tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965918967876157143.post2273775862742639983..comments2024-03-03T19:03:45.344-08:00Comments on dahn batchelor's opinions: The dangers of drinking homemade alcoholic brewDahn Batchelorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303179115743012139noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965918967876157143.post-24660093046251249072009-01-06T11:43:00.000-08:002009-01-06T11:43:00.000-08:00Henrickus: Your experience about leaving your drin...Henrickus: <BR/><BR/>Your experience about leaving your drink on the table while you went to the washroom reminds of a man who before going to the washroom, placed a small note on the top of his drink. It read, "Don't drink my drink. I just spit in it." When he returned to his drink, he noticed that someone else had written something on the bottom of the note. It said, "So did I." <BR/><BR/>DahnDahn Batchelorhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09303179115743012139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965918967876157143.post-10766360661717729292008-12-04T20:16:00.000-08:002008-12-04T20:16:00.000-08:00Hi, Dr. Batchelor:Frankly, I hardly deemed it poss...Hi, Dr. Batchelor:<BR/><BR/>Frankly, I hardly deemed it possible to render alcoholic beverages any more harmful than they are in their unadulterated state. Apparently I was wrong. Although chronic hyper-prolactinemia has several causes, one potent trigger is ordinary alcohol. The mere removal of ethanol alone from the diet of alcoholics presenting with chronic high prolactin, can dramatically and within days reduce elevated serum prolactin levels. Concurrent with a drop in serum prolactin, a dramatic drop in blood pressure will also be observed. Both hypertension and hyper-prolactinemia are commony found in those presenting with the terminal Metabolic Syndrome, and the latter in various cancers, both in men and in women.<BR/><BR/>This blog entry called to mind an interesting experience I had while visiting the Netherlands for a few days in April of 2007. An uncle whose name I was given at birth by my parents suddenly passed away, and having been the benficiary of this man's generosity on not a few occasions my life through, I felt compelled to pay so-called final respects. Friday evening condolences were taken, and with the cremation scheduled for Monday, I decided to devote my Saturday to visiting the markets and museums of Amsterdam, planning but not promising to be back with my aunt in the Utrecht area before or at sun-down.<BR/><BR/>Later in the afternoon, my thirst having been provoked by both a raw (!!) goat cheese indulgence at a local market and a day of walking in bright April sunshine on the very unforgiving cobble-stone of this historic city, I popped by a cafe for some quality Dutch beer, consisting as much of it does, simply of water, barley, and hops. Besides the crispness and fuller taste afforded by pure beers, the presence of only 3 ingredients helps the student of health better identify the ingredient which causes an untoward reaction, even if the toxic alcohol renders this mission decidedly difficult.<BR/><BR/>I say, late afternoon, being rather parched, I ordered a pint of barley water at a 'gezillig' cafe, and made conversation with an elderly and very affable Dutchman who, hearing that I was Canadian, took occasion to break into the subject of the routing out of the Nazis by the Canadians at the conclusion of WWII. (I understand Canadians are still very much loved by the Dutch for having liberated them.) The conversation was rich, and several hours glided by as we sipped beer and exchanged opinions and perspectives on a medley of subjects. <BR/><BR/>Shortly before I left the cafe for the central train station, a couple guys my age took a seat within earshot, and eventually joined the conversation. When they inquired what I, a Canadian not exactly fluent in the Dutch which was too much dominating our conversation, was doing in Amsterdam, I replied truthfully (as above), and volunteered that, though I was alone and a younger male, I was certainly not here to take advantage of the prostitution and drug use for which this city is so infamous. I added, that I was determined to save myself for that special lady. This response was not ridiculed; rather, the prompt reply came, "But every girl is special!" I couldn't help but heartily laugh with the others, inasmuch as it took a nimble and witty mind to respond thus, and instantly at that; besides, I am a fierce heterosexual myself, and have had to battle these passions into submission for years, sometimes with supernatural help. But then, to prove that every girl is special, it was added, a finger spinning the air, that they had "[enjoyed] a hundred girls in the area", if I may paraphrase. I marked the assertion, and the thought flashed into my mind that I'd better keep an eye on these guys: I understand sexual promiscuity is often associated with an assortment of vices in those who practice it.