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Scientists have discovered that a glass of red wine can prevent the build up of cholesterol after a meal of dark or red meat.
They found that harmful compounds from the meat would build up in the blood stream of volunteers as they digested a meal, helping to form “bad” cholesterol that can damage blood vessels and increase the risk of heart disease.
The researchers showed, however, that antioxidants in the wine known as polyphenols stopped these compounds from being absorbed in the gut and so they did not get into the blood stream where they can cause harm.
I may say that red wine and red meat make up a very significant portion of the Robbo diet and the fact of the matter is that my cholesterol is just fine. (I may also say the figo for my cholesterol, because I probably wouldn’t change my practice even if researchers found the opposite to be the case.)
Red wine. Is there nothing it can’t do? Say, how about a little celebratory song:
My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin,
Come, open the door to us, let us come in.
A score of stout fellows who think it no sin
If they toast till they’re hoarse, and drink till they spin,
Hoofed it amain
Rain or no rain,
To crack your old jokes, and your bottle to drain.
Such a warmth in the belly that nectar begets
As soon as his guts with its humour he wets,
The miser his gold, and the student his debts,
And the beggar his rags and his hunger forgets.
For there’s never a wine
Like this tipple of thine
From the great hill of Nuits to the River of Rhine.
Outside you may hear the great gusts as they go
By Foy, by Duerne, and the hills of Lerraulx,
But the rain he may rain, and the wind he may blow,
If the Devil’s above there’s good liquor below.
So it abound,
Pass it around,
Burgundy’s Burgundy all the year round.
- Hilaire Belloc, “Drinking Song, On The Excellence of Burgundy Wine”
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
It’s been a while since I’ve resorted to teh random meme, hasn’t it? Then we’re about due.
♦ Ol’ Robbo hasn’t had the opportunity to use that headline gag in quite some time now. I do so now because the incoming storm the NWS breathlessly asserted would give us half a foot is now expected to produce an inch maybe. It appears that our neck of the woods is in the midst of a record “snow drought” insofar as we have not had a snowfall of 2 inches or better in umpteen weeks now. Of course, the obvious fix for that would be to have AlGore come to town and hold one of his Clymut Summitz. That usually provokes Snow Miser into getting off his duff. But the ManBearPig hunter is no doubt on a spree somewhere off in the Bahamas with his newly-acquired Al-Jazeera oil money.
♦ Speaking of such things, I was sitting about waiting for one of the gels to finish up an activity yesterday, whiling away the time as is my wont by doing crossword puzzles. One of the clues was “20th Century leader” with the answer of “Mao”. I understand that this is a cheap and easy three-letter filler and naturally attractive to crossword compilers, but it still disgusts me. Nobody would refer to Hitler as a “20th Century leader” in polite society. So why is it that Mao, the grand champeen mass murderer of human history, seems so innocuous and, to some people, downright cute?
♦ Somebody, I forget who, was musing recently on whether the West actually lost the Cold War. Sure, we brought down the Soviet Empire in a physical sense, but instead of stamping out the evil collectivist totalitarian radical humanist ideas that powered that empire and brought so much misery to so many people, it seems we’re embracing them more and more all the time. Sadly, I found myself agreeing.
♦ Alas, most people are too sated with their bread and circuses to notice. Speaking of which, I saw the list of Oscar nominations last week. Haven’t seen a single film on the list and probably won’t. Haven’t heard of half the actors, either. However, I notice that Philip Seymour Hoffman is up for a supporting role. I would just point out that I liked PSH before it was cool to like PSH. “It’s the Extreme, baybee!”
♦ Well, enough of all that. Here’s something a bit different: I have noticed recently that Fat Cat has been experimenting with the voice she uses to nag me to feed her in the mornings. (She usually comes in while I’m shaving and starts to pester.) For a while she was using a series of long, almost aggressive meows. Now she’s switched to a series of enfeebled chirps and a sucking in of the cheeks. Poor widdle fing. Given that she’s starting to resemble a bowling ball with legs, the effect is not in the least convincing.
♦ It’s a sad day in Natstown, with the news that Michael “The Beast” Morse is being traded back to the Mariners (from whom we got him originally) in a deal that will bring some more pitchers to us. It was inevitable, given the way our other off-season activity has panned out, but I still hate to see it. It’s one thing to get rid of a player because he’s bad. It’s something else entirely to get rid of a good player greatly beloved by both his team and his fans simply because there isn’t any place to put him on the squad. Ah, Baseball.