Writing Village: Articles

Writing Village

2012-12-27T23:50:00.000-08:00

Writing Village-A Home to Freelance Writers since 2003
Writing Village is a free Internet based resource of top quality articles, features, essays, book reviews and poetry. It is based on contributions by Freelance writers. Writing Village publishes original (including reprints but strictly no plagiarism)works of Writers, Poets, Analysts, Essayists, Authors, Columnists on this website.

Select the topic of your choice and browse through scores of articles, essays, poems and reviews on diverse topics. New articles are added regularly.If you want to contribute on the site,please click on the hyperlink Contributor Guidelines for details.

New Sections

We have introduced four new sections on our website They are exclusively dedicated to Anecdotes, Poetry and Essays.
Poetry Essays Anecdotes

Take your Pick

Select the topic of your choice and browse through scores of articles, essays, poems and reviews on diverse topics. New articles are added regularly

Arts	Computers	Family	Health	Music
Humour	Religion	Science	Society	Writing

Editor's pick of the week
(view archives )

Media
  Control Mechanisms for Media by: Dr Harmeet Singh 27 Dec 2009
  Self Regulation is the best control Mechanism
Poetry
  The Tale of a Town by:Pravin Prakash Jhumeli 16 November 2009
   Mother picked the radiance of the Sun and hid within her womb.
Life
  A lesson in the park by: Neeraj Kumar 14 November 2009
  Enjoyment of life has nothing to do with Disability
Book Review
  Recovering the Lost Tongue by: Dr Rachna Singh 21 December 2009
  Recovering the Lost Tongue by Rahul Banerjee
Family
  Knitting Needles & Mother's Touch by:Sheryl Joy Olano 19 December 2009
   A mother's touch and her knitting needles
Science
  Computer dating, bill paying, voting: Are we really in control of our lives? by:Audrey Valeriani 14 December 2009
  Things deserve a more qualified, personal touch
Mystical
  Voodoo is a powerful mystical practice by:Fazilla Shujaat 31 November 2009
  Voodoo is a powerful mystical practice
Poetry
  Torn by:Rachelle Arlin Credo 30 November 2009
   The incessant mourning eventually drives me insane

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Best of Andy Rooney

2009-12-18T23:49:00.000-08:00

They're written by Andy Rooney, a man who has the gift of saying so much with so few words.

I've learned....That the best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.

I've learned.... That when you're in love, it shows.

I've learned.... That just one person saying to me, 'You've made my day!' makes my day.

I've learned.... That having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.

I've learned.... That being kind is more important than being right.

I've learned.... That you should never say no to a gift from a child.

I've learned.... That I can always pray for someone when I don't have the strength to help him in some other way.

I've learned.... That no matter how serious your life requires you to be, everyone needs a friend to act goofy with.

I've learned.... That sometimes all a person needs is a hand to hold and a heart to understand.

I've learned.... That simple walks with my father around the block on summer nights when I was a child did wonders for me as an adult.

I've learned.... That life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.

I've learned.... That money doesn't buy class.

I've learned.... That it's those small daily happenings that make life so spectacular.

I've learned... That under everyone's hard shell is someone who wants to be appreciated and loved.

I've learned.... That to ignore the facts does not change the facts.

I I've learned.... That when you plan to get even with someone, you are only letting that person continue to hurt you.

I've learned.... That love, not time, heals all wounds.

I've learned.... That the easiest way for me to grow as a person is to surround myself with people smarter than I am.

I've learned.... That everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile.

I've learned.... That no one is perfect until you fall in love with them.

I've learned.... That life is tough, but I'm tougher.

I've learned.... That opportunities are never lost; someone will take the ones you miss.

I've learned.... That when you harbor bitterness, happiness will dock elsewhere.

I've learned.... That I wish I could have told my Dad that I love him one more time before he passed away.

I've learned.... That one should keep his words both soft and tender, because tomorrow he may have to eat them.

I've learned.... That a smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks.

I've learned.... That when your newly born grandchild holds your little finger in his little fist, that you're hooked for life.

I've learned.... That everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it.

I've learned.... That the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.

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A lesson in the park

2009-08-19T11:07:00.000-07:00

It was a usual scene -- a park teeming with joggers. Every sphere of life-- i.e. childhood, youth, and old age—was scattered all over the park. Sweating faces, sloshing paunches, and swift legs ruled the early morning hour of the park.

I was there sitting on a bench after taking a light stroll. Since, I was in the middle of the oval garden, I was able to reckon rounds that people were taking. Some took 20 laps of swift walk, while some preferred to only 5.

After a while a couple with an almost 10 years old boy entered the park and started their rounds of health. Both parents had clutched hands of the boy from either side. The boy was walking in the middle of his parents. They took one lap and completed second and went on. When this family crossed my eyes after the third lap, a little girl of six caught my attention. She was insisting her grandfather on playing football with her. It was obvious from grandpa’s gestures that due to his arthritis, he was trying to persuade the little lady to be confined to his lap. Grandpa tried to veer her attention from football and pointed his finger toward the sky to show a flock of birds. And I assumed (the constant stare of the girl toward the sky helped me assume) that the old chap conjured up a story then and there to placate the football passion of the girl. The girl lost into the story; I, into the Sky.

“How vast the bosom of the Sky is?” I thought. The decoration of the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars weaves a spectacle for the eyes. There is very hardly any roof in this world as sumptuously accoutered as the Sky. I was enthralled at the grandeur of nature.

My attention pertaining to the glorification of the nature broke by the footsteps coming toward a bench beside mine. It was those three who had entered a while ago. After the tiring rounds of walk, they had come to relax on the bench. For some time they relished the breathtaking view around the park, before being disturbed by the honking horn of an ice-cream-man. The child tugged on the sari (a dressing piece of cloth for women in India) of her mother to let her know his demand of an ice cream cone. Mother complied with his demand and bought him a cone of ice cream.

I wondered why he himself didn’t reach out for the ice cream trolly, like many children do?

On closer examination, I came to know that he was unable to see. That is why his parents were helping him to finish up the ice cream. After devouring the delicious dollops, he rested his back on the rear part of the bench. His translucent eyeballs rolled from one corner to the other corner of his eyes tracing every sound that happened in the atmosphere. In fact the eyeballs were corresponding with the directions his ears gave him as to a sound. He was continuously active with his two organs to explore the surrounding he was in.

“What an irony!” I thought. “There is so much of color around him, but he was deprived of that.” My heart got filled with sympathetic feelings for him. I felt vicarious pain for his inability to see things. I cursed every thing from God to nature for the injustice done to this little soul.

With feelings of despondency, I made an approach to converse with him by asking his name. (His father erased skepticism in his eyes for a stranger’s voice by addressing me as uncle and told him to tell me his name.)

“Sumit” he sounded sonorously.

“In which class do you read, Sumit?” I asked.

“Class five”

“Do you have any hobbies?”

“He sings very well, has won many music competitions too.” Informed his father.

“Oh! Is it?” “… Then why no have a music treat from you?”

The boy was shy to start with, but once he started singing (upon his mother’s encouragement), I was spellbound. The voice of his had a glimpse of aplomb, which can surmount any difficulties of life; the shimmer in his eyes had grains of grit, that can pierce any citadel of success; and the whole body of his had elements of ebullition, which can indefatigably encourage him to stay optimistic in life.

The song, which was a hymn, ended and ‘bravo’ spelt out of my mouth. His parents clapped.

The pleasant duration of morning was passing by quickly and the Sun was becoming a little bitter to bear. All three rose to take leave, I insisted to walk for some distance with them. Halfway our journey, I found a grocery shop. I went into it and bought a packet of chocolates for Sumit. I came out and gifted the packet to him in appreciation of his entertaining performance for me. He received the packet with élan; he was ecstatic. I could feel his emotions through his smiling lips. After a few minutes, we parted ways.

I was alone and strolling back to my destination. Some notions started springing up in my mind. They were troublesome for me. These views were about my prior contemplation about the kid. I thought why I felt pessimistic about the existence of the kid. The boy was full of life and I had described his life as drab and bland. Why I thought downside about the boy, only because he couldn’t see. Is it that only people with ability to see have the right to enjoy the gifts of life? No, life can be enjoyed even without the ability to see.

Enjoyment of life has nothing to do with the ability to see, but to the ability to feel. If one can feel life, then one is alive, otherwise dead. But this is not the situation with the ability to see. One can miss the light of eyes and at the same time enjoy the life to the full. I am not sure whether I was dead, when I thought hopeless things about the lad, but am sure about now that I am alive. Because, I am enlightened and know something more as to life than I did an hour or so before.

Finnaly, it dawned on me that I was utterly wrong in assessing his plight. And the acknowledgement of mistake was with a guilt feeling. That day I promised myself that I won’t fell sorry for any disabled person in the future, for this belittles the importance of their struggle and courage that they use to lead this life. The crux of my thinking session was that the moment I feel that somebody is disabled; I make myself disabled too. Because this way I manifest my disabilities to comprehend the import of their existence in encouraging us (the abled ones) to conquer the impediments of life without any grievances. Anyways life is a learning curve and everyone is learning something or the other by every passing moment. I have learnt a lesson too that I will remember until I die err as long as I live.

Contributed by:~Neeraj Kumar
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Computer dating, bill paying, voting: Are we really in control of our lives?

2009-08-14T22:56:00.000-07:00

Those of us looking for love in the year 2009 find ourselves sitting behind our computers keying in all the vital information about who we are and who we are looking for, so that IT can match us with someone with whom we have similar preferences, lifestyles, and beliefs. Oh yes, I know this has proven successful for many people, including some friends of mine, but what would you do if one evening you met a person who was your exact opposite in many ways, but you were attracted anyway? Would you consider it absurd to go against the formula and follow your heart’s illogicality, believing that such relationship is ultimately doomed? Are you more comfortable allowing IT to define your choices?

Similarly, bill paying is now done by many of us by simply pressing a few buttons on a computer whenever and wherever we wish. You don’t have to pick up a pen and write a check or get a stamp and mail the envelope -- with our busy schedules, that takes too much time and effort. But have you ever had a payment get lost or tried to retrieve one after you hit “send” hastily? Do you realize you are exposing your hard-earned money pot to many hands, none of whom need ever take the blame for a delayed posting, a late fee, or missing funds?

And now computerized voting machines are coming to a polling station near you. How many times can the analysts and the independent investigators and even the hackers themselves warn us of the impending danger? Unfortunately, I fear this is going to be another case of too little too late when, again, the Republicans deny there is any problem, the Liberals will go on and on about the defects in the system and will be dismissed as over-zealous rabble-rousers, and the Democrats will sit idly by confused by all the rhetoric and once again victimized by their own inaction.

Now tell me, are we really in control of our lives or is it that we are, for the moment, being given a simple pass by those really in control -- the industrialists, the government, and the thieves -- to continue in our usual routines, authorizing a faceless entity to conduct business for us, until one day a spin of the Wheel of Misfortune points to us and causes us concern? Then will we listen to our instincts if, in fact, they are even still trying to guide us?

Unfortunately, it seems that when something doesn’t cause trouble in our own backyards, it appears unreal to us, and we wonder if the victims aren’t making more out of a problem than really exists. We may become models of concern and outrage, and talk a good game about what needs to be done to change things, but then sit back and allow “they” and “them” to take care of things. Only when we are affected directly and experience inconvenience and loss ourselves, do most of us question the accuracy and legitimacy of the system.

Mind you, it’s not that I don’t believe in growth and progress; I just believe some things deserve a more qualified, personal touch. People, when you turn your lives over to a computer – whether it be emotionally, financially or politically -- you relinquish your power to virtual strangers which you trust to negotiate in your best interests, when most of us don’t even trust our neighbors or loved ones! Is it because we are lazy? Too insecure about our own capabilities? Believe all the lies told to us by greedy capitalists? Afraid to make the wrong decision? I say, all of the above.

Despite what I and those like me have to say, I expect technology and cyberspace will continue to take over everything. (I mean, cars can now parallel park themselves – does that mean that future drivers won’t even have to learn how?!). We will continue to be introduced to new, time-saving, cost-effective programs and gadgets that promise to make our hectic lives easier, just like this latest one: a new and improved, easy, no-mess, speedy, low fat, paperless, democracy.

Audrey Valeriani is a local author, freelance writer, host of www.TheAccidentalExpert.com, and relationship expert for www.TheSpotter.net.

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An ism that deserves extinction

2008-12-30T08:27:00.000-08:00

An ism that deserves extinction

World has seen several sorts of ‘isms’ so far—Communism, Socialism, Patriotism etc…. Each ‘ism’ has to do with deaths of people ranging from mild to major extents. Deaths caused by these ‘isms’ have some tenable arguments. But there is one ‘ism’ where deaths caused are diametrically untenable. And this ‘ism’ has terror as its crux.

To frighten somebody having only extremities as fighting weapons in comparison to sophisticated Kalashnikovs and A.K. 47s is an outright act of abject cowardice. But the terrorist outfits hail such acts as paradigm of valour and heroism.

When tender flesh of suckling babies get lacerated by splinters ;when defenseless women and the elderly are perforated with sharp bullets ; and when young frames ,that are only recourse of their frail parents in their twilight, get punctured by the mortal grenades—the soul of terrorism achieves utter ecstasy. People, who carry precarious attacks to satiate the imaginary doctrines of their religion, believe that their God will commend such deeds and welcome them with open arms in the divine pasture of heaven. Seldom do they realize that when a bereaved mother’s (be she of any religion) eyes become a puddle of grief and pain, their own formless God’s eyes emanate drops of blood.

It doesn’t matter however strong and pious is the cornerstone of arguments for terrorist acts, if such acts ruthlessly and incessantly try to smother the laughter of children (whom everybody’s God loves the most), then these acts are antithesis of God’s desires for a tolerant world.

Killing of vulnerable school children, unprepared tourists, and unarmed hotel staffs is highly unlike the tenet of the religion in which name the massacre is carried out. Because this monotheistic religion exhorts to give the least amount of pain possible even to animals that need to be slaughtered to douse the fire of hunger.

I don’t think that such considerate religion will have a God with a heart as callous as stone. And I don’t think it either that ferocious and savage deeds of scare that are touted as wish list of Allah are even approved of by the almighty, let alone the talk of getting prime posts in heaven.

When humanity is tattered and humans don the mantle of demons, the casualty is the piety of God’s desires. And what God desires? It desires that one human becomes the tool for blowing life in the veins of other humans instead of scotching their breath; It desires that one human becomes the tool to adorn other humans’ sky with scintillating stars instead of covering it with daunting clouds; and it desires that one human enlightens other humans’ brain about the true will of its and real objectives of human life instead of enmeshing them into the fallacious crusades.

The earth is like a garden and life on it is like luscious flowers. When these flowers bloom and the fragrance of humanity envelops the world, the God’s purpose of fashioning life out of earth reaches apogee of magnanimity. But when acidic standpoints try to wilt these flowers perforce, God’s purpose of creating humans injures. And terrorism is one such act that mutilates brutally the wholesome intentions of God to harvest smiles in volumes, out of a life elapsed on the earth.

Terrorists dedicate their reprehensible act to the glorification task of their God’s regime. But they hardly realize that by killing innocents they can only earn curse and wrath of their God. Though terrorism in discussion entails religion as its integral aspect, it shows every signs of nihilism. Terrorism annihilates very emotions of sympathy and compassion —which are sine qua non elements of a religion. And when a religion gets bereft of these two aforesaid facets, the religion becomes hollow. And what I am trying to convey is that the terrorists don’t represent Islam but a deceptive and beguiling pile of notions that are purported as essentially Islamic.

Terrorist mindset argues that means of devastation are used to bring forth the gripe and grievances of a community. But trying to get justice with unjust tactics not only dwarfs the stature of the efforts to be heard but it also brings the unwitting ignominy to the religion in which name the war has been waged.

I pray for a situation in this world wherein some panacea replaces rabid grouse and salubrious ideology replaces sucking terrorism!

Contributed by: Neeraj Kumar
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The Mystery of Voodoo

2008-12-30T02:50:00.000-08:00

The drumming and chanting goes on hour after hour. A goat and a small pig have their throats cut, and the blood is sprinkled over the worshippers. The animals are then thrown into a pool of brown bubbling mud. Many believers jump into the pond as well.

This is the climax of the voodoo ceremony at the Plaine Du Nord, 300 kilometres north of the Haitian capital Port-Au-Prince. Thousands of voodoo believers come each year as they all say that the saint will help them. This particular ceremony is in honour of Ogou, the spirit of fertility and the earth.

The most important part of voodoo is the actual religious ceremony. After starting out slowly, the voodooist work themselves up to a spiritual and religious frenzy, using such things as dance, music and liquor to help inspire them, but the real question is that Voodoo a religious thing or a satanic thing?? As voodoo is often charged with being fatalistic, superstitious and involving devil worship.

Voodoo, which is a mixture of Catholicism and ancient African religion. The voodoo faith holds that there is one God, the creator of the universe. Subordinate to this God are the Loas, lesser deities or saints who act as messengers between a voodoo practitioner and God. Voodoos fatalism focuses on how the Loa control the world, wealth, sickness, childbirth, rewards, punishment and many more.

Voodoo believers accept the existence of one God. Below this almighty God spirits (LOA) rule over the worlds affairs in matters of family, love, happiness, justice, wealth, and revenge. The practice of Voodoo involves the blessing of a Voodoo doll to contact the spirits directly, requesting fulfilment in love, finance career matters and many more. It is still believed that the main reason why people turn to practising voodoo or witchcraft today is because more and more people are dissatisfied with traditional religious structures and are seeking deeper, and more meaningful relationships with divinity through alternate methods.

Voodoo, which means 'Spirit Of God'. It's a system of beliefs originating in Africa. It has over 50 million followers worldwide. Voodoo flourishes in Brazil, Trinidad, Jamaica and Cuba. It is known to be one of the world's oldest known religions, which have been around in Africa since the beginning of human civilisation. Some people estimate these civilisations and religions to be over 10,000 years old.

Voodoo is a powerful mystical practice that can bring great gifts and rewards to anyone who believes in it, and who is willing to place his destiny in the hands of the spirits, who are waiting eagerly for your call.

