Slashdot Mirror
In the EU, Water Doesn't (Officially) Prevent Dehydration
New Kohath writes with this news from The Guardian: "Bottled water producers applied to the EU for the right to claim that 'regular consumption of significant amounts of water can reduce the risk of development of dehydration'. The health claim was reviewed by a panel of 21 scientists on behalf of the European Food Standards Authority. The application was denied, and now producers of bottled water are forbidden by law from making the claim. They will face a two-year jail sentence if they defy the EU edict."
To be fair, it is a pretty short list.
Although, I do remember a girl I met when I was an undergraduate, last century. She had that kind of blonde hair that's so light it's almost white and eyes that looked like the wings of a blue butterfly. She was almost supernaturally beautiful.
But she was not very bright. The little accent can cover up a lot of dumb, but at some point, you know...
Anyway, she friended me on some social network site a couple of years ago and from her photo it did not appear that she aged well. She kind of got hard-looking, you know what I mean? Like, not a happy face, but it could have been the photo. Maybe it's just my age, but happy people are a lot more attractive to me now than the brooding, dramatic types. Life has enough drama without having to create your own just to keep things interesting.
You know, poutine sounds good about now. I could see myself enjoying a plate of them froggy fries and a nice doppelbock. I guess that makes me officially old, when I start thinking about a formerly hot chick and my mind goes immediately to food.
That reminds me of my cousins. Big, Italian guys, you know? One time we're at a family gathering, lots of pasta, brociole, like that. And my cousins, Dom and Anthony, are talking only about food. This restaurant, that restaurant, the clam sauce my grandma makes, and on and on. Nothing but food. So my mom, who was still alive at the time, says, "Listen to you guys, young, decent-looking guys and all you talk about is food! Don't you have anything else to talk about? Don't you ever talk about girls?"
So there's a pause, and I see my cousins think for a second, (which, to be honest, was not their forte) and Dom looks up and says, "You know that girl who lives over by Polk and Racine, Johnny's sister, the one who went to St Mary's? Man, she makes the best arancini..."
I swear it's a true story.
Anybody know where I can get a plate of poutine in Chicago at 11:48p on a Saturday? Now I'm starved.
You are welcome on my lawn.