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Sunday, December 3, 2017

"B.C.’s Dirty Salmon Farming Secret" │ Identified Health Hazard of Prolonged T.V. Watching


I managed to watch two Christmas movies last evening ─ a fairly wet evening, by the way, for it was raining.

I held myself to two cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer.

The first movie was A Princess for Christmas, and I admit to having experienced a wee bit of trouble sticking with it at the start.

However, I held on largely because I find actress Katie McGrath ─ who portrayed the lead character in the movie ─ to be so attractive and likable as Lena Luthor on the T.V. series Supergirl.

And soon enough, I was drawn in by the storyline, and had my emotions affected.

The second movie didn't have the same level of emotional impact, but it was nonetheless interesting: Wrapped up in Christmas.

I wish that Wikipedia has a piece on the movie ─ that link to IMDb yields a synopsis that almost sounds like some other movie:
A woman who does not like Christmas, works as a mall manager and cancels the leases of underperforming stores and starts to fall for a widower who's a fill in for the mall Santa. 
I never saw any indication whatsoever that the lead female character did not like Christmas. And as far as the "fill in" for the mall Santa went, he was not a widower ─ I recall no mention of such a status. He was a former lawyer who had stepped away from practice to pursue his love of drawing and painting.

And he was working at the mall to help his Aunt with her failing toy shop business.

He did do some stints as the mall Santa, but only to help out his friend ─ the mall security officer ─ who had the Santa role, but was sometimes too busy to fulfill the obligation.

Maybe whomever writes IMDb's synopses should first have watched the movies?

I could have gotten to bed earlier than I did ─ which was a little after midnight ─ but I got involved responding to one or two E-mails sent to me by my older maternal half-sister Phyllis.

Sleep overnight was broken, but I was always comfortable in bed. And when I checked the time this morning at 7:47 a.m., I was most surprised ─ that was at least an hour longer than I normally manage to spend in bed overnight.

So I rose, and hoped to put some work into the new post I am constructing at one of my six hosted websites.

Unfortunately, I was to get absolutely nothing done on that post. Instead, I became embroiled in trying to solve a major issue that occurred when I updated the Amazon Associates Link Builder plugin at one of those websites ─ a 'parse error' rendered my WordPress dashboard at that website inaccessible.

That website shares one HostGator 'Baby Plan' account with four other websites, so I dared not go ahead and update the plugin on any of those other four websites.

It is version 1.5.2 of the plugin that essentially crashed my website.

As I explained in a post on the second page of a WordPress.org forum thread titled V1.5.0 of Plugin Released, I eventually got around to using cPanel to delete the problem plugin, and then I downloaded a fresh new plugin.

But now my WordPress dashboard is refusing to allow me to activate the plugin because it warns that doing so would trigger a "fatal error."

Meantime, many Amazon links throughout the website have either disappeared, or are only inert text.

And no one from Amazon has responded back after over four hours since I posted my issue.

By the way, when first I logged into the HostGator cPanel, I was confronted with a long warning about continued CPU resource usage excesses by my 'Baby Plan' account.

There is nothing more that I can do to alleviate the problem they accuse me of. If they go the route of once again shutting down my websites as they did just over two weeks ago, then I shall give them up.

I am on a monthly subscription plan, but I think the current contract runs to 2019. They are bonkers if they think that they can take my websites offline and still keep charging me every month for the next two years.

Anyway, all of that bother ate up my free time this morning that otherwise would have been devoted to working upon that post I am building.

I wanted to get out this morning on the four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue and King George Boulevard in Whalley; consequently I had to just drop everything and start getting ready for that venture.

My younger brother Mark was home by then ─ he had spent last night at the residence of his girlfriend Bev. Even so, I managed to slip away unnoticed at 11:18 a.m. to start my hike.

It was predominantly overcast, but at least there was no threat of rain.

While I was cutting through Surrey Place (Central City) ─ the halfway point in my journey ─ I bought two $30 lottery scratch ticket packs as Christmas gifts.

I will try and get two others before Christmas, plus a cheaper pack that will be for Mark ─ he will already be getting a bottle of Scotch from me.