The most popular part of Voodoo is the doll, which is used to represent the spirit of a particular person. You can talk to the doll requesting a change in attitude, influencing the person to act in accordance with your wishes. You can request the doll to call upon powerful forces and then you can perform a simple ritual to fulfil a dream and your desires.

People's perception of Voodoo rites and rituals are that its all evil or malicious, but not many people know that there are healing spells, nature spells, love spells and joyous celebration spells. Spirits can also bring harmony and peace, birth and re-birth, luck, happiness and health. For people who believe it Voodoo is powerful, it is also empowering to the person who practices it.

For anyone who is looking for a solution to a difficult problem, for someone who is trying to sort out a conflict, return a lover or become rich LOA is waiting for your call.

Contributed by: Fazilla Shujaat

Attitude is eveything

2008-08-22T18:54:00.001-07:00

Harvard and Stanford Universities have reported that 85% the reason a person gets a job and gets ahead in that job is due to attitude; and only 15% is because of technical or specific skills.
Interesting, isnâ€™t it? How much money you spent on your education? And how much you spent on building your positive attitude?
That hurts.

Now here is an interesting thought.
With the "right" attitude, you can and will develop the necessary skills.
So where is your emphasis? Skill building? Attitude building? Unfortunately, "Neither" is the real answer. Perhaps if more people knew how simple it is to develop and maintain a positive attitude they would invest more time doing so.

So here we go.

Five steps to staying positive in a negative world:

*Understand that failure is an event, it is not a person. Yesterday ended last night; today is a brand new day, and it is yours. You were born to win, but to be a winner you must plan to win, prepare to win, and then you can expect to win.

*Become a lifetime student. Learn just one new word every day and in five years you will be able to talk with just about anybody about anything. When your vocabulary improves, your I.Q. goes up 100% of the time, according to Georgetown Medical School .

*Read something informational or inspirational every day. Reading for 20 minutes at just 240 words per minute will enable you to read 20 (200-page) books each year. That is 18 more than the average person reads! What an enormous competitive advantage . . . if you will just read for 20 minutes a day.

*The University of Southern California reveals that you can acquire the equivalent of two years of a college education in three years just by listening to motivational and educational cassettes on the way to your job and again on the way home. What could be easier?

*Start the day and end the day with positive inputs in your mind. Inspirational messages cause the brain to flood with dopamine and nor epinephrine, the energizing neurotransmitters; with endorphins, the endurance neurotransmitters; and with serotonin, the feel-good-about-yourself neurotransmitter. Begin and end the day by reading or doing something positive!

Remember: Success is a process, not an event. Invest the time in your attitude and it will pay off in your skills as well as in your career.

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The Other Side

2008-07-05T06:51:00.000-07:00

The way we are taught life, there is the other side the journey across to where is not a guaranteed safe one. Glamorous though, it has got its own price to pay. When we see people who have reached there strut their stuff, we feel like doing the same. They become muses for short lived fantasies that die quickly and come to life the few times that they can and then again die quickly, the whole process repeating itself over and over again thus making it a waste of a process to go through. Yet we go through it intentionally realizing that it is the closest that we can get to the other side from such a distance.

We repeatedly remind ourselves of the real world and how unrealistic it would be to head there. When we see potential, even more so when we can take it to where it can get the worth it deserves, we remind them and ourselves of the reality of life that it can only happen if it will it can never happen if it wont. The other side is a place one is lucky and privileged to be in. Potential plays no role in whether you deserve to get across or not. If you gain passage to the other side and its not where you want to be, you might as well make use of it. But who wouldn't? Life doesn't get any better.

The secret of the other side is that there weren't supposed to be two sides. That should have been the end and this side should have been the beginning. The problem is that when you do what you love doing, you lay it all on the line. That involves risk and leaving things to chance but there is no safety net under you- that's the adventure part. That what scares people. It holds them back from venturing across.

If no one can tell you any better and you don't know any better, figure it out for yourself. Figure out what you don't understand and what you want to know. For your own good, you wouldn't want to be as old as people who should have seen and known it all by virtue of their experience in life and be asked by someone as old as you are now about life and the way it works and be too ill-informed about it to give them the answer. If that were the only way to go about things, any other way around or about would only give you less. You cannot expect more out of life than what you put in.

Contributed by:Sunil Noronha
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10 Ways to Reduce Commuting Stress

2008-06-30T06:55:00.000-07:00

Do you get out of your car with a queasy stomach, a headache and your blood pressure registering through the roof? If you do, that energy vulture called stress may have sent your pulse skyrocketing. In a study conducted at the University of California at Irvine, researchers found that the stress of commuting takes a major toll on health. According to the study, it has direct physiological effects of raising blood pressure and releasing stress hormones into the body. Not only that, long commutes (more than 18 miles one way) may also increase the likelihood of having a heart attack due to exposure to high levels of air pollutants, which appears to be a risk factor for heart disease.
Although there is no antidote to stressful commuting, there are many ways to shoo off the energy vulture. Here is how to thrive while you drive.

1. Prepare in advance

One of the best ways to lessen the strain of road rage is to prepare everything the night before. Clothes, documents, attaché cases, and even packed lunches should be set the day before to avoid the morning rush. With everything champing at the bit, you'd save plenty of time to do your morning routines, devour a good breakfast and enjoy special moments with the family. Best of all, you can dash out the highway free of traffic congestion.

2. Sleep well and wake up early

A good night's sleep rejuvenates the body. Make it a habit to have enough sleep and to rise early. If you are already stressed-out the day before, an incomplete repose takes over cumulative stress effects into your life at work and at home. Your frustration levels at work eventually rises, your brainpower falters, and your mood at home sours. You have no energy left for enjoying life.

3. Juggle your work hours

Why pack the freeways with all the other "9-to-5"-ers when you can try a ten-to-six or an eight-to-four shift? Depending on your company's work policy, try to check out other shifts that fit your lifestyle. Choose one that would help you get rid of energy-depleting stress. Allow yourself to lighten your highway woes.

4. Share your ride

It may be a hassle to coordinate your arrival and departure with another person or two, but carpooling is worth it. Studies show that ridesharing lowers commuter stress significantly. With carpooling, there is less air and noise pollution, less traffic congestion, and you can relax more while someone else does the driving.

5. "Cocoon" in your car

Instead of being worked up when traffic is at a standstill, utilize your time wisely. Listen to the radio or pop in some music tapes to take your mind off the stop-and-go driving and traffic tie-ups. If you like to read but just cannot have time to flip pages of a book, check out books on cassette. Many libraries have full-length books on tape as well as abridged versions. You can even learn a new language or do some car exercises like shoulder rolls, neck extensions and tummy tucks to help you stay awake and relax.

6. Pillow your back and squirm

When you're standing, the lumbar area of your spine (the lower portion) normally curves inward, toward your abdomen. However, when you are sitting, it tends to slump outward squeezing your spinal disks and putting stress on them. According to back expert Malcolm Pope, Ph.D., director of the Iowa Spine Research Centre at the University of Iowa, it helps to support your back by tucking a rolled towel or a pillow in that lumbar section. In cases of longer drives, since sitting in one position for longer than 15 minutes gradually stiffens you even with a back pillow, make necessary adjustments for a comfy ride. For instance, you can try putting most of your weight on one buttock and then the other. Then, shift the position of your seat or your buttocks slightly. You may even try sliding down in your seat and sit up again for fun.

7. Work out after work

Since the evening rush is worse than the morning rush because of the compounded fatigue from the workday, it is best to wait out the traffic. Work out at a gym near your office or take meditation classes to relieve your stress. If you plan to go to dinner, see a movie or go shopping, try to do these things near work, delaying your departure enough to miss the maddening rush.

8. Give yourself a break

It may be a good idea to give yourself some day off from work. Many companies today offer compressed working hours or longer working days to give way to work-free days for you to unwind.

9. Move your office

If your job is a long drive ahead everyday, inquire at work if the company would allow you to work at home some days of the week or if you can work near your place. An alternative work schedule would make you feel less tense and in control thereby reducing stress.

10. Occasionally change your routine

An occasional change of commuting habits may be advisable too. Try walking or bicycling, as a a change. There's nothing like a good walk to ease tension especially when it means you don't have to get in your car and fight rush hour traffic.

By lessening the stress of getting to work, you are conserving enormous amounts of energy that may be lost over stressful commuting. It does not only leave you a lot more energy to do your job and become more productive but it also makes you feel good and gives you a good reason to always start your day right.

Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo

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Laughter Really Is the Best Medicine

2008-06-27T06:54:00.000-07:00

Children laugh or smile about 400 times a day. Adults only laugh 15 times or less.

If the classic adage, "It takes a village to raise a child," is correct, I think my family could register as a village. Our clan consists of me, my husband, our seven children, ages 8-2 years (and no, none of them are twins), and another baby due in 5 weeks, and of course, our recent spur of the moment acquisition of 2, 6 wk old puppies. I have one word for you…Humour.

So, where were we? Ah, yes, the village. Well, my husband and I, despite the ever-growing population in our household have I'm sure one of the best relationships that parents could ever have. The key ingredient I believe to maintain such a happy and blissful marriage is laughter.

"We cannot really love anybody with whom we can never laugh."
- Agnes Repplier

The definition of laughter is the act of laughing. I am married to a comedian. (Well at least he thinks he is.) My favourite thing is when I go head to head with him in a sarcasm war and his reply to me is, "So when are your comedy tour tickets going on sale?" I will never win. This I know. When I first met, my husband he and I always laughed so hard and so much that I actually began to get some serious stomach muscles happening. To this day, I still maintain this great reward of our relationship. We love sitting and talking for hours about the sunny side of life. Kids are a great example to use on this. Just sharing their day-to-day quips is smile producing alone. This just goes to prove that humour has its place in a relationship.

For my 27th birthday this past August, my husband who is generally excellent at remembering dates and special occasions goofed when he bought a number 2 and 6 candle to place on my cake. It wasn't until our 8 year old son said, "Wait, she is 27." With that my husband come out of the bedroom in a blind panic where he and all the kids were diligently wrapping presents, and said to me, " Hold on, how old are you today? 26 right?" When I told him no, 27… he just replied looking a bit confused, "Are you sure?" Yep, I sure am, I'm not going to forget that. Then, about 30 min later when we all sat down to have the birthday cake, out he comes with the cake and the candles reading 62…ha! He thought it would be funnier than making the 26 goofs. I cannot wait until HIS next birthday…

"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter."
- E.E.Cummings

There is no telling what sort of email we will get in our inbox from each other. We love to send one another little reminders that we are not going to forget the funny banter we throw back and forth all the time. We can poke fun at each other and the joke will last for weeks. We are major movie lovers and regularly go to the movie theatre. Funny movie quotes will keep us rolling out the giggles for a long time. Sometimes though, it is more fun to watch him watch the movie than actually watching it myself. To see that look of pure delight on his face is enough to make me smile.

"You can't stay mad at somebody who makes you laugh."
- Jay Leno

Laughter is such a good way to gage how much you will enjoy each other's company in the long term. When we go out, we always notice how unhappy people look; couples in general. They just do not exude happiness. I find it sad to think not every couple in a relationship whether or not they are married or have kids do not have the same kind of happiness and laughter in their lives. It does take work, but once you get the hang of it, it will take you places you could not imagine.

The Discovery Health Institute says that laughter is healthy and has many benefits such as reducing stress, lowering blood pressure, and increasing oxygen in the blood. Laughter is the formula to a happier and healthier lifestyle and I just do not see it being enforced in many relationships. My husband and I disagree of course, as any couple in a relationship does, but we never argue, and therefore we never go to bed in a hostile manner with each other. Sure, we both are stressed… that is part of a marriage and raising a family and the chaos of daily life, but thru laughter we cure each other from it. I wake up each morning knowing I can look over at my husband, and smile; and I do. What a great way to start the day off.

"Laughter is the shortest distance between two people."
- Victor Borge

Our 'village' here on the home front makes us both a bit stronger and refreshed each day. Family life is important, and children make it all the more critical to exhibit such a happy and joyous lifestyle. It is no wonder we have such a great relationship. Laughter has brought us together since day one and keeps us alive and going strong and will do for many, many more years to come.

Contributed by: Amanda Goodall

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The Power of Five

2008-06-24T06:52:00.000-07:00

Do you ever fret? In today's materialistic age, sometimes fretting is inevitable. With so many goals to achieve and needs to meet, fretting has become the "official emotion of the generation."

A few weeks ago, I was having another fretting day. I had so many conflicts to deal with and personal affairs to attend to that I was eating my heart out the whole day I was moving around. I could almost hear the song playing in my head:" Fretty woman walking down the street, fretty woman...lalalala..."

That night, after retiring from the day's toil, I remembered the time when I was diagnosed with SLE (Systemic Lupus Erythematosus) a.k.a. Lupus, an incurable autoimmune disease. I started re-grieving over the part that SLE took away from me. I began to fret about all the things I used to do so well.

I thought about how I used to take the jeepney for an hour's trip to the city just to get to pre-Med school everyday. I remembered how neat and pretty I looked with my white college uniform and how all my male neighbors used to have a big crush on me. I lamented that because of SLE, my college days are over and I'm never going to fulfill my dream of becoming a neurologist...ever!

I also recounted those days where I used to bum around with my friends. All those shopping sprees and dating schemes with a pool of suitors not to mention the series of soirees in schools and dormitories and a string of sorority mischiefs. Again, I lay the blame on SLE for cutting my frolicsome moments abruptly.

But as I was pouring out my grief, a crazy question popped in my mind: "Rachelle, give me five reasons why you should be happy today."

At first, I took the idea for granted thinking it was utterly ridiculous to entertain. Nonetheless, it remained lodged in my brain that a moment after, I felt like I just couldn't give it up. I thought for a moment and then, I started reiterating.

"Well," I mumbled, "my first reason to be happy would have to be my life, I think. The fact that I am still breathing the air of life would be a good reason at that. I have knocked on Death's door several times in my life and yet he never took me in. With dengue fever at 9 years old, malaria at 10, dengue fever again at 12, severe UTI at 19 and cardiomegaly at 20, and recently SLE, i think it's a miracle that I'm still alive. Second, I have a beautiful family who loves me so much. When I was at the darkest hours of my life and felt like everybody turned their backs away from me, they were there, enduring every sadness and pain with me. Third, I have great friends who were always there through thick and thin and were willing to sacrifice just for me. Fourth, I have a loving boyfriend who, despite our distance, never ceases to send his cares through the distance and loves me more than life itself. And fifth, I have a God who unwaveringly shows His love and care for me if all else fails."

And before I realized it, I felt good again. My lost fervor was revitalized and I felt joy overflowing inside me. I just realized that everything I need to be happy is right before my eyes and I was just overlooking them all along. It dawned to me that joy does not reside "out there" but within each of us in our hearts. It worked so well that I decided to incorporate it in my daily routine. Each day after rolling out of bed, I would grope for five things in my life that I am most grateful about. It soon became a habit that my life gradually changed.

Three days after the experience, my brother came up to me and asked,"What's with you? What's making you so happy these days?"

I just told him, "It's because of the power of five". My brother furrowed his brows not knowing what I meant. I just smiled.

Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo

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Reality is what we make it

2008-06-21T06:50:00.000-07:00

When we are young, we dream dreams of a calibre that drifts further and further away from being achieved due to the onset of realities of life. You'll then have people who have been there and done that telling you that plain passion doesn't put food on the table and that's what you should concern your self with first. Over time when you think about it over, there's always someone who has reached there who reaches out to some ones heart who has told you so. Despite the advice they'd give, they love being taken over by the passion overflowing from their work. It gives them their regular dose of freedom from being bound to only be able to make ends meet and not being able to afford much more. If they relish being blessed by people in places to where they advise careful advancement, why don't they along with everybody else give people who find their place there the opportunity to get there?

That makes me question the distance between dreams and reality. Do we make it as hard as it is on ourselves? Have we created it, the very people who would detest it with all our might if we had the chance? Or in the process of telling and reminding ourselves that life's not easy, do we forget that we are all here for the same purpose and that it would only help us achieve it easier if we put aside out understandably selfish ways?

The next time you find yourself writing off someone or something like that remember that there is a system in place, which we are all, meant to be a part of. We are not thrown into this world and left for only the fittest to survive. We should stop trying so hard to guarantee our success. The harder we fight against the system in place, the more difficult life will be. Dreams don't have to be difficult. We deny ourselves the right to have them come true for us when we create the reality that we live in that we ourselves are held down by.

The next time you come across an idea that's noble don't kill it because one would only waste more time and energy pushing it through in this world where reality is cruel enough to let that remain an ideal only. Don't appreciate it ideologically and say that real life and reality is a much bigger thing to worry about. It would help you and everybody else if ideals were reality. If you cant say anything else don't say anything at all. Keep an eye on it and if it breaks through, you benefit at no cost of yours. Sometime somebody somewhere or the other will want to be reached out to and that'll be when nobleness will be given its due.

Contributed by:Sunil Noronha

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Of Knitting Needles and a Mother’s Touch

2008-06-17T06:48:00.000-07:00

Time went by…ever so slowly as the knitting needle rolled smoothly across the glass-topped roundtable. A heavy sigh escaped from pouting lips…mine.

The object and cause of disappointment was sprawled motionlessly on my lap. The string of green that must have gone through World War II seemed to taunt me. Why I couldn’t get it right, I didn’t know. It looked so easy when my friends were doing it.

Simple knitting, Sheryl! I scolded myself. How could something so simple be so complicated?

I knew it was silly being so crestfallen over inanimate objects as if the whole world depended on it. But I wanted to learn the craft. When I saw Meeyan knitting one afternoon with her hands doing a tiptoe dance like those of a ballerina’s feet, I was enamored by such grace.

So there I was late at night trying to knit and shaming the women race. Then Mom came in the kitchen. I colored at the surprise on her face as she asked me why I was still awake.

Sheepishly I told her and regretted it when she burst out laughing. It was clear in her laughter that she thought I was being ridiculous. Yet, her eyes sparkled with something like pride.

Even simplicity, she said, needs to be defined.

