were living at the time, in the same house being shared with Bruce's older brother Randy and Randy's wife Sandy.
THURSDAY, December 7, 1976

I slept very well, finally arising to the cold about 9:45 a.m.

My workout this rainy day sure taxed my strength and energy; my drinking, I guess.

Well, all I need do now is await the arrival of my driving instructor for 1:00 p.m.


Again, I did only fair (average); my next 2 hours commence 9:30 a.m. Friday.

John instructed again; I drove mainly between 8th St. & 4th St. and Queen's Ave. & Columbia St.

That damn mouse has been shitting on my stove again.

At 4:15 p.m. I'll leave for Bruce's; it's not raining at this time.


Actually, it was, but lightly.

I got to Bruce's with about 6 minutes to spare.

Supper was a rather uninspiring carbohydrate affair.

I tried to phone Bill unsuccessfully, but got him later.

He claims a Joanne phoned, saying she'd call later; I called foul, but he insists it was the same girl who called months ago.

Melody is back with him, though she wasn't then home. Seems they drove out last night to pick me up ─ about 20 - 30 minutes after I'd left, said Randy.

There was the possibility he might have tried again, but I said I might go home with the Vargas (who were there by then).


I did.

The session with the preacher (Marvin) has been arranged now for Saturday 1:00 p.m. 

I tried to reach Bill from the Vargas, but again failed.

I got him at 10:00 p.m. and explained where I was. Melody was laundering or some darn thing.

Al bought 2 boxes of chips and some dip which we fed on.

I left soon past 11:00 p.m.

Bed at 11:50 p.m.
Well, it would seem that I still had one further road practice test ahead. I now only remember that first one ─ or at least, I have the memory that I was intoxicated and very short on sleep at the time.

I would likely have walked out to Whalley for the wedding rehearsal. But did it not take place this evening either? I am unclear just what I was saying in that journal entry about the coming Saturday.

The rehearsal was actually supposed to have been held the evening prior to this day's journal entry, but Bruce and Donna overstayed in Whalley's Flamingo Hotel's beer parlour or pub, and the event had to be cancelled.

I had bused out to Whalley that evening for nothing.

I am quite sure that I walked back to my room later, but it would seem that Bill and Melody had driven to Bruce & Randy's home to give me a ride.

Concerning that mystery Joanne that had supposedly phoned, Bill was too bloody inhibited to try and ferret any details out of her, so I had no idea who she was. For all I knew, she was calling for someone whose name might have sounded like mine in Bill's ears, but who might have been someone else entirely ─ in other words, a wrong number.    

I had been very annoyed with him that first time, and now he had gone and repeated the boneheaded move.

Heck, even her name might have been wrong ─ he might have misheard and just thought that it was someone named Joanne.

Why couldn't he simply ask for a message, and maybe even a return phone number? 

He could be so exasperating.

The Vargas ─ Al and Marie ─ were a couple who were renting an apartment in Surrey. Bill and I had gotten to know them through my maternal relatives the Halversons. 

But so much for this day of mine in 1976.

We didn't get much clearance from the fog today ─ maybe three or so hours.

Poté did return home for a time, and then went out again after having a shower ─ he drove his car this time.

I ensured that I got my pull-ups out in the backyard tool shed ─ I had shucked them yesterday because I had experienced such a poor night's sleep and was too far below par to feel able to bear the stress. 

I am 68 years old, after all. It takes quite a lot of reserves and effort to haul my fully clothed 190 pounds off the ground at this stage of the game.

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