It bloody sucks not being able to liberally give at Christmas, but my pension will be hard-pressed to cope with even just that degree of outlay.

Shortly after I left Surrey Place (Central City) I was panhandled by a woman claiming to be trying to raise a couple of dollars for some purpose, so I produced a toonie and gave it to her.

There was nothing else remarkable about the trip. I bought 1½ dozen cans of beer and was away for roughly 1½ hours.

Just after I got home, I had some conversation with my youngest stepson Poté. Apparently he has booked a week off work, so I suppose I can expect him to be hanging about over the coming workweek.

I want to bring up the following item ─ I will be sending this out tonight to the folks on my E-mail list:
A team of investigative divers collected video footage this past year (2017) in April, June, and October outside of two farmed salmon processing plants.

They found untreated bloody effluent that was infected with Piscine Reovirus “being dumped into the pristine waters of Clayoquot Sound and Discovery Passage, B.C. Canada.”
Bloody waste like that would never be allowed to be steadily discharged over the countryside ─ why does the damned government feel that it's acceptable to do this into the ocean?

There shouldn't even BE salmon farms anywhere in the ocean.

The fish in them are unhealthy and are not eating a natural diet ─ it is no wonder that the denizens of these farms are prey to so many diseases and parasites.

On a different health-related matter, I confess to watching a fair amount of television. I have read enough warnings about the dangers to our health that are inherent in excessive and prolonged sitting, but a new study has identified a specific new health threat that reminds me of the dangers some long-distance airline passengers face ─ deep vein thrombosis.

Here are a couple of articles on the similar danger those of us watching a lot of T.V. ought to keep fresh in mind:

JacksDailyDose.com

Consumer.HealthDay.com

I don't just watch T.V. casually ─ I try to become immersed into the shows I have on. Thus, even if I could afford a treadmill or stationary bicycle, I wouldn't want to use one and have my focus diminished from the show I was involved in.

Those workarounds are okay for some programming of a less consuming nature, such as a talk show or the news ─ something a person might have on that is only of passing interest.

But trying to concentrate on the utterly insane action and drama of a show like The Walking Dead would just not work for me with my head bouncing all over the place as I ran a treadmill, or rocked about to the rigours of pedaling on a stationary bicycle.

I need my intense focus for the show alone, with nothing else intruding to distract or disturb.

Okay, it is time now for a scanned photo ─ the description beneath it is from the Google Plus album where I have the scan filed:

A photo taken on one of the many trips that my mother Irene Dorosh and her husband Alex made together over the years

My mother is facing the camera and wearing the vertically striped top and tinted glasses.

The photo is date-stamped on the reverse with July 1989, so that would be when the film was developed.

I cannot identify where the scene is.
And here now is where I close out today's blog post with an 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 no more than two houses up from Third Avenue.

My mother and Alex were late into the second week of a holiday to somewhere, and I was pretty much making a daily visit to their home off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. That entailed a walk of 1½ hours at a fast clip.

Their home was my main mailing address; and although the little house is no more, its address used to be 12106 - 90th Avenue.

Normally I would walk back to New Westminster following a visit to the house, but for some reason this time I was taking advantage of my younger brother Mark's need to drive through New Westminster to get to work.

The previous week, he had a day shift, so I would hike over to the duplex unit he was renting and spend the night, getting my ride into New Westminster in the morning.

This week, however, he had an afternoon / evening shift, so I had to make sure I got to his suite before he left for work in the afternoon.

He was renting the duplex unit just a short way down Semiahmoo Road from where it abuts Old Yale Road ─ his suite was less than three miles from my mother's home.

At this time, I was struggling to get over the loss of my 20-year-old girlfriend, Melody St. Jean. She had hooked up with Chris, a young co-worker of my brother Mark's.

But Melody and her furniture were in the bachelor suite of my old friend William Alan Gill, who was renting his apartment maybe four or so blocks from my room.

He and Melody had initially intended to find accommodation for the three of us to live together, but that came to a halt once she shucked me for Chris.