She took the needle and the yarn (which both betrayed me and tripped my hands in their dancing) and showed me how to really knit. When she let me do it, I was still a hopeless case. Yet it only made her smile more.

At last, I got it right. The yarn was already in a splice, in a cleaner chain compared to the confused nest I made earlier.

Mom stood up and hinted that I keep practicing. Before she left, she told me, “Life is full of false starts and new beginnings, of failures before success, of tripping and falling. What matters is that you get up in every fall, learn in every mistake and never stop trying until you get it right. While there is room for mistakes, there is room for improvements and, just think, a house of learning.

My mother could have been a great teacher. I remember back when I was seven years old and still could not read. When she found out about it, she was so angry; she scared the hell out of me. Being a topnotcher herself in her youth, she was insulted.

I didn’t know how she did it but overnight she had turned me into a fluent reader. Uhm…okay, there were lots of spanking and pinching (my eyes still water at the thought of it). But it was worth it.

Perhaps I already had it in me but did not know it because I did not care. Why I did not care? Because I was not interested. And why? Because I thought I could never use it. All I cared about was playing. But my mother changed that. She opened one window by teaching me how to read, and lots of doors opened for me since then.

A sigh came out again…but this time of swelling pride and contentment. My thoughts went from the glaring eagle eyes of a hardened face that made me cower at mere sight…to eyes that shine with wisdom from a face gentled by years.

Mom, you’re simply the best, I thought. Then I went back to knitting.

Oops…there’s the mistake again!

I struggled for a while…then went on with my progress.

Contributed by: Sheryl Joy Olano

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The Crossing Ball

2008-06-14T20:56:00.000-07:00

In his book The Everlasting Man, G. K. Chesterton, the staunch Catholic polemicist made some intriguing comparisons between two distinctly separate and contrary worldviews: Both are characterized, by him as a ball and a cross. The former model, that of a ball, represents, what can best be described as materialism; a belief that nothing exists outside of the observed processes of nature ('what you see is what you get'). The latter, the cross, represents the religious, particularly Christian, doctrine of transcendence; a world that, as far as we are concerned, is constantly changing. The first is static, the second dynamic. What Chesterton did with these two symbols of mutually exclusive ideas was to compare and contrast them. The ball is unchanging. It is static, always returning to the same place, over and over again. Seasons follow seasons that are exactly the same as before. On the other hand, the cross is expanding, stretching out in diverse directions infinitely; never occupying the same space more than once.

What Chesterton suggested was that our world, symbolically, is like this. Although now, it is like a ball, self-contained and static, it is being made like heaven, always changing and infinitely dynamic. The ball is being stretched into a cross from within.This is what religion is like in contrast to a solely secular, naturalistic view of the world. Like the model that Chesterton offered us in his book, there is really no progress occurring in this world. We go from one thing to another and back around again. The only advancements that are made are through the hearts of men and women by God, and thus unseen. All other events are just re-occurrences of 'the same ole' things', just repackaged for the next generation of living beings.

Contributed by:~Robert Henry

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Isis and his chain Take2

2008-06-11T06:45:00.000-07:00

Now when he is bounding about in carefree abandon he occasionally meets another dog that seems to speak his language. Isis sees something louche in this. He cannot handle another creature sharing his language, I guess it makes him vulnerable and maybe it affects his sense of significance; which is obviously that he is the only terrestrial creature that can declare to the world the unique message; "Bow Wow".

Isis is a brave dog; he will bite and dismember anything that threatens his Dogness. Cell phones, TV remote controls, pens, rugs, bones and numerous members of the harmless material world have crumbled between his jaws for the simple sin of not satisfactorily affirming his Dogness. Isis will not tolerate any creature questioning or challenging his doghood. He charges and gets into a fight. Isis is very clear about the healthy way to fight. His fights are all about I win and you lose. Somehow, Isis has again been learning the hard way that, some dogs fight back, especially if they are dogs that have lived their lives with out a human in their house.

I do not know if Isis resents the protected environment I have given him but I know that when the war of dogs gets beyond what he can handle he whimpers and comes running to me with his tail between his wobbly legs. The other dogs back off when they realize that Isis has a human attached to him with a chain. The moment he hears the snap clasp of the chain on his collar; he is transformed. His dropping tail starts wagging, his frightened eyes sparkle with confidence and his whimpers turn into aggressive declarations of his dogly message to the world-

"Bow Wow". He declares to the chainless quadrupeds with an attitude that perfected David's discourse with uncircumcised Goliath. "Look you chainless fauna", he says. "I have bow wow with me, don't you dare challenge me". He keeps turning around to check if I am there to support his claims and the more he see me around the more confident he gets. Once again he strains at the chain to take me where he wants to go but I also believe that in his heart he is happy to have a chain that holds me close to him.

The chain that confines him, defines him. It defines his existence in the universe and affirms to him that he is; and yes that he is the one and only Isis and he is reminded that I am indeed his one and only pet "bow wow".

Contributed by: Arul Baliah

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Isis and his chain Take 1

2008-06-08T06:44:00.000-07:00

My name is Arul, and I live in Gurgaon with a dog named Isis. Isis is a genetically challenged Dalmatian. He grew up and spent almost all his life in the company of an overweight bachelor. I guess the nature vs. nurture phenomenon coupled with his not having too many doggy friends to interact with, has cast a predisposition on his world view- he thinks that he is human and believes with all his heart that I am his pet. I call him Isis and he calls me “Bow Wow”. I guess Isis has defined me with the best faculties of his vocabulary because most of what he says is “Bow Wow”. This is a parable about the chain that comes between us.

Isis has a strained relationship with his chain. He hates it and feels limited by it. However; the fact of the matter is that the chain comes into play only in occasions where his freedom would be hazardous to him and the rest of the universe. In such moments he fails to realize that the chain is not the story of his life. The limits of the chain often save his life. The length of the chain and the amount of freedom he gets is determined by how much freedom is safe and good for him in the given situation.

Isis looks at other dogs in the neighborhood, dogs that do not have a chain attached to their necks and he asks them with the questioning eyes; “Why don’t you have a chain? Why don’t you have a “bow wow” attached to you? Does your life without a bow wow make you happy??? ” When the other dogs ask him what the chain is for he explains that it is a widget he uses to bend my will to match his, to make me go where he wants to go. To drag me around and showoff to the world that he has a 2 legged pet that is fully under his control and dogipulations. I guess, he even feels called to make a public display of how he can use the chain that holds him back to take me where he wants to go. I have to admit that he does do a great job of it. He exercises an effort that would compel a super laden caravan through the eye of a needle.

Every morning Isis loves the sound of me picking up his chain. He argues with every nerve in my body that tells me to go back to sleep. He performs a gleeful prance between me and the door to urge me to go against the laws of the universe which clearly state that: more sleep is equal to a better option than walking a hyperactive cross between a Dalmatian and a creature of unknown origin. He loves to take me for a walk. On days when it is sufficiently early and the traffic is less, I take Isis for a walk without his chain and that makes him the happiest dog in the Dogdom. He runs about the street looks at other people and tries to jump on them and invite them to also be his pets. The people, for some strange reason, do not exactly respond the way he expects them to. Slowly and surely he seems to be learning to face rejection with his tail. He understands that not all potentially competent 2 legged pets are willing to dedicate their entire existence to the singular purpose of his happiness, but he has the dogged persistence of an insurance sales man. He leaves the non-respondents with an attitude of, “it is ok if you do not want to be my pet, I am not losing anything, I guess you have thought about it and I guess your ok with the consequences of not being my pet.” He proceeds to display enjoyment of freedom by zigzagging around me across the road. Isis loves it when I let him enjoy his Dogness without restraint.

Now when he is bounding about in carefree abandon he occasionally meets another dog that seems to speak his language. Isis sees something louche in this. He cannot handle another creature sharing his language, I guess it makes him vulnerable and maybe it also affects his sense of significance; which is obviously that he is the only terrestrial creature that can declare to the world the unique message; “Bow Wow”.

Isis is a brave dog; he will bite and dismember anything that threatens his Dogness. Cell phones, TV remote controls, pens, rugs, bones and numerous members of the harmless material world have crumbled between his jaws for the simple sin of not satisfactorily affirming his Dogness. Isis will not tolerate any creature questioning or challenging his doghood. He charges and gets into a fight. Isis is very clear about the healthy way to fight. His fights are all about I win and you lose. Somehow Isis has again been learning the hard way that, some dogs fight back, especially if they are dogs that have lived their lives with out a human in their house. I do not know if Isis resents the protected environment I have given him but I know that when the war of dogs gets beyond what he can handle he whimpers and comes running to me with his tail between his wobbly legs. The other dogs back off when they realize that Isis has a human attached to him with a chain. The moment he hears the snap clasp of the chain on his collar; he is transformed. His dropping tail starts wagging, his frightened eyes sparkle with confidence and his whimpers turn into aggressive declarations of his dogly message to the world- “Bow Wow”. He declares to the chainless quadrupeds with an improvization of David’s discourse with the uncircumcised Goliath. “Look you chainless fauna”, he says. “I have bow wow with me, don’t you dare challenge me”. He keeps turning around to check if I am there to support his claims and the more he see me around the more confident he gets. Once again he strains at the chain to take me where he wants to go but I also believe that in his heart he is happy to have a chain that holds me close to him.

The chain that confines him, defines him. It defines his existence in the universe and affirms to him that he is; and yes that he is the one and only Isis and he is reminded that I am indeed his one and only pet “bow wow”.

Contributed by: ~Arul Baliah

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Sincere spirituality defies being labelled

2008-06-04T20:54:00.000-07:00

Proud member of the spiritual left. Yep, that's me. I realized that I had to come up with some sort of short, slogany tagline in order to know my place in this fast-paced, pre-packaged, polarized world. If it isn't attention-grabbing and easy to grasp, it is hard to rally behind. Worse than that, you don't fit into any of their categories:

Married to a guy in the Navy, currently a stay-at-home mom, isn't afraid of guns â€" must be Republican. But wait, she supports abortion rights and can't stop talking about gay marriage, must be a Democrat. Then again, she is from the South and loves barbecue . . . she could be one of them Dixiecrats! I can just see the political profilers now, trying their best to put me in a slot, failing, and ceding me to the other side. That is how it is in winner-takes-all politics, right?

And speaking of the right, I have to say they certainly have done a good job of appropriating all things religious in nature. God is on "our" side, says Pat Robertson. Supporters of President Bush claimed a "moral victory" in last year's election. And Texas Gov. Rick Perry uses churches for backdrops of his bill signings, and why shouldn't he? According to him, God doesn't care for same-sex marriage or equal rights for women. Does all this mean that God is really a Republican?

I think not. For many reasons in general and one in particular. The first being that God doesn't pick sides. He doesn't just bless the U.S.A. he blesses the whole world.

I have a family that comes first in my life, even though I do have career aspirations. I am trying to teach my son the ways of Christ (even though, at 15 months old, the virtue of sharing is hardly taking hold). We go to church and we recycle. But the fact that I support a woman's right to terminate an unintended, unwanted or unhealthy pregnancy relegates me to hell? I don't see it.

See, I think it is more important about how we treat people when they are alive. Meaning, it doesn't get you any closer to heaven to be stridently anti-abortion if you haven't done anything to help the millions of abandoned children who are already here. If you are pro-life then help the living â€" adopt, donate, foster a child, teach sex education.

People who have those yellow ribbons on their cars are no more righteous than those who don't support the war (the war, not the troops everyone supports the troops), especially if they bought those bumper stickers in Walgreen's and haven't done anything else to support our military personnel.

To me, supporting the troops has more to do with sending care packages to them and making sure they have the equipment they need to complete the mission than slapping a bumper sticker on your car. If it were up to me, those yellow ribbons would cost $10 each and the money would go into a fund for the families of deployed military personnel. That is my interpretation of being a moral person, helping the next guy.

A couple of days ago the mail lady asked me to call her supervisor and tell her she was running late. She said she had asked the man down the street, but he said he could not because he was on his way to church. That logic astounds me, but it is exactly the thinking that rules the so-called moral majority right now. They cannot see the forest for the trees. Wouldn't it be better to actually help someone than be at choir practice on time? Did the man think the Almighty would punish him for being late for helping someone? Would Jesus have ignored the lame man to get to the next hut on time?

I think my mom put it best when she told me it was much more important to become a spiritual being rather than a religious person. Spirituality is not dictated by political rhetoric or the church structure. It comes from a personal relationship with a higher power that makes you feel joyful inside and happy to be alive to do what you can to help other people. It isn't Republican (or Democrat) and it certainly isn't served by swathing yourself in religious symbols and being self-righteous.

Contributed by:~Vivian Greentree

First published in The Atlanta Journal and Constititution

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Finding Little Heaven

2008-05-29T09:38:00.000-07:00

The news came as a shock to us all. He who had been ill for days had been taken to the hospital. It was found out that he had very high amount of creatinine in his blood, resulting from a stone in one of his kidneys.

Creatinine is a liquid waste. It causes slow blood circulation, making even breathing difficult. While the normal amount of creatinine in our body is 1.5%, he had 23.3% of it.

He had assured us it was only a frustrating duo of ulcer and bronchitis so no one thought it was a kidney problem, which I only used to hear about from other people's sob stories but never thought would happen to my own flesh and blood- my father.

A tube was inserted into my father's body to start the perritonial dialysis. The nurse had warned it would be painful because the anesthesia would not reach the innermost part of his body. Still, I was shaken to hear his tortured scream as the nurse punctured his abdomen.

For days my father struggled with a tremble to move a muscle or to eat without vomiting the food out. He couldn't seem to swallow anything down his throat. My father…whom I neglected while others longed for a paternal presence in their homes…oh, how I had wronged him!

For the first time, my siblings and I showed how we truly felt, even humbling down to our knees to pray and beg God, in the midst of weeping and yes…running noses, to show us mercy. It was quite a scene…sure beats "Maalaala Mo Kaya".

Friends became out of reach, or perhaps it was me who was withdrawing from them. In their absence, strangers and people I hadn't heard for years came pouring in to help.

It took great effort to focus at work but like a puppet I moved on, not daring to disturb normalcy. Somehow I had kept myself from bawling for moping could not help my father.

Our prayers and (this will sound corny as hell) love have done wonders to my father although he still has to undergo hemodialysis. Now he could even make faces at us. Funny how he tries to make us smile in the face of grief.

My siblings and I have become closer than ever. And the realization that our parents had raised us well dawned in. In this hell we are going through, we've found a little heaven. Indeed I had a lot to thank God for. He had allowed us the pain that has shaken us to the core. But a pain meant to heal us spiritually and emotionally, a pain that has brought with it people we could count on. Sigh, God's mysterious ways!

Only now have I heeded to the good ol' saying romantics often chided to me: Always take the chance of showing that you care, for you never know when that chance would be taken away from you.

Thank God, I still have that chance

Contributed by:~Sheryl Joy P. Olano

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Why We Should not Worry

2007-10-15T09:26:00.000-07:00

Almost everyone experiences some form of worry one time or another. It is a part of life. Everyday, we struggle financially, make decisions, and face major changes in life. These things create an inevitable occasional wave of apprehension. Ordinarily, a certain amount of worry is essential for our survival. It helps us to focus on the task and leads us to constructive action. However, when worry goes overboard, instead of being a good friend, reminding us to use good sense, worry suddenly morphs into a bully, making us crazy about things we can't control. Here is a list of reasons why constant worry is not good, if it is at all:

1. Worry is a Complete Waste of Time

Worry changes nothing. We do not accomplish anything or find answers to our questions by worrying. We also cannot add anything to our life by worrying. Worry can only subtract from our lives by causing such infirmities like ulcers or coronary thrombosis. Worry is just muddling away today's time to clutter up tomorrow's opportunities with yesterday's troubles.

2. Worry is Unnecessary

Worry cannot erase the mistakes of the past. It cannot unravel the answers to the future. It cannot make anything better in the present. Hence, there is no need for worry because it is inessential.

3. Worry Contradicts Common Sense

We must learn to live one day at a time. God has given us our lives in units of twenty-four hours and we should take life a day at a time. If we wish to live a long and fruitful life, we should respect and live by the biological clock He has built inside us.

4. Worry is Illogical

Worry is illogical because it is futile, unproductive and pointless. It is faith in the negative, trust in the unpleasant, assurance of disaster and belief in defeat. We do not know what tomorrow may bring, so there is no point in worrying about it. Why look ahead and worry about things that have not yet happened. They may just never happen anyway.

5. Worry Creates the Problem

If we are focused on our fears, we are more likely to crash into them. Thinking about them is a confirmation bias of their existence making them exist even if they are not there.

6. Worry Distracts Our Attention

Worry distracts us from the duties of the present. It grabs our attention from the things of utmost importance. It interferes with our highest functioning and delicious enjoyment of life. Worry is an uninvited guest who spoils all our fun, making our shoulders droop and forehead crease just when we should be feeling triumphant, carefree and filled with hope.

7. Worry Doubles Our Problems

To anticipate future troubles by worrying about them today is to double them. We already have enough troubles today. Today's problems are all we are capable of handling. Worrying for tomorrow, stacks up more problems than we can handle.

8. Worry Diverts our Point of Life

Life is far more important than material things. So often our worries are about relatively unimportant and trivial matters, such as food, drink, clothing, houses and cars. If we seek fulfilment in material things, we are missing the whole point of life. The point of life is the fulfilment of our purpose. Our life purpose is a combination of three things: who we are at the very core, our vision for our self and what we see possible for the world and our values. Instead of working out for our purpose, worry takes us away from the main stream of life completely diverting us from our point of life.

9. Worry is Toxic to our Health

when we worry; every system in our body is affected. Blood clotting increases, blood pressure rises, and the liver produces more cholesterol, all of which raises our risk of heart attack and stroke. Muscle tension gives rise to headaches, back pain, and other body aches. It also triggers an increase in stomach acid and either slow or speed up muscle contractions in our intestines, which can lead to stomach aches, constipation, diarrhoea, gas or heartburn. Worry can also affect our respiratory system by aggravating asthma.
It is a medical fact that worriers die sooner than the non-worriers are. That is because, as Dr. E. Stanley Jones says, "we are not designed to live in fear and worry." To live by worry is against our own nature. That is why worry is so destructive.