<BR/><BR/>Problem, however. Fluid consumption induces urination, and I had to visit the washroom before finshing off my last, kindly bought by my acquaintances. I decided to test them. A bag I carried about with me that day I left at the feet of my stool as I went to the washroom, discreetly ensuring first that all valuables were removed. When I returned, these two guys repeated that I ought not to leave my bags unattended anywhere in Amsterdam, in spite of my insistence that my bag was bereft of valuables. The repetition was such that I began entertaining the suspicion that perhaps something had happened during my absence, though I could not just then determine exactly what. It later occurred to me that the bag may have been a diversion of sorts, and that as I took my last swallows of my glass of bitter, I may have been ingesting a neuro-toxic substance added thereto while I was at large. Never vacate an unfinished beverage in a busy public setting, and return later to take the balance. Common knowledge, yes, but concentrating on my bag this vital maxim was neglected.<BR/><BR/>Incidentally, the cafe men's room did not feature a lock, and while I was losing water (and salts) at the single toilet, another guy charged in and improvised, using the wash basin. I was not favourably impressed. At that very moment the proprietor came in, expecting to witness a drug transaction. She was not favourably impressed, either. Nor, I daresay, was our rude and surprised subject favourably impressed. At any rate, drug transactions are apparently quite common in Amsterdam's public washroms, and for this reason the cafe has removed the locks from the washroom door, and asks patrons to knock to ensure vacancy before entering. With the locks removed, careless pushers can be caught red-handed.<BR/><BR/>I left the cafe presently, realizing only then that because the weather was very bright and that I had planned to return to Utrecht at sun-down, I had left my corrective lenses at my lodging place, save those shaded ones which I wear ceaselessly behind computers and outdoors during daylight hours, thinking wishfully, and likely erroneously, thereby to retard proven steady deterioration in visual acuity. I must have appeared a laughing-stock: asking passersby for directions to the train station well after dark with shades on! Who does this chap think he is? Anyway, I learned thus that poor vision is not only an inconvenience, but can also lead to some considerable embarrassment. <BR/><BR/>But we must hurry on. I managed to catch a train bound for Utrecht, and subsequently a bus, and I distinctly remember feeling especially tired and particularly belligerent as my destination neared. This was curious, since I had not consumed an inordinate amount, and moreover alcohol typically renders me rather less sleepy, though not more alert (a subtle difference), and certainly more gregarious, less bellicose and less bookish. So aggravated and novel was this spirit of belligerence, that I nearly got involved in a violent physical altercation with a fellow bus-rider. A confrontation was so imminent the voice of the bus driver began quivering with what I regarded as fear as he prepared to dismiss us in no-man's land - it might well be debated if a no-man's land exists in a country which features such a high population density - to deal with our differences there at the road-side. It will be observed, that hitherto I had never willingly invited a dropping of the gloves, nor ever since. Be that as it may, the verbal exchange soon petered out and I made it home barely unscathed.<BR/><BR/>As for the morning after, I felt so wretched and awful words cannot accurately convey the sense of doom I experienced. No vomiting, but what can only be very vaguely described as brain fog of an intensely dreadful - and alien - species.<BR/><BR/>A close acquaintance, upon receiving this narrative, actually brought to mind the idea that my drink may have been adulterated during my washroom break. I had entertained the thought previously, but dismissed it as quickly as it came, not knowing at that time just how dangerous some chemicals, both synthetic and natural, can be. I had heard of so-called date rape drugs being surreptitously slipped into a beverage of the victim, but the bar scene, where such crimes are apt to be perpetrated, always complicates the picture: one seldom knows for certain if the victim was simply and sincerely inebriated, and agreed to sexual relations on those grounds alone, namely, alcohol-induced bad judgment. Having spent a little time in the medical libraries since this episode, however, it is now supposed that adulteration of my beer may well have been the cause of my marked anger, tiredness, and reprehensible 'hangover', a hangover completely different than what I had ever experienced after a couple shameful binges in my late teens and early 20s, and vastly disproportionate to the amount of alcohol consumed 12 hours previous.<BR/><BR/>Another theroy is, that the raw cheese taken mid-afternoon was the vehicle for a case of food poisoning; or, that the alcohol, combined with a lot of iodine in a dairy product derived from goats exposed to iodine in processed feed, the mineral lick, and on their udders during milking, besides the possibility of iodized salt used in the cheese processing (roughly 50 - 80 times more iodine in iodized salt than in unrefined sea and rock salts...humans are not seals!), conspired to insult my thyroid. After all, alcohol acutely and swiftly suppresses thyroid function, just as excess iodine is known to do. But I digress; and I do say, blogging earnestly summons me.<BR/><BR/><BR/>Rambling,<BR/>Hendrickus BrokkingAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com