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Saturday, December 23, 2017

Ketone (High Fat) Diets May Well Be Harmful in the Long Term

My afternoon has slipped away after I became involved with a couple of projects unrelated to this blog or my six hosted websites.

I have little blogging time now ─ it is almost 5:30 p.m.

And my younger brother Mark was unsure whether he and his girlfriend Bev would be home later ─ they are going to cook our Christmas dinner tomorrow rather than on Christmas Day, for she has to work on Boxing Day and wants to be able to get her drinking out of the way well before then.

Thus, it is very possible that they will opt to spend tonight here instead of at her home like they usually do on a Saturday night. 

Mark was a staggering drunk last night ─ I hope to have as little to do with that persona as I possibly can in the future.

Not only did he pass out across the foot of his bed fairly soon after arriving home last evening; after he revived and staggered downstairs to watch the season finale of Iron Fist with me, he passed out again during the follow-up episode of The Mick that I then tuned in.

I didn't realize it until I was about half-way through the episode, so I just shut it down and went to bed, leaving him with a news station on the T.V. for company.

I have no idea when he revived and properly went to bed, but it was around midnight for me.

I want to bring attention to something I just learned about today concerning high-fat diets ─ the so-called ketone diets. 

If the following article is correct, then we have no basis for the claim that such diets are beneficial in the long term, and better for us than any other type of diet.

The article indicates that research has proven that the Inuit who have been cited as exemplary cases of people who thrived on this sort of diet, did not in fact thrive on it at all.

They were riddled with as much or more heart disease as people on regular Western diets.

Decide for yourself:


So perhaps a ketone diet should only be undertaken for the short-term ─ such as to kill off cancer cells and eradicate the malignancy.

It will be interesting to learn more about this.

Anyway, since I have almost run out of time today to work on a post, I am going to close the effort with this old journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 41 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.

I had broken up with my girlfriend Melody St. Jean a few weeks back, but she and her furniture were still in the apartment of my old friend William Alan Gill ─ he had a bachelor suite maybe four or so blocks from my room.

I had no space for even just Melody at my room, so she had moved into Bill's apartment with the notion that they would find accommodation where the three of us could live together.

However, Melody soon proved unfaithful and became involved with Chris, a young co-worker of my brother Mark. 

Poor Bill was being evicted at month's end, so he was in deep worry abut what he was going to do.

Meantime, Chris's parents (with whom he lived) had gone on a three-week holiday to California, so he had Melody come and stay with him at the family home.

The previous day's journal entry's last statement from me indicated that I was leaving my room at 11:40 a.m. to hike the 1½ hours out to my mother Irene Dorosh's home.

Her little house in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey no longer exists, but it was my main mailing address: 12106 - 90th Avenue

My mother had an evening office janitress contract that she shared with her friend Kay Kris (or however her name was spelled). I had written that I would catch a ride with them when they were leaving for work and have them drop me off near to where my younger brother Mark was living, and I would spend the night there.

He left for work very early in the morning, so I would be able to get a ride with him back into New Westminster.

Mark was renting a duplex unit located just a short distance along Semiahmoo Road from where it joins with Old Yale Road in Surrey. 

He was living less than three miles from our mother's home, so I could have easily walked to his suite. I apparently just did not feel the need.
THURSDAY, December 23, 1976

My 5 Western Express [lottery] tickets from Winnipeg were waiting for me at mom's yesterday.

I rode into town this morning with Mark.

While he was out with his dog [Daboda] last night, I endured a call from our drunken father.

Mark wants us to do something tonight, since he gets tomorrow off; he suggested splitting on a bottle and going over to the Vargas'.

I'm already down to $23 free cash.

I split my exercise routine, taking a short nap between.

I also typed up a short letter I'll be mailing to Terri [Martin, an American pen-pal] today.

I've a $40 cheque Mark wants me to cash for him (the banks may be closed tomorrow).

I'm leaving here just after 2:30 p.m.

Note: I lost yesterday's Greenpeace Foundation Lottery.


As I was crossing the bridge for Mark's, a honking car approaching my back proved to be Bill; from the weighing station he drove me to Mark's, being bound for Lil's himself.

His mother [Anne Gregory] later phoned me wondering if I knew Lil's number (I didn't).

After Mark got home, I learned I'd be able to watch TV tonight; he was invited to a party put on by a certain Faith from work.

But Bernie, a kid from upstairs, came down first with a half gallon ─ quarter gallon, I mean ─ of good homemade wine.

Dad phoned after Mark left (Bill & Shirley were there with me, but I'm ahead of myself).

Mark was still home when Bill phoned to borrow $7, promising repayment tomorrow; I agreed.

Mark then left me with garrulous Bernie.

I was relieved with the arrival of Bill & Shirley. I only had a twenty, so I had to go with them and buy their bottle of vodka, but at least I got rid of Bernie.

The old man called ere we left, though; he was so damn drunk I couldn't communicate that I wasn't Mark; as last night, he wanted me to come over. 

Anyway, after getting his bottle and cigarettes ─ I lost about 50¢ on the deal; he better pay me the $7 tomorrow ─ Bill brought me back to Mark's.

Shirley invited me ─ and Mark too ─ to come over tomorrow night for some of Lil's powerhouse rum punch.

I watched further TV, then after 11:00 p.m. footed home.

Bill said he spoke with Melody last night; she came over, I believe ─ and she still disclaims any part with the note left him [saying that she was gone for good with Chris].

Also, Bill believes she is only going to stay with Chris a week, not the full 3. 

He says they don't get along all that well, if that's the reason.

And he still believes they will move out and into a new place together.

Bedtime: 12:45 a.m. tonight, once more feeling hopeful about Melody, providing I win a lottery.
I still had twisted hopes of reclaiming Melody.

My maternal cousin Bruce Halverson had gotten married on the Saturday just past to Donna Montroy ─ Lil was Donna's mother. 

Shirley was the next youngest sister of Donna's. Shirley was darned cute, and probably around 16 years old ─ certainly still in her teens.

Bill was 30 years old, yet he thought that he had something going with the young lady.

He also weighed over 300 pounds at a height of no more than five feet and 10 inches ─ maybe even nine inches.

I had forgotten all about that notion of his until reading of it here in my journal. I keep learning so much about my life back then. 

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