10. Worry Affects the People we Love

The Greek word for "worry" is "merimnaw" which literally means "to be drawn in different directions." In logical terms, worry tears us to pieces spiritually, psychologically, physically and even socially. When we are too focused on our worries, we forget about the things that really matters, even the people we care. It is a constant and dominating force that disrupts our lives and disconnects us from others.

We don't have to deny our worries or push them out to the limits because in reality, we can't. It is a part of us. It is our nature. Indeed, worry is good to some extent. It only takes a toll on our lives, when they consume us. If we hang around it day in and day out, it can short circuit our own electrical systems and leave us malfunctioning. We should take control over our worries instead of letting them take control over us. Worries are only in our head, thus it leaves us a choice whether to allow them to propagate or just forget about them. Sometimes, the process of worrying about a problem becomes much bigger than the problem itself. So we often need to learn to deal with worries head on. We should choose to think of the present concerns and decide to do something about them instead of simply worrying on them.

Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo

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To Believe is to Achieve

2007-10-15T09:23:00.000-07:00

Do you know the story of the little girl who caught a fever that left her both deaf and blind at the tender age of two? But did she whine or cry at the hand that
Fate had dealt her? Did she live her life in untutored misery untouched by the world? Absolutely not . She learnt sign language. She learnt Braille. She graduated from Radcliffe in 1904. She became a writer and an orator of great repute. Who am I talking about? None other than Hellen Keller. The story of her life is a thumbnail sketch of dogged determination to overcome debilitating handicaps. It is the story of a woman whose desire to achieve a goal overcame even her physical handicaps. Helen Keller made a public success of her private and personal battle with her physical ailments.This glimpse into the life of Helen Keller teaches us a lesson that one can never forget-Desire to achieve a goal can overcome all odds. This is what motivation is all about.

Often the term motivation is thought to be limited to a meaningless word in a treatise of psychology with scant practical implications. But, to my way of thinking, motivation is inextricably woven into the very fabric of our emotional and physical lives. At the risk of sounding like a self-proclaimed preacher, I would insist that success in life is in fact the practical outcome of the desire or need to achieve a goal.Motivation is the measure of any success achieved in life. Success in any endeavour in life, be it a career or be it as mundane as house hunting, requires four elementary steps :

1. Identify a goal and focus on it to the exclusion of everything else.

2. Form an Action Plan. List out the requirements for achievement of such a goal.

3. List out the tools needed for achievement of such a goal.

4. Go for it with complete enthusiasm and determination.

For instance if your goal in life was to become a teacher, this is how you would achieve it.

1. 'I-will-become-a teacher' would be the talisman you would carry around with you all the time .A constant awareness of the goal is essential to any form of achievement.

2. The next step would be to find out the requirements and qualifications to become a teacher.

3. To earn such a qualification you would have to enroll for the necessary courses. Which courses ? What universities? After you have come to a decision in this regard you would have to follow it up with admission applications and necessary financial arrangements. If you cannot afford to quit a job you would just have to find some University running evening/night classes.

4. After the procedural formalities are done you would just have to knuckle down and

Work for your goal. Whenever you are weary and discouraged focus on your goal and chant the 'mantra' of motivation 'I -can-if-I-will'
But inspite of this 'magic motivation' or 'motivation wizardry' some of us might fail at our assigned tasks . Why? This may be for several reasons:

1. We may have more than one goal . This would automatically divide the focus. To take an analogy ,it would be like running two engines with one battery and obviously we are likely to 'run out of steam' a lot faster and so fall short of achieving either goal.

2. It may be that we are ambivalent about our goals. To put it simply we are not sure if it is really worth all the effort. Such reservations at the subconscious level would make our efforts half-hearted and hence the goal unachievable.

3. It may be that the goals we set are beyond are skills or inclination .It could be as mismatched as a seamstress attempting surgery or a tone-deaf attempting to become a musician of great repute. All the motivation in the world would not help in such a case.

4. It may be that we are afraid of failure so we attempt a task at the subconscious level without adequate tools so that on failing we can find an object to blame . This is self-defeating for in doing so we are holding ourselves up for sure defeat.

5. It maybe that we are simply too lazy to make the effort required to achieve a goal.

To simply dream of making it big is not enough. We have to work to achieve success.

To use an analogy we have to sing for our supper.

6. It maybe that our motivation has flagged and let us down.

In case of failure what we need to do is check out the goal, redraw the action plan, checkout on the adequacy of tools and once again get down to the difficult task ahead with equanimity and the power of certainty of success. Success will be ours.

We have here a ready-made recipe for success. Take one cup of desire for achievement. Add a cup of dogged determination. Sprinkle it liberally with human endeavour. Bake it in the fire of human intractability and steadfastness. Let it cool in the stream of objective evaluation. Then ice it over with -- 'to believe is to achieve'.

Sweet is the taste of success.

Contributed by: Najib

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Nobody owns theTruth and nobody can control the Truth

2007-10-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

I've been brought up with principles of Christianity as the only thing to be adhered to. Any other kind would have to be in accordance with them. When you're young, you don't have anything to oppose something in favour of because you only know what you're told and you only have people around you who would tell you the same. When you're big enough to make sense of things, it's the only thing you find yourself able to make sense of.

Maybe that shows how crazy the world can get. What you understand is only that what has been driven into your head. That could be crazy but it's the only thing you can understand the world through. Everybody's got to have atleast some sense made out of the world otherwise they would end up in an identity crisis-which they all recognize and try to avoid lest they end up being in one. Being forced in upon such decisions that make your perception of the world, what it has to offer and what you think it needs can bring about certain choices of what you choose to believe in, what you don't, what your life will be made of and what it wont.

But there's so much more of the world to see, a lot that can change what you will eventually turn out to be. I don't mean to blaspheme but I've really lost my stand. When I'm down in the dirt, that's when it can hurt that what I chose to believe in has let me down. That could only mean that it isn't worth it and that I've got to find myself some new ground.

I can stay holed up in my cell. I can say that all is well (that there are too many fools for me to be wise). I can look for options that I can use. I can scout around for choices that I can choose from that can show me the more sense that I am looking for out of this life- but I'm looking for what's absolute. I'm looking for the truth that's so complete that no point of view can change the way you see it. No opinion can change its impression on you.

I've brought myself to understand that the truth wouldn't have to be called the truth at all if there wasn't anything opposing it. It would be only thing that ever made sense. If it works, it's got to work right down in the bottom of all that opposes it. I'm heading there. I hope both worlds level because both the worlds are looking for the same thing- they only need different things out of it. One world makes it harder in superiority- the other shuns it all in pride. NOBODY OWNS THE TRUTH. NO ONE CONTROLS IT. One is just lucky to know it earlier than the other.

Contributed by:Sunil Noronha

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All of MP3.com

2007-10-07T02:59:00.000-07:00

There are many MP3 sites to choose from: Napster, Rhapsody, Wal-Mart, and many, many others. By the time you finish reading this article, you will have a new favorite MP3 Site. It's called AllofMP3.com.

At first glance, you might wonder why the site is hard to read. It's actually in Russian when you first visit their site. A simple click in the upper-left corner changes the web site language to English. Once you have done that, you are now free to peruse the vast collection of music that AllOfMp3.com offers you.

The first thing you will probably notice is how inexpensive their albums are. A popular album, such as Aerosmith, may cost you as much as $2.50 to download. You read correctly: $2.50 for the entire album. With hundreds of thousands more songs to choose from, you will have plenty of music to choose from. You can even choose which bit rate you want your new music encoded. Of course, price varies depending on which bit rate you choose. An average length album, at 192kbs, will cost about $2.00.

This isn't one of those sites filled with outdated mp3s either. You can find almost anything you're looking for, new or old, with a simple search. To make things run smoothly, you have the option of downloading the Allofmp3.com Explorer, which automatically downloads your selected mp3s into your desired folder.

What about incomplete mp3s you ask? Well, I'm glad you asked. Your account is not charged until you have downloaded the complete song.

Allofmp3.com has turned out to be a diamond in the rough of the MP3 industry. They offer inexpensive, superb quality music. If you're looking to build up your collection for cheap, check them out. I'm sure you will be mesmerized at the plethora of audio files that are at your fingertips.

Contributed by:John T Darrah

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How to write a Short Story

2007-10-07T02:51:00.000-07:00

Everybody knows writing a story is not easy. Like the drama or the poem, it is imaginative literature that should appeal to the emotions of the readers. Since it communicates the writer's interpretation of reality, there must be an artistic use of language to signify human experience. But how do we write a great short story? What are the things to keep in mind in order to come up with a short story that works? Here is a quick guide to get you started:

Read

Reading is essential to anyone who wants to write. In order to be able to write a good short story, you must read other short stories first. This will not only give you the motivation and inspiration for your own story, but it will also help you learn how other authors made an impression on the reader and use their style as basis to create your own style and impression.

Get inspired

For seasoned professionals, there is no need to obtain inspiration because thoughts naturally flow and they only have to put them into words on paper. But for novice writers, it is important to have one because it will not only help you begin your first paragraph but also keep you going throughout. Your inspiration may take the form of an object. a person, or an event that you just can't seem to forget.

Conceptualise your story

Think of something you want to talk about with your readers. Let's say you want to relate a story about a couple who fell in love with each other. What about the couple? What is it about them that you are interested to let your readers know? Focus on this idea and think of other concepts that you want to associate with this couple. Suppose the girl's parents discommended their relationship. What about the parents? What did they do to stop the two from loving each other? This could signal a good beginning for your story. From here, you would have the notion what to write down.

Map out the scenes

In order to keep your writing aligned with your pre-conceived story events, it is good to briefly map out scenes of your story on a different piece of paper. Write down the possible characters of your story and list the main events in order. You don't have to put so much detail on them because this only serves as a rough sketch of how your story will look like.

Choose your point of view

Who tells the story and how it is told is very critical for a short story to be effective. The point of view can change the feel and tone of the story radically. Hence, you must decide carefully before finally resolving with the angle of vision to use for your story. But whatever it is you decide to choose as the point of view, make sure it stays constant throughout your story to maintain consistency.

Conceive your characters

For a short story, create a maximum of only three main characters. Too many main characters will make your story confusing since each new character will provide a new dimension for the story. Each character should be more than cardboard caricatures. Make your characters speak naturally in proportion with their traits. Make them believable but mysterious.

Furnish a good introduction

When you have everything planned out, start scribbling your first paragraph. Introduce your main characters and set out the scene. The scene must be some place you know much about so that you'd be able to supply the necessary snapshot for a clearly described setting. Make your introduction interesting to hold the reader's interest and encourage them to read on to the end. It is also important to hold back significant details and the greater part of the action at this point so the mystery is kept.

Build up a great plot

From your introduction, draw out events that will eventually create a problem or a conflict for the main character/characters. After that, begin laying out an array of clues to keep the reader interested, intrigued and guessing. Intensify the conflict as the story moves forward. This will not only make your reader enthused to read more but will also keep them riveted to your story.

Show don't tell

The characters should be the ones responsible for expressing the story through their actions and dialogue and not the writer telling the reader what is being expressed. Rather than saying, "Annette was really mad at her best friend Christina for stealing her boyfriend", say "Annette felt an ache in her stomach and a strong pang of betrayal as Christina approaches her and flashes her with a sweet smile. She breathed hard trying to calm herself as she speaks with suppressed anger: "I hope you're happy now that you've proven yourself as a friend."

Use active verbs

Put as much life into your story as you can. In order to do this, employ verbs in the active voice in your story. Instead of saying," The flower was picked by Johanna", say "Johanna picked the flower."

Use dialogue every now and then

Dialogue is important in bringing your story to life. Don't just use it to pad out your characters. Use it to convey your character to identify with the reader. Use it in direct quotes like "Go there!" instead of indirect quotes as "She told him to go there."

Keep references handy

A good reference such as a thesaurus or a dictionary is crucial in creating a good story. You can use them to check your spellings and to find the words which best fit your description. Instead of using one lengthy sentence or paragraph, you can utilize one or just a few words to convey what you want to say. Oftentimes, one strong word has a greater effect than a paragraph full of fancy language.

Conclude briefly

Conclusions are tough sledding. For a good ending, it is advisable to experiment and to add a little twist. Make your ending unique but not hanging in a loose end. Make it satisfying without making it too predictable. Keep in mind to keep it short but concise and lingering so that the reader is left with a feeling of resonance. Your conclusion should wrap up everything from start to finish.

Edit and revise

After fashioning the last words of your story, it is time to begin the editing cycle. Carefully go through your work and fix all your mistakes regarding sentence construction, word usage, formatting, punctuation marks, diction, spelling, grammar, and descriptive analysis. Scratch out words, phrases and even paragraphs which don't seem to contribute to the basic elements of the story. After you are done, let it sit for a while for days and even weeks, then edit it again. Reread your story over and over again at different occasions. This will make you see various things you may want to change to make your story shine at its best.

Let others proof read

Have your friends look at your work. They may just be able to see mistakes which you have missed. For instance, they may be distracted with some words or lines which you adore dearly. In this case, you have to decide on changing it or cutting it off completely.

Writing a short story may not be easy but it can surely be done. With some knowledge on the basic elements and some passion and patience, it's effortless to pull together a story with just a few ideas. Just keep in mind that you are writing not because you have to, but because you want to. Keep the spirit up! Give it a go now!

Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo

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Goth-Emo-Punk-Hardcore with a Twist of Pop and Adidas

2007-10-07T02:47:00.000-07:00

The local, amateur scene seems to be a big craze in communities around the country. A large percentage of high school and college students alike are starting their own "garage bands" in hopes to one day make it to the mainstream, professional level. With the conception of so many new bands comes the goal to, somehow, create a new, unique sound in which to classify the hopeful's music, and make it more appealing to the masses. The truth, however, is not that a unique sound is created, but a new label or genre is placed on the music in an attempt to intensify the appeal.

With the interest in hardcore bands like Hatebreed, Atreyu, Bleeding Through, and a host of others on the rise, many of the fans of such bands have taken to creating their own bands with the same style. Most of the members in these amateur bands, however, will almost certainly never describe their music as simply "hardcore". We all know these people: the kids in school who are always trying to get you to come to their shows on Friday nights, always bragging about how they are so good, and are always describing their music as some mix of random genres like "emo-skate-metal" or "goth-thrash-with a bit of punk". Then, if you do go to see these bands, it sounds no different than the Shadows Fall CD you listened to on the way over.

Probably the worst description of a band's music came from that crazy white wannabe: Vanilla Ice. A few years ago, he had a rock band in which he described their genre as "Adidas Skate Rock". Adidas skate rock? Does Adidas really need its own classification of music? Furthermore, does Vanilla Ice have to be the poster boy for it? This is getting out of control.

I, personally, am all for high school and college students starting their own band as a hobby, or just something to do after work or school. I was there once. I used to have the dream of being a rock star. I am sure we all have. However, if an amateur band sounds just like every band of the same type of music, you are not going to succeed just because you call it something different.

Whatever happened to the days when music fell into only a few distinct categories like alternative, rock, metal, punk, easy listening, country, and pop? Nowadays you have an unlimited number of sub-genres attached to these. Why do we need "Adidas skate rock" and whatever other bullshit people come up with? I mean, honestly, is it really necessary? Most of the time, fans categorize their favourite bands' music into genres on their own. Sub-genres are a mask for the people who don't want to be exposed for falling on the bandwagon. In my opinion, a true artist does not have to explain his work; his work is to be explained by the public.

Contributed by: Rob Maynard

Art and the Artist

2007-10-07T02:46:00.001-07:00

Art is expression and the artiste is one gifted with the ability to express but expression is not confined to the ability of the artiste. It is the need of man to express and be understood that has brought about communication protocol like gestures and languages. An artists ability to express is none like any ordinary mans, thus setting him apart, because he has the ability to see things that not everyone can see &appreciate until they have been revealed.(there are people who have good taste and people who give them an opportunity to enjoy that taste.).

It's like there are things that "metaphorically" float in the air above our head and between us. It's an artist's ability to see these "metaphorical" things and bring them to the notice of the rest of the world. Though the people of the world need artistes to find the perfect companion when a fellow human being wont do, to take them away from this crazy world we live in for a while and to give them hope against faultless reasoning when it is uncalled for, they bind him down by forcing him to give them things that they want to hear in they want to hear them in an indirect manner by determining his success in the support they lend to him in return for that pleasure. The constant complaint of an artiste, if he chooses to complain, is that when he offers his audience something to think about, they tackle on the armour of analysis and analyse it until it dies away or dies down until it is kept alive by a few who believe in it. If he offers them something hollow, rebellious or just what they want to hear, they take it in because they like things the way they know, rather blame someone else or they'd just rather leave life's questions unanswered.

A clever artiste knows what people want and gives them exactly what they want. A true honest artiste digs out the truth and offers it up. He is a true believer in the arts. He is like in between the audience and the art. The audience needs to understand that they are ill informed when it comes to things that he can give them that are worthy taking in. If they could do what he can, he wouldn't be needed to do them but since they can't, he is there. They only have the power and the ability to stop him in his tracks and deny his discoveries from further penetrating into their lives and affecting them.

In touching hearts, souls and lives lies an artiste's success. That is where his audience can cut him off. They can choose to let their hearts, souls and lives be touched by things they choose to let it be touched by. As an amateur artiste (as I'd like to call myself), it is this that weighs heavy on my head. It needs to be understood that an art wouldn't be called an art if you could make it what you want. A true artiste is a visionary who is gifted with many a vision, which he understands better than anybody else that he can speak of, sing about, write about or describe with conviction in a manner that nobody else can.