Chris had a flashy pickup truck and a well-paying job. I was unemployed, and my room didn't even have a telephone. I didn't drive, either, although I had gotten my learner's permit.

Incidentally, Bill had gotten an eviction notice ─ partly because of a huge row that erupted when Gary, an old boyfriend of Melody's, showed up and broke into Bill's apartment; and partly because Bill had blown through so much money playing the Big Shot with Melody that he couldn't pay his rent.

Even so, they supposedly had located a duplex unit very near to where Mark was living, and Melody was going to cover the cost above what Bill's usual rent had been at his bachelor suite.

It was now a Friday. In the previous day's journal entry, my last writings indicated that I was headed away before 7:25 p.m. on the hike to my mother's home. First, though, I was going to pay a visit to Bill ─ he owed me $18.

I was also supposed to impose upon him to take me out to Burnaby to check out a snow tire Mark was interested in acquiring for his truck. I was to offer Bill $2 for fuel, which was not a bad deal back then.

We begin with my very lengthy account of Thursday evening that I penned on Friday.
FRIDAY, December 3, 1976

When I made Bill's, it was to discover Melody was at her parents'. Bill said she was to phone him at 7:00 p.m.

After 7:30 p.m. I got him to call her to explain our errand for Mark; but he discussed everything else, finally hanging up with the mission unmentioned because "she manipulated the conversation."

She seemed pleased to learn I was there; we learned Gordie was at her place.

Anyway, she was to phone Bill at 8:00 p.m.

I waited till 8:05 p.m. before leaving, extremely disgusted with spineless Bill.

So Mark never got his tire; it's up to him to try for it Saturday, if it's not sold.

Another reason I left was cause I feared Melody would want to go drinking and take broken Gordie along.

My walk to mom's was enraged.

I arrived about 9:20 p.m. or less, and after eating, etc. I tried to phone Bill's place till about 10:30 p.m., but got no answer.

I retired, and had him come over about 1:20 a.m.

As I'd feared, Melody & Gordie joined Bill to drink at the King Edward; she wanted Bill to pick me up too when she learned I had gone, but I don't know what he told her.

They phoned Chris at work to meet them at the Dell, and apparently he was angry about their calling and his having to run around so much.

And that's where Bill left them.

Two nights in a row now Bill has told me Melody said to him she loves Chris. She even excuses Chris' fear of Gary, who today is supposed to have left these parts for Salmon Arm.

Bill & Melody have twice now not shown up to look at the duplex. Supposedly today right after work.

[All of the foregoing related to Thursday, December 2, 1976. The account will now detail the developments of Friday, December 3, 1976.] 
I was to come over tonight with a jug of wine, but Bill phoned from work this morning to say Melody was going to sup with her folks, and later they might call up the Vargas.

Mark wasn't pleased when he phoned me about his tire.

He met me just after I left 90th Ave and started up 128th St. The day was overcast.

We came into town and checked out some clothes, and later checked out Fedco too, but I got nothing yet for Bruce's wedding.

As usual, I came into town with Mark on his way to work.

I've got mice really bad here, shitting all over the place.

What will likely be the world's largest lottery shall take place Sunday, Loto-Canada; I have 2 tickets.

Well, I've decided to go to Bill's tonight; maybe he would like vino after all, for the road blocks will be thick from now on, and it would be stupid to drink and drive.

Besides, to go to the Vargas might result in more expensive fare.

I'll head for his place about 7:15 p.m.

*****

And I did, but he was out (the light was on); his car wasn't around the Vargas either, so I'm assuming he & Melody actually went to view the duplex.

I'll leave here at 8:00 p.m. and try again.

*****

Actually, it was about 10 minutes after, but there was still no one there.

I'm leaving again at 9:00 p.m. to try.

*****

They were home, and going to go out to meet the Vargas at the Scottsdale Inn.

We left about 10:00 p.m., finding ourselves alone there.

I bought the first 6 ($2.40) and drank 4, then got another half dozen, resigning myself to an expensive evening.

Then Melody noticed Gary Iverson wandering by, catching his attention.