Every art has got its folk form which almost anyone can indulge in as well as another but its true form is one which one needs to be gifted enough to be a part of. Being the key to its survival and it being almost our everyday need, we need to allow the free flow of expression and support the arts. We can never tell what it may bring us because they are so many things that we don't see. Its best we leave that up to artistes, because only they can bring them to our notice, without allowing them to work only within a certain framework. There's a huge world out there. Most of us live in our own world far from it. That's what motivates me as a songwriter. There's never a song not to write. The world is never big enough, beautiful enough or versatile enough. So many things to understand and define before you get to what's absolute

Contributed by: Sunil Noronha

The Art Of Henna

2007-10-07T02:46:00.000-07:00

Henna tattoos have a long history of use in eastern cultures, particularly in the sub continent, Arabia and North Africa, but why is henna so popular today? Some would say that it is simply a fashion trend inspired by celebrities such as Madonna, Liv Tyler, Demi Moore and Prince. Seeing Madonna with henna tattoos on her hands in her video for 'Frozen' certainly gave henna more exposure to the media. It became a much talked about style of body decoration, and as a result interest in this traditional art form was ignited, spawning a great deal of promotion on television and in glossy magazines.

One cannot wholly attribute the popularity of henna to those celebrities alone. Henna is still used in eastern cultures and it was only probably a matter of time before these practices became more accessible in today's multicultural society.

Mehndi, which is a far more traditional name for henna, celebrates the hands as a miracle of creation and a vehicle of love. It focuses our attention on the sacred nature of the hands activities. Here instrument in turn becomes canvas. From the hand to the hand the henna flows a deep red into patterns of personal meaning, defined by and redefining traditions.

Mehndi is a unique form of painting because it is not only honourable but also requires contact. Human touch, itself a medium of expression, it adds another dynamic dimension to this work.

It is a fundamental human trait to use the skin as a canvas for artistic expression. To decorate one's body is the most pertinent expression of individuality and creativity that is available, be it permanent or not.

Tattooing as an art form on the skin has been practiced for many thousands of years. Today it is constantly growing in popularity, as are all forms of body decoration and adornment, such as piercing various parts of the anatomy.

The history and origins of the use of henna are hard to trace. With centuries of migration and cultural interaction, it is difficult to determine which culture and people started using henna first. There is archaeological evidence to suggest that the ancient Egyptians used henna to colour their nails, hair and even their beards, as traces of these have been found on the nails and hair of mummified pharaohs.

Whatever the case, it is clear that henna has been used by many different cultures for many centuries.

Once the use of henna as a form of body decoration became more widespread, it developed in its cultural importance and was included in many aspects of daily, spiritual and ceremonial life. As its popularity grew so to did the diversity of designs, application methods and recipes.

Another attraction of henna tattoos is that they are temporary. You can try out different styles and designs without them being permanent or painful, unlike real tattoos.

As we all know that fashion changes rapidly, and what is in vogue today may well be out of date tomorrow. With henna you can change your designs as your taste and fashion demands.

Contributed by: Fazilla Shujaat

The Whys of Writing

2007-10-07T02:40:00.001-07:00

Have you ever told yourself that you think too much? Have you ever wondered why you waste so much time...writing?

You pick a pen, grab a piece of paper and scribble…or, nowadays, turn on your PC, go to MSWord, exhaust your fingers on the keyboard…and you're done…instant article! That easy, and you're an instant celebrity.

It has been made clear that everybody can write. Why not? It's as basic as reading. Once you've mastered the alphabet, able to distinguish plural from singular and loaded your cerebral bank with tons of vocabulary, you're off to a good start.

Why write?

A semester of essay writing classes and four years of enduring journalism teachers who were fond of dumping projects with tight deadlines helped me come up with the reasons for writing.

Reason #1 Power

Writing is a good weapon in swaying opinions, influencing people's mindset and way of living and in fighting for causes believed in.

Being a writer, you can bask in the glow of glamour. You become a celebrity but most of all a leader.

Reason #2 Expression

Other than being a weapon of might, writing is a good outlet for your pent-up emotions. Also, it allows the graceful or direct presentation of opinions and know-how.

Reason #3 Attention

You can use writing to bring attention to an issue you deem important or to things unheard of, which you want to share. As for my case, the scribbled words became my voice.

Through writing, you can reach a great number of readers from all walks of life without exhausting your vocal chords.

Reason #4 Entertainment

You can write for people's delight, and even for your own entertainment when you've got nothing else to do.

Reason #5 Immortality

You can be immortalized through people's memory; the written works you leave behind would remind them of you and your ideals.

Reason #6 It's a Write-Or-Starve Situation

It's your job. No escape. Write or be fired.

Reason #7 For Others

Most of all, write for others, not only for your self. Use writing to reach out to someone who feels alone and misunderstood, and who needs all the comfort in the world. Use writing to teach a lesson. My mentors had made that perfectly clear to me.

Before, I was merely satisfied with creating a world of my own. I enjoyed playing god. However, I soon realized that to be a better writer, I must not write merely for myself.

As a writer, you have readers whom you communicate a world of ideas, and who are affected by what you write. Don't only think of yourself. By becoming a writer, you have taken a responsibility to the society. You are molding and reshaping somebody's persona.

As a writer, you move readers to do something. Lead them to the light; lead them to the truth. They deserve nothing less.

One of my mentors used to read this to me: A writer without a sense of responsibility is no better than the leader who goes on with his work without regard for the welfare of those he leads.

I have failed to remember the writer from whom those wonderful words came, but they are words that are not easy to forget.

Contributed by: Sheryl Joy Olano

Inside a writer's Mind

2007-10-07T02:40:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting with pen in my hand, the bitten with bite marks on it. I look at the last sentence that I just wrote and I feel proud of myself. Upto now I've never feared a writers block. I only learn from each one and I get more confident with each one. Looking at what I achieved so far, it's is quite an effort. It seems like I was only beating around the bush until I wrote that concluding sentence. That hit the right spot and ended it perfectly.

My heads full of ideas that I know are great because I know of many people within my own social circle who would love reading it. It would relieve them of what is offered to them to think and what opportunities the world gives them to do what they want to which they say is the best you can get. They all succumb to the drudgery of living within those limits.

"Everywhere you go people are rating people There are people just waiting to find a reason to tag you. Everywhere you go, people realize that people They make opinions that can make, break or just nag you. If you look around, you will see hidden suppressed spirits all around you So many things they want to be but they don't want to let all that come down on them."

I want my writing to affect people and change lives. The truth is my motto. It is for me-my calling if you will- to dig it out and offer it up. I believe that art of any kind should do more than just be a mere observation of life. It should correct, console and encourage as and when required and above all bear the truth. The editor is not too keen too publish things that radical. He is scared that it would tarnish the reputation of his publication. It would scare people too much. Well, people could fall in love with that perspective of writing but if they don't, they might not buy the next issue of his publication. It's a risk on his part.

I want to be a writer. Once I'm established, I'll only have to work about 3-4 hours a day. That's the excuse people have to reason out why I should study, get a job, get settled and succumb to life being a pain the backside which you cant do anything about. They say there's no reason for you to stop studying- "It'll only occupy your free time". They don't know of the satisfaction of accomplishment- the satisfaction which fills you up when you do something you value. When I finish breaking my head over a piece, I feel like laying back and enjoying that fulfillment that it gives me. I don't see anything wrong with that.

When I'm asked what I want to do, they shut my aspirations up saying that it is not ambitious enough. Ambition they judge by salary, reputation and post. The self hasn't got anything to do with it. It's all weighed by what the world would think of you. Will the self ever carry weight? Why does everything have to be logical and statistical especially when no one even understands life in its entirity? We're all travelers on the same road. We're all in the same boat on the same waters. None of us know any less than anybody else in the entire world. The best we can do is guess, cross our fingers and hope that were right. If our chances wont do us any good, we might as well just live with what we are sure of and not worry about the rest. We will most probably will never be able to find out certain things about life's mysteries in one lifetime. For all you know there could most probably be nothing that's definite- nothing to find. Life could only be what you make of it and nothing else. It would be a more worthwhile venture to make sure our passage through it is good and not worry about anything else.

Contributed by: Sunil Noronha

The Little Boy

2007-10-01T19:59:00.000-07:00

When that tiny fellow, carrying a tattered cloth bag, peered into our staff room one lazy summer day, little did I realize he would leave such an impression on me. He hesitated at the door for a couple of minutes before BN ( a colleague ) asked him very gently what he wanted. Looking much younger than his age....he told us later that he was eight though he looked about six....he stood there , a puny little thing, tentative at first but confident enough to say that he was looking for some work. With a smile hovering at the corner of his lips, BN told him that there wasn't anything that he could do around that place ( that, being a College ).

Meanwhile all of us, in the various corners of the room, had stopped our activities, much intrigued by the conversation between the two. Soon the others joined in , patronisingly telling the boy that he shouldn't be playing the fool there and that he should be in a school instead. The boy stood his ground and with a no-nonsense attitude announced that he was there to shine their shoes which looked pathetic in that heat , in any case...thereby earn some money which would ultimately take him to school...."And I can do a mighty good job of that too", he declared with some authority now. That quietened the voices in the staff room immediately; obviously taken aback by the boy's impudence .

Though a trifle startled, some of us had started feeling sorry for the smart aleck of a boy. It felt shameful to allow that little chap to do any work, let alone clean shoes. For some unknown reasons the vision of our own children started floating in front of our eyes. One of the ladies tenderly called him by her side and very discreetly, tried to hand over some money. The reaction of the boy left us all stunned. He turned around, eyes glinting with pride and said, " I don't accept charity, madam, allow me to earn my money"...with that, he promptly sat on the floor and without a word took out the sandals from her reluctant feet and proceeded to clean them. We all sat there dumbfounded...teachers all...but words eluded us at that moment.

Child Labour ? Or Dignity Of Labour ?

When the boy walked out of the staff room, a little later, with a fifty
rupee note in his hand, he had a broad smile on, leaving us all weak-kneed and bleary-eyed....

Contributed by:~ Indigo Iris

A lesson in the park

2007-10-01T11:12:00.000-07:00

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Wrinkles

2007-09-28T21:46:00.000-07:00

Why is it when you spend time with an older person (the kind with graying hair that always leaves their turn signal blinker on for mile after mile when they are not turning) they always get around to showing you photographs? Usually it is a picture of their grandchildren. They carry them with pride right next to their preparation H. If that isn't love I don't know what is! They are usually good looking youngsters too. However, whenever you are shown the grandparent's own portrait from "back in the day" they always look equally gorgeous! I'm not kidding. Folks in the 1930's, 40's, and 50's have stellar snapshots of themselves. It was perhaps the heyday of portrait photography. Most look professionally placed and have the appearance of a model posing for a magazine cover.

My high school graduation picture doesn't look anything like me either so that's gonna be my benchmark when I'm old and wrinkly! Their head is tilted just so and they have a smile on their face. Their skin is a creamy white and they are always pleasant upon the eye. You look at their picture then you look at them standing there with you in the present moment. You look again at the picture and back to them once more. If you squint just right you catch the resemblance to the beauty in the photo.

What happened? Time, the avenger of all that is skin deep, is having a slow yet equally amusing laugh at our expense. We, the culture that worships wrinkle free, smooth skin, single chinned, firm breasted, muscle toned, hard bodies are fighting a losing battle. It's similar to climbing a hill of sand. The longer we struggle toward the heights of beauty the more the foundation under our feet ebbs away. If only those old fogies taught us that sometimes you peak right at the beginning then maybe we could handle aging more gracefully. I guess they weren't warned either so they probably secretly enjoy watching our slow motion battle to stay pretty and chuckle to themselves.

Women especially have been targeted to fight the good fight that they are destined to lose. If you are not 18 years old with a tight face and butt to go with it then you've got a problem. As a woman you become old while a man who has considerable mileage on him can be viewed as "a catch" long past his prime. Being self-delusional, rationalizing shell of oneself, helps keep the illusion alive.

I have never seen one of those older people's youth photos that were an ugly one. C'mon! With all of the goofy looking young adults running around our streets the ugly gene must go back generations! The term ugly gene is the technological term for those in the field of human genome study. It's easier to say than "ewe doggie did ya see that ugliosis thrombosis case in the waiting room?"

Why is there no pictorial evidence to back up the logic of this "they weren't all beautiful once" theory? Is it that photographers didn't take pictures of homely people or something? It is nearly as disturbing to check out the obituary page of metropolitan newspapers and see the dearly departed 110 year old with a picture from when they were 35 standing next to Herbert Hoover (and of course they are good looking). Sure when we get over 40 we begin the slide into the hideous and gruesome category of eye pain inflictor. Somewhere after the 50- 60-year range we begin to look like our ravaged beauty should be gauged by something akin to a Richter scale.

Perhaps it is a matter of perspective. If you had stood next to the older person when the picture was initially taken you would recognize a lot more of that beauty that is still on their face. Since you only know them as an older person it is more of a shock to your mind to fathom that they could have ever looked as good as you think you do! Boy you'll have a surprise when the Choo- choo train of time runs over your illusions.

Then again this is the age of plastic surgery, face-lifts, tummy tucks, body lift's and fountain of youth beauty supplies. Perhaps with a little dab of beauty cream and the right doctor you will be able to regress into a second childhood of sorts. Just make sure you look good doing it and turn off that damn turn signal!

Contributed by:Giosue' Santarelli

Are Our Young Women In Trouble? Today’s Illusionary Icons

2007-09-28T21:44:00.000-07:00

My generation grew up watching Mary Tyler Moore proudly hold her own in the boorish business world, Edith innocently defy Archie’s intolerance, and Maude argue for social reform. We read about the “women’s movement” in Cosmopolitan magazine, while Cher broke new ground with her unabashed sexuality. Over the years, the struggles of our older sisters made it possible for us to open doors, to attain more than they had, to soar. As we grew up, we dreamed of meeting our Prince Charming, but we also envisioned working in the city or becoming a doctor or a lawyer. Indeed, over the years we made important strides in our quest for equality with men in business and in society, but what about in relationships?

Science tells us that women’s domesticity and nurturing qualities are instinctive, however, we also learned ways of thinking and interacting with others from our mothers, who had, of course, learned from their mothers. But what had we learned? Thirty years ago, most of us saw our mothers cater to our fathers, while dismissing their own ideas, and neglecting themselves. They did what was expected of them, but were they happy? As one woman said, “I’ll never forget that look on my mother’s face… she couldn’t have been happy.” We told ourselves that things would be different in our relationships, and they are, to some extent. But had the freedom and independence that had finally bubbled to the surface made us wiser and more connected to our inner selves, or did it just give us more outside choices? Had those achievements influenced our roles as loving and lovable companions?

In discussing this subject with women as young as thirteen and as old as never mind, I could see that the older women who had been influenced by our pioneer sisters, knew how important individuality and respect were to women. The younger ones, however, seemed to demonstrate the same self-effacing behavior as in years past, putting the needs and desires of men ahead of their own. This new breed of female seemed unprepared, naïve, and oblivious to what women before us had accomplished. Accordingly, if how we think and behave is a result of what we were taught and exposed to as children, what does that tell us about girls growing up today?

Have you noticed how obsessed most young women appear to be with having the best body, face, and hairstyle? Why is physical “perfection” such a priority today? Could it be the dozens of makeover and plastic surgery shows on television or the constant marketing of products consuming the airwaves and billboards, luring our young women with false promises of happiness and everlasting love, and almost hypnotizing them into buying their magical potions and gadgets -- look like your favorite movie star, and have a wonderful life! Those kinds of deceitful messages are shameful and potentially harmful to women who try futilely to reach the media’s ideal archetype. Our young women need to believe that they don’t have to look, think, or behave like the rich and famous, or do what the so-called “trendsetters” dictate just so advertisers and retailers can make a buck.

I am also concerned that a lot of girls feel they need to have a man (actually, a boy) in their lives in order to feel complete. Part of the reason is age -- the dawn of hormones -- but could it also be a result of reality shows where a dozen women compete for one man by using any means necessary? These shows have turned meeting and winning the heart of a man (a/k/a “falling in love”) into a spectator-driven, cut-throat event featuring ruthless women who act as if men were almost extinct!

Now, I admit that as young girls we wanted to have boyfriends and we wore makeup (remember that black eyeliner and blue eye shadow?), but I also remember that all of that was just a part of our lives as budding young women. We were also curious about the world, about finding out who we were, and what we would become.

One reason for the somewhat distorted thinking of young women today could be that the world around them is not teaching them about integrity, confidence, or self-esteem. Parents today work really hard and can only hope that their children will listen to their words of wisdom and experience. It’s a losing battle when young women are then bombarded by self-serving, deceptive messages emanating from the media around them.

Please know that when I state my case I am not advocating censorship here. Nor am I in favor of producing a class of male-hating women -- far from it. I am talking about taking responsibility for teaching our young people the difference between what is true and appropriate for them in real life, and what is put out there for “shock value” and entertainment purposes. We need to spread the word to our young women that they have a choice not to be that woman in the video dancing half naked and that they will still get a boyfriend (and one of better quality). We have to tell them that it’s okay to refrain from using (and listening to) offensive and disgusting language, and that Britney and Christina are dressed like that because they are on stage (not in a classroom), and that yes, blow jobs are sex!

We have to teach our little sisters how to be comfortable in their own skin by shouting Be kind to yourself! Don’t obsess about your looks or berate yourself because you’re not model-thin. As women, we are our harshest critics and hold ourselves to ridiculous standards. Be independent! Don’t just say, “Wouldn’t it be nice to…” Do it! Set limits! Don’t let anyone mistreat you -- stand up for yourself and keep your word. Express your appreciation! When we embrace gratitude and humility, even more goodness and love comes to us. Listen to your inner voice! Don’t be someone who jumps to conclusions, but if you have that “feeling” deep down, don’t ignore it -- trust your instincts. Believe in yourself! Decide what you want, go after it whole-heartedly, and stay committed. Let ‘em see your joy! Joy comes through in our smiles and our eyes, and enables us to attract even more love into our lives. Remember, what you give out, you get back.

Contributed by: Audrey Valeriani

A day with Children

2007-09-28T21:43:00.001-07:00

I had always thought I was a failure around kids. I feared I would either spoil them rotten or choke them to death. The first one was more probable though.

Then one day I was stuck into an outreach program where I was assigned to handle three kids. The first time I heard about it I was mortified…er…close to panicking to be exact. Instantly I imagined toddlers running around and ducking from my every grasp, pulling at my clothes and ruining my hair. My little sis gave me the phobia when she reached four and I was nine. (If she reads this she's going to kill me.)

Yet the havoc the little ones could cause was not really the problem. I feared they would hate me. What was I to do with them? I was never good at babysitting and most people thought I was too serious and boring.

Still I showed up at Family Park. A sense of responsibility made me. I could not resist it. I just hoped the lessons I learned in the Educational Psychology classes I took back in college would work.

When the banner was hung and chairs were positioned in the field, the children came bounding in. Children of different colors and sizes. Right away I spied two of them knocking down two chairs. I thought, oh boy, this would be one forgettable day.

Soon the children fell in line like cherubs as my colleagues and I handed them their nametags. I searched for my adopted kids Joely (age six), Jeimes (four) and Beam (14).

As I walked to and fro I saw this little slim, tan girl with long tresses and bangs watching me. Suddenly a little hand grabbed my shirtsleeve. It belonged to another little girl with shoulder-length hair.

She pulled me closer as she accused a grinning chubby boy of pushing her.

Somehow I got the boy to behave and pacified the girl with mere words, words that came out of nowhere. I then asked them if they knew Joely and they pointed at the girl with the bangs.

Getting along with Joely was easy. She was sweet and gentle. She even gave her mineral water to another girl who was thirsty. I was so proud of her I could not bear not to show it, and it was easy to tell she was pleased. Though she seemed to want to shy away out of embarrassment at my outright admiration, the flushing of her cheeks could not hide the fact that her eyes were dancing.

Unlike Joely, I had quite a hard time with Jeimes. I had to keep an eye on him and make sure he would not run off, which he managed to do every once in a while. I could not blame him. It was getting hotter by the minute. Other kids got restless too, and the demand for water was fast rising. I had to go up and down the stage for the supply.

Then there was Beam - a tight-lipped loner. He was taller than I, with a skin a hue darker than Joely's. I kept encouraging him to join the games so he would not get bored and be another runaway Jeimes.

I was surprised I was having fun with the sack race though my only role was to scream. And yes, there was the job of picking up a kid or two at every stumble. I had to hold their IDs and nametags so they could move freely and enjoy the game without being distracted.

Jeimes shunned away from me even at lunchtime. I thought he would grow up as a man with his own mind. I told him to roam around and help me find Beam. Instead, he stayed put. Reverse Psychology…of course! I eventually won the cute one over.

Beam, on the other hand, would lower his head every time I would speak to him. He was, however, a gentleman. He helped in carrying boxes of Zesto and other stuff.

All of a sudden I became everybody's sis. Kids took turns in pulling me to their side. They huddled close to me and they didn't even touch my hair! They would lean to me and ask me questions such as what grade I was in (kids don't know much about high school and especially college).

I answered that I was already working. Joely looked shocked. To make sure I was telling the truth she asked me if I finished grade one, grade two...and so on. When another kid declared that I would soon get married, Joely verified it to me again with sullen expression on her face. I couldn't help but laugh. I was in Pluto where marriage is concerned.

Then came Jollibee and the angels around me, who were hanging on my every word, morphed into mobsters. I had to help my fellows keep the kids at bay. They were murdering the poor mascot. It was a nightmare on Jollibee's poor butt. Only when he had gone back to his truck did the kids become human at last. They asked me if Jollibee was a man and not really a mutated oversized bee that could dance. I looked at their expectant faces, and replied in a manner they could understand, laugh at, yet always remember. I told them that Jollibee was also human and that he could also get hurt. Kamo bay tabangag sumbag di ba mo mabun-og, I told them. If you were the one being punched to death, wouldn't you be all black and blue? They laughed, but their faces gentled with a new light.

I actually enjoyed being with the kids. I got lots of hugs. I never felt so alive and so young for such a long time.

Before leaving, Joely asked if she would see me again. I told her yes, if she would be a good girl and that, she promised. She gave me a great big hug though she only managed to wrap her hands around my waist. But this she told me: Ate She, you're a very good person. I wish you were my sister.

Does a six-year-old lie? I wondered. Why did I ever say I hate kids? Perhaps it was because I was scared of the responsibilities and commitment but then, I'm no longer a nine-year-old.

Contributed by: Sheryl Joy Olano

Saturday Night

2007-09-28T21:41:00.000-07:00

Did I really come in on Saturday night and see my mother-in-law passed out on the living room floor? Did I leave my three little kids with the poser that posed as a grandma a few days earlier, saying that she would be happy to watch them while we went out to dinner?

We were only gone for two hours. More than a lot of scotch happened in those two hours. We left after they were all in bed and mostly asleep. We scrapped our plans for going to a hotel for some much needed...um...privacy in exchange for a nice dinner, in part because I wasn't all that hot on leaving the kids for too long.

But I did because I think I was high with the possibility of actually having something to do, somewhere to be - so much of my time here so far has been spent waiting for the hours to pass until I can go to bed. I wash dishes, I do laundry, I mess around on the computer forever (reading weblogs), I go to the grocery store, I take Jake to and from school, I talk to Molly and play with Sammy. I try to ignore the fact that I am unhappy here with a life in a house that's not my own and with no end in sight. So, when Chris asked Bunny Grandma to watch the kids so we could go out and she said she would, I almost got excited about something! I had an excuse to wash my hair, to put on perfume and wear my favorite bracelet. I was excited to have some time alone just to talk with this person that brought me here.

Turns out I had a lot more to say than I thought I did. Did I let my enthusiasm for these little things cloud my judgment when it came to the safety of my children? Probably. And they were and are fine. Thank you to whomever was really watching them.

Contributed by: C Linnen

A bond between a Mother and a Child

2007-09-28T21:40:00.000-07:00

What a women goes through before and after having a child is a miracle. Having a child is a blessing and a whole new way of life.

After a child is born a women faces many challenges physically and mentally. When a woman gives birth she needs to heal tremendously and mentally she realizes she just became a mom. She realizes that the last 9 months she spent with someone is now over.

A women's body goes through a lot before she delivers, weight gain, motion sickness, water gain, nausea, cravings, mood swings, dr. visits and shots. When she delivers the shild she now faces new challenges like losing the weight, taking care of herself and not only the baby, nuture this child and face the responsiblities.

Some women are happy , excited, and some reach postpartum. She must get check by a doctor or midwife within a week or two. As for her and her new child live life from now on caring, loving and bonding with each other.

They are called mother and child, a bond that can never be broken. When raising this child is hard enough sometimes there are more responsiblities for the mom. She is faced with this child forever. No turning back and no returning her/him. The mother will have this child for the rest of her life.

She needs to love, teach, praise, feed, clothe, house, care and most of all LOVE this child. Children don't disappear or hide they are with the mom for 24/7 unless she goes back to work. A child needs its mom no matter what ages/stages, newborn, toddler, adolscent or an adult.

The mother needs to take care of herself as well as this child. She needs to get out and spend time alone, join a gym, join the community, or som e go back to work to have a social life. Most causes for depression are known fact for women who do not have a social life.

A new mom has just giving birth and now has 2 instead of one to provide for so that is a lot of work. Raising a child is not only a lot of work, time, money, stress, worries, commitment and responsilbities but a friendship that can not be broken. These are my honest words and experience.

Contributed by:~Photohappymama

Skittling, the Lethal Fad among Teens

2007-09-28T21:38:00.000-07:00

If you thought the fight against drug abuse is limited to illegal substances such as marijuana, ecstasy, phencyclidine hydrochloride (PCP), etc. Think again. When you sit down to talk to your kids about drug abuse, you may want to add cough medicine to your list of no-no's.

Robitussin, Coricidin, Nyquil, Vicks, even some generic brands, these drugs are legal and sold over-the-counter everywhere. Cough and cold medications containing Dextromethorphan (DXM) are chemically related to codeine and is a component in over 140 non-prescription over-the -counter (OTC) cough and cold medications in forms of cough drops, syrup and tablets.

The use of Robitussin and Coricidin are the most popular among teenagers and young adults looking for a cheap high. "Skittling" or "Robotripping" is a growing trend among 13-19 year olds and some cases are even being seen in middle school. Availability of the OTC drugs may be the reason it has become so popular. It is easy to obtain through any store, gas station or through the Internet. They are cheap to purchase and easy to steal.

DXM is safe in the recommended doses you see on the label to treat coughs and colds, but in large doses, such as 100 mg or more can cause hallucinations, impaired judgement, even seizures. In some cases, overdoses and deaths have occurred when caregivers have treated small children with inappropriate doses of cold medicine containing DXM.

Street names are adapted from the similar appearance to candy or obvious slang: Skittles, Red Devils, Robo, Triple C, Poor man's PCP, Dex, Tuss, DXM. The high is called "robotripping" referring to taking large amounts of Robitussin and "skittling" when ingesting large amounts of Coricidin, that also contains an antihistamine called chlorpheniramine (akas Triple C's). Effects are similar to alcohol intoxication and can increase heart rate and blood pressure.

An on-line survey showed that only 1 in 10 people were aware of Skittling

This lack of awareness may be the reason DXM abuse has more than doubled since last year. All across the country, emergency room doctors have been reporting an increasing amount of overdose cases due to DXM abuse. In some cases, death had occurred.

Parents should be aware of signs to look for in their children such as: agitation, drowsiness, confusion, blurred vision, impaired judgement, dizziness, paranoia, excessive sweating, slurred speech, seizures, fever, nausea, vomiting, itchiness, lethargy, pupil dilation, hot and cold flashes, oedema, hypertension, hallucinations and skin rashes. Long term problems include: panic attacks, psychotic break downs, depression, high blood pressure, mania, liver, heart, central nervous centre damage and sometimes coma.

Check your medicine cabinet and know what is in there, if anything is missing find out why. Look for these DXM products or empty bottles in jackets, backpacks, purses, bedroom, trash, or even the car if your teen drives. Do not ignore the signs or assume it is only a phase, this phase can kill. Parents are encouraged to sit down and talk to you children about the potentially deadly affects of OTC medications.

Contributed by:Donna M. Shelton

The Au Pair

2007-09-28T21:35:00.000-07:00

When I envisioned myself having five kids, I never once thought I would need "help." I don't mean the professional kind with a couch in their office. I mean the help as in Mary Poppins or Alice Nelson from "The Brady Bunch."

In all of my dreams of motherhood, I assumed that with five perfect children who never fought and who obeyed my every word, I could do it all myself. I would have the kids' laundry perfectly cleaned and pressed. A five coarse dinner would be whipped up every night, without so much a complaint from the kids about what I was serving. They would love broiled fish, steamed green vegetables, you name it…after all, and they were perfect children. And of course, my four-bedroom house (the two girls were thrilled to be sharing a room, as were the twins!) was always immaculate. I did it all. I was the quintessential chauffeur/ babysitter/ housekeeper/nurse/psychologist and I was a successful paediatrician too!

Reality hit me in the form of a positive result for baby number two. My first words to my loving husband were "Get the number for that Au Pair agency our friends use!" Mind you, we wanted our first two kids to be close in age. According to my mother-in-law, my husband and his younger brother were 14 months apart and they have always been close. Naturally, we wanted the same thing for our own children.

I don't know if my panic was because I saw that plus sign only seven months after I had my C-section. All I know is that I thought of the Au Pair agency as I was watching my petite, beautiful daughter moving around on her hands and knees, drooling helplessly and wishing she could get the right words out. And I never looked back.

I never understood why a good friend of mine needed a nanny. I figured, she had three children so how hard could that be? It didn't dawn on me that her kids were close in age and she just might need someone to help keep her sane. Three kids just seemed easy to me. My mother did it. I am almost three years younger than my brother and two years older than my other brother. She never had any help with us kids. She had a lady who came into clean once or twice a week but there was no nanny or Au Pair. I assumed that I could handle five (or for sure, two) kids without any hired help.

Wrong! All it took was one look at that plus sign (seven tests later!) and all of my principles went out the window! Of course, I reasoned that I wanted an Au Pair to help me balance my motherhood. I just couldn't see myself schlepping a newborn to my daughter's Mom and me playgroups and Gym boree classes. She and I were a team and I didn't want her to miss out on our special time out together, just because there was another baby in the house.

I began the search for an Au Pair. I filled out all of our application forms and waited for the girls to start a' calling. I don't remember how many applications we read through. Picking our first Au Pair was easy. She had a lot of child care experience, she was patient and she loved children. Her background check was impressive and she sounded like a dream over the phone.

Fast forward to my life today. I have my five wonderful children. My criteria for the perfect Au Pair has changed quite a bit since the kids were little. Granted, I make sure to check out the references and the childcare experience. After all, I don't just hire anyone to watch my precious babies. But I don't lose sleep over it. If a girl can stay on the line after hearing about "the five children" part, I make like Donald Trump on a finale of "The Apprentice" and let out a "You're Hired!"

Contributed by:Hildee Weiss

Is it Spring yet?

2007-09-28T21:34:00.000-07:00

So, tell me. Do you know how they get the yellow cream in the middle of a Cadbury’s Crème Egg?

I am currently eight months along in my fifth pregnancy and crave those chocolate dreams daily. But, alas, in the United States, the stores only sell these alluring delicacies in the spring. It is September. This is where my problem begins.

Last night, well, actually in the wee hours of the morning… (1:37am to be precise,) my husband who knows I have been dying for a crème egg broke the silence of the night with, “I wonder how they get the yellow part of the crème perfectly in the center of the egg.”

Good question isn’t it? How Do they do it?

As long as I can remember the Cadbury Crème Egg has been a staple food for my Easter breakfast, lunch and dinner. It is amazing how popular these crème eggs are. This morning when I woke up, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. So, as per normal morning routine to check email, what’s happening in the world and my daily weather, I did a search on the eggs. Have you ever googled Cadbury Crème Eggs? Wow! There are endless sites and forums about these delectable eggs. There are even tribute sites! I was agog at all the talk, and yet stupefied at the same time.

“How do you eat yours?” was a catchphrase that Cadbury used to market their eggs back in the mid eighties. Want to know how some people replied to that question? Of course you do! Some say they eat the crème with a spoon… a special, tiny spoon just for that job. Others just pop it all in their mouth at once and let the chocolate and crème unite for a divine taste explosion. A few say they carefully cut and divide the egg in half and eat it like a deviled egg. Strangely enough, I found that some even pierce a hole in the egg, and watch the inside drip out, and then eat the parts separately. But I, like many others bite the top of the egg off and then lick out all the crème. Then when I am so sick of sugar I can hardly stand it, I start on the chocolate egg which leaves me so incredibly thirsty; no amount of water can quench it. Why do I eat the whole thing if it does that to me? Well, the answer is universal among all Cadbury Crème Egg lovers. Of all the chocolate eggs produced; this one is truly the classic. Could you really imagine life without them?

Well, back to my quest of finding out how Cadbury positions the yellow crème just so, I have learned some things that all you trivia buffs like me will find interesting. The world was first acquainted with the Cadbury Crème Egg in the early 1920's by the Cadbury brothers, John and Benjamin. People began their passion for the eggs in 1923 when they became available to the public. But the crème egg as we know it today was not unleashed until 1971.

Ok, enough with the history lesson and onto the point of this article… the yellow center. The Cadbury Crème Egg is made by forging a chocolate shell into a half-egg mould. One side of the egg is laid out and filled with the gooey and savory white fondant and a dollop of yellow fondant that simulates yolk. Then, the two egg halves are closed quickly and allowed to cool which sets the chocolate and the crème inside. Somehow the white fondant magically spreads all around the yellow fondant perfectly. The eggs then travel on a conveyor for their final journey to be foiled and packed. And voila, the Cadbury Crème Egg is born!

There you have it folks, the answer to the impossible question that was proposed to pregnant, craving me, who still has an unbelievable urge to eat one of these suckers.

My next phase into figuring these eggs out is this; what flavor is the center crème? This is something we never really think about while eating it. It’s not vanilla, but it is similar. It is a mystery that will leave me googling until I find it out!

So, I leave you with this thought since you know the all-inclusive truth about how the yellow gets in the egg; how do you eat yours?

Contributed by: Amanda Goodall

Two-timing a three-year-old and the television set

2007-09-28T21:33:00.001-07:00

When I say kids don't become human till about the age of seven, it's not for lack of human emotion, but rather the excess of it; they cry for everything, laugh at nothing and get excited at the most mundane things (see, the sun! wow, a toilet roll! bah!)

Consider this: I have been stuck with babysitting my American-born and fastidious three-year-old niece on and off for the past few days because the poor little thing has been really sick lately.

For the many hours that I have spent in this humongous task, I have realized that two-timing her and the television set is the only reasonable way to do this. After all, the idiot box has in the past helped me deal with stress, impending doomsday and plain boredom; it failed miserably at the job of taming a toddler, however. I still think I did extremely well for the fact that I have never been left in charge of such a tiny little thing ever in the past. So, I decided to take a leaf out of my book and leave it for anyone else (god forbid!) stuck in a similar situation:

First of all, if a kid lives around a 50 feet perimeter of the television, never turn the TV off on a possible kids-channel---Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network and Disney are strictly off limits (your local PBS channel is the most deceptive---beware if you watched the NewsHour the night before). Here's what happens: after a lot of nerve-racking, you somehow figure out a way to keep the child occupied and heave a sigh of relief before finally turning on the TV ---and bam, in float the high pitched shrills of Dora and her fellow-adventurers. That's it: she turns to eye the idiot box, is totally absorbed in no time, downright oblivious of the hundred other channels a fully-grown human being would rather watch.

And don't ever forego a news show and switch to a sitcom --- believe me, to a three year old, it doesn't make a whit of difference --- the background laughter doesn't seem to fool the kids like it does us (the fact that they guffaw at the most serious statements is a different point entirely; "you'll get very sick if you don't take this medicine" *peals of laughter* duh!) If you are indeed watching a news program, choose one carefully--- she's a little more sympathetic to good looking anchors, so I'm sticking with Brian Williams; this is not the time for old newsmen like Scheiffer and Larry King is definitely off the table (sure respect her judgment there!)