Soon the Vargas came, with Garth.

We drank till quite late (the DJ quit spinning), and decided to rendezvous at the Newton Inn. However, I went with the Vargas & Garth; they couldn't see Gary's truck, so we took off for the Surrey Inn. It was there.

We were just about to enter the place when a bearded creep in a red & white striped t-shirt and wearing a biker's cap stomped twice on the head of an unmoving young foe he'd clobbered, then kicked him a couple times in the back.

The vanquished was insensible and bleeding.

Lots of people angrily milled around, for the brute was apparently a biker and the bouncer.

The police came, and an ambulance.

The Inn shut right down.

But during the confusion, Gary appeared, blood draining from nose and mouth. He'd gotten beaten for trying to intervene, it seems.

He took off, and we made our way back to Al's car in time to see red-headed Al and another guy pushing it.

They had come from a house located right there, so we visited the gang there, Al being the only guy I knew.

Arm wrestling was brought up by me (he once beat Mark with both arms), so we competed; I put down his right, but fell to his left.

I beat a couple of other toughs too.

Thereafter, we left and visited Mark with a case of beer we had kept out of sight.

After a short time there, we left him and returned to the Vargas, snacking on a macaroni-hamburger mixture.

Then Garth left, and I soon followed.

Somewhere, I lost my toque. I'm hoping it's at Mark's.

Mark said Bill & Melody took Gary, who showed up at the Newton Inn, to the hospital.

It is evident Melody is through with me and alive only for Chris, making cracks like how awful it is when you're not with someone you care for (we were alone at a table in the Scottsdale at the time); she is definitely a different girl from the one I knew in August way back to Sept. 28, 1973, if I recollect my notes correctly.

Anyway, it was at least 5:30 a.m. when I retired, arising at noon.
And that got me into midday Saturday, December 4 (1976).

Al and Marie Varga were renting an apartment in New Westminster, but I have no memory of someone named Garth.

First, though, let's return to Bill's Friday evening phone call to Melody where he was supposed to tell her that he was taking me to Burnaby to check out and maybe buy a snow tire for Mark ─ Mark hoped I could get the seller down to $30 from the $35 asking price.

Bill really was a weakling when it came to gainsaying anyone. He truly was too afraid to pipe up and tell Melody that he had that small chore to perform ─ he was afraid of inconveniencing her.

Yes, as much as I loved the 30-year-old whom I had known for maybe 14 years by that point, he sometimes disgusted me when he would pull something like this.

How hard could it possibly have been to just interrupt Melody to say that he had to run an errand, and would call her once he was back?

He really was spineless in that regard.

Incidentally, "broken Gordie" was a young man who hung around Melody's family's home ─ he always seemed to me to be mentally challenged.

I mentioned a number of hotel and inn beer parlours or pubs, and not one of them are in business today: the King Edward Hotel in New Westminster; the Dell Hotel in Surrey's Whalley; the Scottsdale Inn a short distance into Delta from the intersection of 72nd Avenue and Scott Road; the Newton Inn in Surrey's Newton; and the Surrey Inn back in Whalley again.

All are gone.

I remember that brutal incident at the Surrey Inn. A professed nurse spearheaded the crowd that was gathering around the young fellow being mercilessly abused by the bouncer.

And Gary Iverson (or however his name was spelled) was a tall, square-jawed, strapping young man who worked in the logging industry.

He had jaw damage from that assault when he had tried to intervene within the Surrey Inn.

It was long recognized back then that bikers were hired to perform bouncing duties; and there might even have been their involvement in the ownership of the Inn itself.

"Red-headed Al" was Al Stewart ─ another towering (and large) young man with flowing red hair and a red beard. I cannot now remember where the house possibly could have been that he and his fellows were in that was near the Surrey Inn.

Anyway, that was a far longer journal entry than I expected to be typing out, so I am not going to spend more time on this post except to say that I got in some pull-ups out in the backyard tool shed towards 3:30 p.m. this afternoon.

Usually a round-trip hike to that liquor store is my physical output for the day.

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