On sitcoms, there's a wider range of choices; Full House and The Cosby Show are likely to be better tolerated; believe me, nothing interests them more than their own kind (read: those that shriek with delight on spotting a spider and giggle uncontrollably at the sight of a ball). Which reminds me, if you absolutely have to play a game, play ball or Hide-and-Seek. Tossing the ball back and forth not only allows you to watch TV in peace, you'd be impressed at a three-year-old's hand-eye coordination. Hide-and-seek is not only a fun game (from age 3 to 33) but it also allows you to sneak into the den and check your e-mail while you are "hiding" and sometimes you can just "forget" to seek. Leaves the three-year-old out of your hair for a while.

If she decides its story time, I choose to listen. In that case I can get off with an 'uh-huh' every five minutes. In my defense, the few minutes that I do turn my attention to her, she doesn't make any sense. But you can't escape your turn at reading. So, make sure you pick your times right. And at this, I have advice for the so-called kids' book writers. Can't they make it just a tad interesting? I read a 15-page book, the entire content of which was: "Shhhhh, tigger, pooh is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, piglet is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, Eeyore is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, roo is asleep. Goodnight, tigger"! It's only fair, because she, for one, is not even listening to it. I might as well be reading The Times. That, by the way, is another good strategy: reading the newspaper out loud. Choose the Art or Sports section as opposed to Politics. And put up with her absolutely frivolous observations--- "Blue shorts" as opposed to 'Federer won the Nasdaq Open'. It has something to do with the colors. Reason why Barney's purple. Speaking of which, kids' videos are brilliant. I actually watched three Barney videos and would watch more if I have to.

If its pee time or poop time, there's no way out. Just your hard luck. Time to start cursing the digestive system that you marveled at in high-school biology. Paraphrasing Marge Simpson, "How did you make that into that?"

At the end of the day, when she has just spent an hour to successfully finish a bowl of ten pasta shells and your patience is wearing thin, she looks up with a winning smile and shrieks "love you, maasi". That's when you hug her, decide she's adorable and switch off the television. Only for a bit though. Friends is up next....

You explain to her that Friends is the grown-up Barney and that you can't get through an entire day without it…Hearing her chirpy "okay" you switch on the idiot box only to watch Monica, Rachel and Phoebe ogle at pictures of little Ben. Can't the world function without little kids anymore?

Contributed by:Karthika Muthukumaraswamy

Caring in My Sister's Way

2007-09-28T21:30:00.000-07:00

Last summer, I had an acute case of bronchitis. I was downright bummed. Summer for me meant sun, sand, sea…a gazillion trips to the mall or to my friends’ houses, or to another province. I was supposed to exhaust every excess fat on my calves, thighs and belly to hours and hours of fun. Instead I was stuck in the house, stuck with bronchitis.

I didn’t have a night’s worth of sleep since my cough attacks chose to antagonize the peaceful slumber of the entire household.

My sister, a sub-zero in the sensitivity department, would grumble about people not having enough sleep and that I should take dear old doggie’s job.

I wanted to cut off her oxygen supply. Bummer. I didn’t even have the voice to put her to place, only an ancient queen’s glare which, unfortunately, didn’t work.

Thank God for the good doctor. The expensive medicine he prescribed made its worth and soon my bout with bronchitis was over…sadly, so did summer.

Once again my lungs were pumped up for cleaning duty. While doing my room, I accidentally nudged a notebook from my cluttered desk (sis was always a human tornado). I recognized the all too familiar carefree scribbles revealing a prayer for me to be well again because it hurt seeing me suffer like that.

A tear dropped from my eyes- okay, okay. So the Niagara was in town. Who would know the brat felt that way about me? She, who had lived to contradict me, who had continuously stretched my patience to the limit. It was like she had grown a new head. The little weirdo was so beyond me. But this I finally know- my sis does care about me.

She had done the sweetest thing in my life without letting me know it. She could have rubbed it to my face and proclaimed it to the world to make me look like an ungrateful beast. But she didn’t do any of those things.

Sometimes, the most unthinkable of persons turn out to be the ones who truly care for us. They just find it awkward to be obvious. They don’t need an audience to boost their ego because their kindness is not for show. They are merely content that we are well.

Most of the time, we judge people by the way they treat us and by how they make us feel. We don’t bother to dig dipper, to skim below the surface of Jack or Jill. We never can know what is hidden in the flesh because we see only what our eyes expect to see, because we see only what they want us to see.

To little sis who would bet a week’s allowance to hear me say, thank you. You may get goose bumps as I am getting while writing this, but it comes from my heart.

Contributed by:~Sheryl Joy P. Olano

The unhealthy divide

2007-09-28T21:28:00.000-07:00

There are different types of separations on the surface of the globe: oceans separating land, mountains separating climate, and borders separating countries. And this demeanor of nature has, perhaps, influenced the life style of human beings on the earth too. Reason for this assumption is the life style of human society, which is replete with sundry divisions.

Cleavage between the black and the white, the rich and the poor, and the strong and the weak has been discussed seriously, but one division hasn’t been scrutinizes as them. And that division is: the division between the healthy and the indisposed population of the world.

However queer it may seem, this division is a reeking truth of today’s human society. If we leave out a handful of selfless NGO’s and generous celebrities, the society as a whole is very indifferent, very inconsiderate, and very insensitive towards the emotional needs of an ailed person.

Be the ailment due to accidents or physical vulnerability, stagnation is a word that smears with every ailing person. Wheel chairs and hospital beds sap energy and hope and all other positives that make a life worth living. The legs of patients get so weak that they struggle to keep pace with the rest of the world; the hands get so weak that they tremble to hold the gauntlet; the eyes get so weak that they grapple to hold delightful dreams. Even so, they are winners in their own right. Therefore, they deserve all respect in the world for their courage to fight, for their volition to win and for their endeavor to survive.

But often, they don’t get what they deserve. Their friends, partners and relatives (save for parents and siblings) try to steer clear of them as soon as the disease gets disclosed. Suddenly, the sick are unwanted; the sick are unproductive; the sick are out of contention and race.

The “healthy heard” of society, very soon, indulge itself in its own routine life for the quest of hollow materialistic success. I don’t mean that the chasing for success is bad, no, what I am saying is just to appreciate the contributions made in your life by that ill and to resurrect the hope for life in his/her heart too. Help the stagnant views of the diseased get wings of resplendent tomorrow.

The yelling, heard at regular intervals from some nook and corner of the world, to outcast the patients of Leprosy, T.B, Epilepsy, Aids from the social circle is still making humanity feel ashamed.

The disdain only shows that how brittle we are despite of making steels; how little we are despite of touching the sky; and how shallow we are despite of fathoming the oceans. It serves a purpose to be reminded here that the headway of present-day human race is the upshot of an evolution process entailing million years.

Now back to the subject of patients. When situation becomes unbearable for some patients, tolerating bitter pills and pointed jabs and indifferent behavior they succumb. But their capitulation is solemn and asks answer to the question: when the Homo sapiens will become humane sapiens?

However, this might not be too tough ask if we rinse our heart in pursuit of love, care and passion—the gifts bestowed upon us by the almighty to be human being in true sense. We must try to paint our soul with these three elements profusely and the time is no far when we see the lacuna between two leanings of behavioral pattern plugged for the progression of society and its inhabitants

Contributed by: Neeraj Kumar

The means Literature deigned employ

2007-09-28T21:21:00.000-07:00

There is no dispute that literature is the reflection of life. The relation of literature with society is to be considered in the two fold aspect of source and aim. The question arises whether art should arise from and reflect social conditions or be the subjective creation of the artist’s fancy. Its natural corollary is whether art should have any social role to play, painting the society as at present and leading the mankind towards its betterment. From this controversy arises the question whether literature should create only beauty and create delight by playing upon the eternal instincts of love and hatred, or shall have any relation with the conditions of life as lived in society.

If it is to play any social role it must reflect social conditions as they exist. It must be born out of the interaction of social forces. Hence the relation of literature to society is firstly one of its source and secondly of its aim. It is man who creates literature. God creates life; man reproduces it in the form of literature with the help of his imagination. It is man for whom literature is created .God is creator of the universe. He has created man in his own image making him a demi-creator.

He has made man an imitating animal. In the process of creating he not only imitates but also improves upon it. To appreciate a piece of art is as delightful to man as to create it. When we find a literary piece life-like and realistic, we enjoy this feeling. A man of literature not only presents life as it is but also as it should be. As a comprehensive subject literature encompasses, the present, past and future of a community and of humanity at large, it is the mother of all sciences. A man of literature looks before and after and weighs and considers something .

He possesses subjective as well as objective vision. His treatises bear his mind and personality. Objective realities do exist in his creative work along with personal or subjective outlook. What his imagination seizes as beauty that is rightly compatible with truth. Absolute truths are found in literature in the form of quotations. Such sayings and common parlances are quoted everywhere by scholars to further elucidate their points. Literature has no comparison with history which is merely chronological record of past events based upon second hand knowledge.

Sir Philip Sidney was right to say that nothing is true in history except names and dates; nothing is untrue in literature except names and dates. Often laymen ask the question whether such and such a story is factual; I am obliged to be amazed at their innocence that they do not know what a piece of literature aims at. Literature is a subject of probability and symbolism. When we name somebody ‘tiger’ we expect the listener to think of its attributes. Just like symbols used in mathematics, physics, chemistry and other physical sciences, we are expected to read a literary piece between the lines and find in it something said after our hearts. Truths in the domain of literature are truer than truth itself. I have the audacity to say that poetic truths are an improvement upon scientific realities.

It is the penetrating vision of the literary artist which lends various colors and shades to an ordinary scientific reality. A man of literature passes for a common man undergoes trials and tribulations of life. He universalizes the personal findings .The reader finds in them his own feelings defined and represented. Literature alone entertains and tolerates the opposite opinions. It is very much republican in its approach. Emphasis, dogmatism, self-assertion, egotism, didacticism etc find no place in a piece of literature. A single man of literature looks at a thing and incorporates all his expressions in a pleasurable and melodious way of saying. His imagination is just like a prism which refracts various colors and shades giving a wide birth to Methodism, fanaticism and egotistic sublime. An artist passes through a garden, a thorn runs into his heel, he describes the whole history of garden, it is called macrocosmic approach.

To his seeing eye a grain of sand is nothing but a desert in miniature. A drop of water is an ocean in the literary sense of the term. To an artist the proper study of mankind is man [pope].Likewise he lives among men, studies them minutely and claims to be the doctor of human nature. It is the literary vision that determines the status of a literary artist. Literature is nothing but a philosophy which aims at the love of mankind. How can you report about men and matters unless you possess negative capability and emotional involvement in men and matters.

Literature raises its voice above season, climate, territory, race, color, creed and culture. Safety and well-being of a community lies not in the hands of the scientists, politicians and technocrats, but in the hands of men of ideas through whom a social group sees. Wordsworth has rightly said: One impulse from the vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good Than all the sages can. In my view study and teaching of literature can be a panacea for all our social and political ills. It is literature that both teaches and delights you.

It kindles your curiosity, creates In you quest for the unknown and enables you to learn something new with a palpable design. In this context, Naziri Neshapuri, the Persian poet says: If the lecture of a littérateur were in the language of love, even the truant boy would attend the school on Friday, the weekend holiday. Nature’s world is brazen but that of literature is golden, the gardens of nature see autumn but those of literature are evergreen.

Lovers of the world of nature are fickle minded, false and untrue whereas those of literature are constant. Literature denies euphemism, hypocrisy, affectation, half baked realities, one sided facts, half truths and truth seeming lies. A spade is called by its own name without circumlocution. In short the study of literature has an ennobling effect on man’s personality, heart and mind.

Contributed by: Amir Aziz

The Louisville Story

2007-09-25T07:02:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in my room with innumerable questions running through my head the same way a record player gets stuck on a certain part of a song on a vinyl.
"Why am I still alive?"
"Where does this luck come from?"
"Shouldn't we be in jail by now?"
"Did we even do anything of illegal merit?"
Christ. Adventures in this great country like what I just experienced are most definitely what life is all about. The man who tells no stories is the man who has not lived nor taken some sort of risk, and, by God, we risked it all in this most unusual, extreme circumstance.
Louisville, Kentucky is a city about thrice the size of Knoxville. For an eighteen year old meandering around with three underage high schoolers, it can be one of the most perilous places of your life. But goodness, if I keep going like this I'll tell the story in bits and pieces, and you'll never be able to turn all of those pieces into the journey we all survived somehow. Yes, somehow. Like always. But stories shouldn't be told in parts, especially good ones, unless you are one of those Greek bastards and you don't have the time to tell an entire story by word of mouth. Fortunately for me, I have all the time I need to write this story out. So, where to begin? Ah, yes. The night before seems like a good place, a night filled with overtones of safety and security.
Taylor and I had been skating around town whenever we met up will a fellow named Bronson Mills. For those of you know Bronson, he is a drug guru of sorts. At twenty-one years of age he has traveled all over these great states being experienced in the art of survival through drug use and connections with the right people. But I suppose that’s the only way to live, minus the drugs, unless that floats your boat, but I'm more of a land kind of guy.
Not long after meeting up with Bronson, Taylor and I found ourselves at his house discussing consciousness, rumors of LSD-25 being dumped into California's water supply during the sixties, the patches of hallucinogenic mushrooms growing wildly in national parks in Oregon, Grandfather Time and his tie-dye uniform, the Grateful Dead family, and thumb printing LSD.

I feel it is mandatory to describe exactly what thumb printing is, for it is a fascinating and horrifying concept. If ever you find yourself in California and in good standing with the Merry Pranksters, then you just may find yourself in the position of being allowed to thumbprint a pure LSD crystal. The procedure works like this: You lick your thumb, then touch the crystal, then lick your thumb again. What follows is about a year of full on tripping. If the Merry Pranksters allow you to do this, then it should also be remembered that they will take care of you for this entire year of delirium. For a solid year, you are held as a "prisoner" of sorts basically being pampered by a group of hoodlums. For some this would seem like a fashionable idea, especially to those of you who enjoy tripping, but to others would be total insanity. "One out of six people die from shock because of it," said Bronson. "You really have to stop yourself and think 'Do I want to do this?'"

Around twelve Taylor and I left Bronson's with a new destination in mind. Taylor and I both seemed to be suffering from some sort of horrible allergy problem so we figured the best thing to do was load up on cough drops, especially since we would be needed them for all the cigarette smoking that would be done the following day en route to Louisville for the moment we had all waited for - the Modest Mouse concert. Taylor and I next decided that shirts should be made to commemorate this event. We stopped at Wal-Mart and bought five T's of differing color. When we arrived at home, the only thing we could think to spray paint on them was various songs from various Modest Mouse albums. We then hopped in my bed and slept.
It was to be a glorious day of seeing the sights of a massive, beautiful town with a quick visit to the skate park finished up with the concert to end all concerts. Little did we know the horrors that awaited us...

The plan went something like this: Becky and her crew, which consisted of Cassandra and Stacy, would be picked up from school by Taylor and me after first period, to ensure that we made it to the concert on time and also just to be in good company. We would arrive in Louisville, skate the park, take some good ol' Myspace photos, then see Modest Mouse in concert followed by the quiet drive home as I drove while everyone else napped. At first glance you would think, "Sounds like fun, Dustin, why didn't you invite me?" Ye gods! The trip was more than worth it, but the cost was heavy, and today is one of those zombie days where it feels like at any moment you could wake up back at the Coyote listening to the tunes of Love As Laughter, Modest Mouse, and that other band whose name I don't recall, but thoroughly enjoyed, more so than I did Love As Laughter. Of course, both bands hold my respect, for I hold no musical talent, but I suppose, it's all in the ear as to whether or not you prefer one sound over another.
Taylor awoke to the noise of my cell phone ringing. We had slept in my bed, which made for an intimate scene between two heterosexual guys, but intimate nonetheless.
"Dustin, my mom isn't letting me leave until after second period."
The first scare of the day came from Becky. It wasn't as much a scare as it was a slowing down in the planned procedure. It was alright, of course. That just meant Taylor and I would be sleeping in a little later, for we still had to pick up Cassandra and Stacy after first period had ended. Finally, nine o' clock came around, and it was time for us to take showers. Separately, of course, you dirty minded bastards. We're not gay, just close. Intimate, so to speak.

Taylor and I waited patiently outside of West High, the "other" high school in town, until finally Cassandra approached the car.
"Has anyone called to get Stacy out yet?"
Another slowing down in the plan. Shit. Which one of silly teenagers would muster the courage to call a high school and sign one of our own out? And what if those office bastards decided they didn't buy the line we shot and called Stacy's psychotic mother. Then no Stacy would be in attendance for the concert she had bought all the tickets for. Unacceptable in my book. Cassandra told us she had to go home and that we should follow her to pick her up.
I told her I'd meet her there and that I'd make a phone call.
No, you silly children, I didn't call in Stacy's dismissal. No need to have some sort of strange kidnapping charge thrown on me by Sandra Lutz, for she would go so far as to do it. She is the kind of mother that figures out everything. A professional in her own field. And this instance was no difference. The phone call I made was to Becky's sister Stephanie.
"Just call in and say you're Sandra and that you want your daughter out of school by the end of second period. It'll all be smooth as glass."
Smooth as glass. Oh my, smooth indeed. When finally I arrived at Cassandra's house to drive her to Becky's house where some sort of female dressing and make-up ritual would ensue, Cassandra had more bad news. The school had figured that Stephanie wasn't really Sandra, so they did the other thing they knew to do: call Sandra and ask if it was really her that had called.
Oh, holy fools!
By the time we reached Becky's house, it was blatantly obvious that Stacy wasn't going on this trip. I can't describe the pain I felt when I finally came to realization of this fact. Christ! This wasn't fair at all. But viewing it from a Communistic viewpoint, it was for the good of the whole. Had Stacy gone with us, then that kidnapping charge would indeed be brought to surface, and I may not be writing this story right now.
Becky's father, who had received a phone call from Sandra saying the phone call to let Stacy out of school had been received from Stephanie's phone, decided to confront us about the conundrum. What happened wasn't what I expected.
Cassandra took the fall for the call. A noble thing, by most standards, but a dangerous thing nonetheless. Our trip could've been over right then. Lies are the only reason parents need to shut down a teenager's operations, and surely this was it. We weren't going to make it. But we did. We survived somehow.
The end of second period came was approaching, and the desire to see my girlfriend was beginning to become overwhelming. I ushered everyone into the car and began the drive down 160.
We sat in the parking lot and reminisced of times long past until Becky appeared in my rearview mirror.
"Stacy isn't coming."
It was a pretty heavy statement. Stacy, the one who had had the idea for the trip and paid for the tickets, wasn't even going to enjoy the sights of Louisville and the sounds of Modest Mouse, and this time, there was nothing any of us could do about it. Normally when a strange situation like this arises, we can find some way to get around it, or in some cases, walk straight through it, but this was incredibly different. The school was holding her hostage. Nothing less than a full on assault with machine guns and an Army issue Hummer could save the day. And so it was with heavy hearts that we moved on.
The next couple of hours were not as twisted at the fist few hours of the day had been. We drove in peace. It was a feeling that we wouldn't get much of that day, but at that time, in that car, on that road going who knows how fast with no sense of direction at all, for the directions had been turned into paper airplanes or hung from the ceiling of the car in decoration, we were at peace. The ride was filled with melodies from Taylor's soon to be dead iPod, laughter from all directions, and the sweet smell of brown sugar fig and Marlboro Smooth, the chosen cigarette of our group. I felt like the captain of a mighty boat that was drifting towards an island paradise.

"I think you should lay some mack down."
"I dunno, man. I just dunno."
"We'll see."

"So what do you think?"
"I think we make excellent match makers."

Louisville at last! What a brilliant town, I remember thinking. Absolutely beautiful! Astounding indeed! A city full of hope and dreams, a city where many famous people had been raised, city full of history and a certain kind of magic that I myself am somewhat familiar with.
We all decided that the first thing we needed to do was find the Coyote, the venue for tonight's show. As you enter Louisville from I-64, you come out on Jefferson Street. If you head south on this street for not much longer than a minute, you'll see the Coyote across the street and on your left. The Coyote is a small bar/club with a wide range of bands (Hanson, for instance) appearing on its stage. Christ! I'm getting ahead of myself again! I'll tell you more about the Coyote when we get there.
Our first stop was the skate park. What a magnificent skate park! But, Christ, what a wretched time I spent there. Rolling in on one of the concrete ramps, I snagged on thin air and found myself lying on my back with a knot on my head. Not a good way to start off a session at one of the greatest parks in the country, but it happens, I suppose. Eventually, I decided I had had enough of missing tricks and getting hurt. It was time to find food, but not before Louisville Skate Park had one more cruel gesture to show me. As I threw down my skate to jump on and ride off into the street, a bolt came loose and a wheel rolled right off. Needless to say I was airborne again.
The sight of the car was a relief. We were all beginning to become hungry and we were most definitely thirsty, due to the extreme heat. I opened the truck to lay my three-wheeled skateboard in along with other assorted items and watched Becky close it. And then it hit me. We had locked the keys in the truck.
Christ! What sort of individual would throw his car keys into his truck? That wasn't asking for trouble. That was commanding trouble to rain down upon us with all of his merry angels! Had we been home, this wouldn't have been so bad. I could've made a quick phone call and had a spare key brought to us, but what sort of fool would drive 4 hours just to bring us a spare key? No, I thought, we're going to have to dig our own way out of this grave.
I called numerous cellular telephone directories in search of a locksmith to no avail. There wasn't a Louisville location for any of the listings. I spoke to a nice woman who had no brains. I came to the conclusion that she was a very carefully constructed telephone recording, and screamed, "VIVA LA RESISTANCE," before I hung up abruptly.
My next idea proved more fruitful than the last. My companions and I cross the desert of the Louisville skate park to reach the Louisville skate shop. "Maybe they've got a phone book, or at least some cracked out pimp that'll do it for free if we auction one of you two-" referring to Becky and Cassandra-"out to him for a night." Of course this was a terrible joke to make at a time like this. We were all reaching maximum frustration, or at least what we thought was maximum frustration until much later in the night when we found how much nonsense we could really handle.
"Here's the book."
The phone book the man handed us looked as if it had risen out of King Arthur's tomb. It was in two pieces, and there were strange markings all over the pages. It was tie-dyed from strange spills. Finally, we found a number to call. There was no area code listed, so I was forced to ask the locals what the area code was here.
The Louisville locals don't take kindly to strangers. It's one thing if you're at the park talking about skateboard maneuvers, but when you flaunt your ignorance by asking what the area code was, they're smiles turn grim, and their knuckles turn white. A sense of fear washes over the asker.
"504," replied one of the bastards. We were no longer welcome in this part of the country.

If the Shark could talk, what sort of strange things would it tell to my friends? How many tales of drug-use or near-death experience would it conjure from beneath it's seemingly friendly appearance. Would it tell of past loves, or worse, past whores? Would it speak of tears and joys, or friendships and sorrows? Christ, good riddance. Just keep you're damn mouth shut, for all our sakes.

We sat by my car waiting for a phone call from a lock smithing service called Pop-Lock. It seemed decent enough. A woman who I assumed to be black due to her dialect told us it would be ten minutes before she would call back and give me a quote and a time for the locksmith to arrive. Alright, I thought, maybe an hour at most. We'll have time to get food and see Mouse.
"It will cost seventy-six dollars. He will arrive in one to two hours. Thank you for using Pop-Lock." The bastards had us by the throat. It was five thirty. If this man didn't come soon, then there would be no food for my Jews, and what kind of Moses would take his people somewhere without food? Christ, it was bad enough that Stacy wasn't here, we all received a lecture this morning, and the keys were locked in my truck, but to handle all of this confusion without a crumb? Gracious God! Lay mercy on we swine.
"Let's walk to White Castle!"
Yes, White Castle. It was almost a tourist attraction for us Tennessee folk. White Castle is equivalent to Morristown's Krystal. I had eaten there once before when I had made this trip with Anthony. I'm not sure if their burgers are better than Krystal's because it's something new and "exotic" or maybe, with the correct measurement of cooking oils, they have found a way to make a burger of higher quality. That memory of those glorious burgers was stained when a man wearing shorts in December tried to sell Anthony and me a pair of Air Jordan’s.
"What size you boys wear?"
Christ, I thought, he's going to cut off our feet and throw them in that box. We're as good as dead! The headlines will read: "TWO EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD BOYS WERE FOUND STUFFED INTO A DUMPSTER WITH THEIR FEET CUT OFF AND A METAL PIPE SHOVED UP THEIR RECTUM." Fortunately, my fear didn't come full circle. When we turned the man down, he looked like we had genuinely hurt him. Maybe he really did need help paying his rent or maybe he was too coked out to know the difference between Anthony being black and me being white. To hell with that trip!
We didn't make it to White Castle. A man called my phone.
"I'll be coming to your car in twenty minutes to open your lock."
Time to rally the troops!
"Come back to the car guys. I know we've already walked two miles in this heat, but I want to be there when he opens the truck."
The walk back was fun. More fun than the walk there. Becky coxed me into taking off my shoes and walking barefoot down the Louisville sidewalks. It was surprisingly refreshing. Then she surprised me again by offering to race to the car. A race? Christ, I hadn't run in ages. And the race was on. I'm sure I looked silly carrying a pair of Nike's and a woman's purse, but in those moments I felt fantastic.
Running is something that I was once great at. I used to run miles just for the fun of it. I suppose I was an addict to that runner's high. My running career came to a halt whenever I took up skating. It just lost its glow. But anytime I get the motivation to run, I do it, and by God it feels glorious. Becky beat me back to the car. We had left Taylor and Cassandra in our dust for they had decided to continue walking. When finally they arrived, the Pop-Lock van rolled onto the scene as if on cue. After waiting an hour in the blazing sun, it was a relief to see the man step out of the van.
"Hey, I'm Chad."
"Hi, Chad. Do you smoke?"
"Not cigarettes."

Fear and loathing.

Chad let me have his lighter. Becky looked at it for a moment, and then let out an audible noise of disgust. I looked at the lighter to see why. It was a chopper bearing resemblance to some sort of Hell's Angels dream ride. Had I been an expert or fanatic about motorcycles, I would've treasure the image, but I am not. I removed the wrapping around the lighter and exposed it for its true color - white.
It took Chad another hour (it was seven o' clock) to cut the key. He blamed it on faulty equipment, but we blamed it on the pot. We would get the only stoned locksmith in town.
Christ! Only twenty minutes to make it to the show before it began! Would we make it? It seemed to me at that moment that any number of horrible things could happen to throw us back to where we were before. What if we get hit? What if the car explodes for no reason? What if a mountain lion jumps in the back? We're doomed, I thought.
Surprisingly, we made it.
We were just about to cross the street to the venue when we heard, "You there!" Oh God, this was it. We're going to be mugged and raped. This is the end!
"Do you have a spare ticket? I'll give you forty dollars for it!"
Sigh of relief. We began crossing the street to reach the concert, but didn't even stop to think about the possibility of a car running us down, which very nearly happened to the man who asked for the ticket who was walking right beside of me, which would've meant that I'd also be dead also. Thankfully, the car came to a halt. Must be fate, I guess.
I hadn't heard the guy say he would give us forty dollars for it, and the next thing out of my mouth earned a slap from each of my friends.
"We'll give it to you for twenty."
At the time, it seemed like a terrible thing to do. Here we were with a ticket that could've easily gone for fifty, and I had practically given it away. It wasn't until later that we looked back on that moment and thought about the good karma it brought to us.
We had finally made it. It was seven thirty when we walked in and the first band, Love As Laughter, was just setting up their equipment. We decided that a round of Mountain Dew was in order to celebrate our survival of the trip so far, for it was only sheer luck that we'd even made it this far.
We made our way to the middle of the arena, for it would be a battle to reach the front and show off our handmade shirts. It wasn't until Modest Mouse hit the stage that we were within reaching distance of the floor.
The next couple of hours are a blur of dancing, strange people, and spilt beers, of which we didn't partake in. The Mouse performance was so intense that at times I found myself thinking that it wasn't real and that I would wake up back at work daydreaming about seeing Isaac Brock and his crew on stage. But, ye gods, this was happening! Twenty feet away from me was the man whose lyrics I had obsessed over for two years. And not just him! His entire Mouse army!
Goodness, the nostalgia is almost overwhelming. It was an emotional time for me. I was totally engulfed in some sort of trance that caused me to wave my hands in the air and move my body the way the Israelites had for their golden calf. Oh, good times.
I believe, and maybe this statement should be saved for later when the entire story is told, but I just cannot hold it in any longer, that the entire trip can be summed up in one of Modest Mouse's lyrics. If it takes shit to make bliss, then I feel pretty blissfully.
Oh, yes. Bliss indeed.
After the concert, all was glorious. The street lights were like stars and the roads were the gold we were looking for. The passing of cars and the murmur of voices was like some sort of melody played out on from God's own violin, for we all know that the true choice of instrument for heavenly folk is a violin and not that wretched harp.
But our hunger had been escalating since about four 'o clock. If we didn't find food soon, our collapse in the street would soon be upon us. As we were walking back to my car, marvelous lights filled our eyes.
Louisville's Fourth Street is something like a smaller version of New Orleans' Mardi Gras, only it closes earlier, and nudity and public drunkenness were not taken as well; however, our trip down this well-lit street was filled with both. We quickly determined that we didn't have the money to eat somewhere up-scale and the local cafeteria was closed after eleven. How unfortunate that it was only eleven five!
We meandered our way to an overhead bridge, which spanned the length of Fourth Street. There, we took a load off our feet by relaxing at some of the tables that were sitting out for businessmen in their rush lunches. Becky and I shared sweet words and kisses while recreating the events of the day passed. Taylor and Cassandra had picked a table to themselves, which was only appropriate for each table had only two chairs. Ah, yes. Kisses and cigarettes. What's better?
Oh yes, I know. Seeing a drunken man and woman stumble up the stairs at the base of the sidewalk. Ha ha. Oh, and what's this? Wow. That drunken lady really did just piss on the side of the wall. How are women even capable of that? Wow. And she really did just fall over in her own urine. Poor swine. These are the folks that I live to see. The decadence of America. How wonderfully amusing, yet horribly disfigured and troubling.
Troubling. Much like the hunger in our stomachs. We took the elevator down. Taylor and Cassandra were in front of us. Becky and I felt like waiting for the crosswalk sign to signal that it was safe to cross, but the other two of our group decided to risk it. A woman in a van narrowly missed them. I couldn't make out what she shouted at Taylor, but whatever it was was enough to cause him to throw up a certain unwelcome hand gesture. Christ, I hope that police officer doesn't mind. And he doesn't. Keep walking, keep you're head down. Smile when spoken to. Quick, short answers. Exhaustion and dehydration was setting in.
We half expected a parking ticket to be on the shark when we arrived.
"Nothing here. I guess you were right, Taylor!"
Yes, leave it up to Taylor to save the day. Wait, he hadn't done anything, only said:
"No need to worry."
Maybe his voice had dictated the future? Heavens! I better keep him around. Load him up on X and have him say good things all the time! Wait. That's totally illogical. Keep your head together, Dustin. It's only hunger.
We made our escape from Louisville down a one way road. I'm surprised we weren't pulled over and shot for such blatant disobedience of the law and also that we didn't enter the freeway going against the flow of traffic. Either situation would've been potentially fatal, but I would've much rather faced one thousand oncoming cars and semi-trucks than one bullet.
Sixty-five miles later and still there was no sign of a Taco Bell, the place we had all voted to eat at. In a desperate move, I wheeled the shark off of the interstate onto some exit outside of Lexington.
"I'll just ask where one is. I can't wait any longer for food." The general consensus in the car was the same. Everyone was starving. The gas station attendant was nice enough. She told me the directions, and sure enough, there were right.
We split our order into three separate orders, a potential fiasco for any Taco Bell worker at one, two, or maybe even three in the morning, for by now I've forgotten what times everything happened at. I only remember it happened.
The woman who handed us our food and exchanged our money was black and obviously a racist. She handed us one straw less than we needed, two packs of mild taco sauce, and tried to take most of Becky's change. Fortunately, we got that back and still managed to be polite as we drove off. It wasn't until I realized that everyone had a straw but me that I became somewhat angry. Of course anyone can make an accident, but this woman had pushed her luck too far. Thoughts crashing the shark into the window and demanding a refund swirled through my head. Yeah. Take it too far, way too far, and they won't have a clue what to do. They'll bow down before your every command. Shit, maybe I should burn the whole place down. I've got white linen sheets in my truck! We can have an old fashion KKK rally right in the middle of Kentucky.
But these thoughts soon fled my mind when I realized the absurdity of such things. Instead, I simply drove around to the window to ask for another straw. The conversation went like this.
"Hey, I need another straw please."
"There were three straws in there (as she hands me the straw)."
"Yeah, and we had four goddamn drinks."
Awkward silence followed by me driving off.
We ate in the parking lot, and laughed at my victory over racism the only way I knew to do it. As we were eating something strange happened. A Mexican and his woman pulled up to the front door of Taco Bell. They waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the woman who had served us came out with a Taco Bell bag. She handed it to the man who then handed her money, then stepped back into and disappeared into the back. The Mexican examined his load.
"Drug deal," I shouted through a mouthful of chicken burrito. And sure enough we were right. Taylor was the first to see the marijuana.
"There it is, in all of its green glory."
"Stop thinking like that man! We're straight-edge remember! Shun the temptation."
I remember thinking, "Christ that'd definitely mellow us all out a little." But what were we to do? Run up with our skateboards and beat it out of his hands? Yes, fantastic idea. I should do it. WHOA WHOA WHOA! Head down. Smile when spoken to. Eat your burrito.
Soon after, the Mexican drove off into the night to smoke or sell what he had just purchased.
It was at this time, while we were headed back to the interstate that Cassandra decided to tell us about how unlucky white lighters were. Christ! No wonder we had a stoned locksmith, racist servers at Taco Bell, and the next great horror of the night (or early morning, depending upon who you are.)
By now you're thinking, alright Dustin. When does this end? You're shooting bull now. I wish I could say that racism was the final terror we faced that night. But it'd be a lie, and some of the story would be lost in time if I didn't tell it honestly.
It was just on the other side of Lexington when I decided to stop for gas. It seemed like a quick run in, pay, pump, and run out kind of deal; however, the flashing lights behind me seemed to say otherwise.
Fucking hell. Everything that life could throw at us, we faced in this day, and now the final hammer was being dropped - the authority, the police.
"How are you guys tonight?"
"Pretty good, officer. We're just getting back form a concert in Louisville trying to make our way HOME!"
"I see, I see. Well you ran right through that stop sign back there and failed to signal your turn. Any of you been drinking tonight?"
A chorus of "No’s” and nervous laughter flooded the car. It was true we hadn't been drinking, or even partaking in drug use, but you never know when some asshole fresh pig straight from the slaughterhouse will decide to search your car. We were already running dangerously late, but if something went wrong, we were as good as dead.
"Well, I haven't decided whether or not I’ll give you a ticket. Do you all have ID? Are you all eighteen?"
Everyone except me claimed to have left their ID at home and also to be legal.
"Well, let me write down your names, date of birth, and social security number to check and make sure we don't have any runaway's."
The truth about the ages quickly surfaced, but the officer didn't seem to notice.

Christ something just occurred to me. "...don't have any runaway's." Eighteen year old individuals don't run away. They do what they want. That bastard knew all along. He just wanted to let us think we had gotten away with lying. Well, shit guys. I guess he wasn't so dumb after all...

Finally, the officer returned.
"Sorry it took so long. We had a report of a stolen car out of Michigan matching yours. I just had to make sure that you weren't thieves. Here's a warning. Drive safely and get home!"
A sigh of relief. We were off the hook. The next day, Taylor summed it up like this: "We should be in jail man. You and me should be waiting for our parents to post bond while Becky and Cassandra are sitting in their rooms crying. What the hell is up with our luck?" Luck, indeed. That was the topic of conversation for the rest of the time my companions were awake. I'm sorry to say this Stacy, but had you been there, I'd have probably been slapped with that kidnapping charge we laughed about. A blessing in disguise to me, but still terribly unfortunate to you. At least you'll get a shirt out of all this.

Strange luck I have. Anyone who comes around me always experiences it. It's something out of a movie. Becky calls it "the worst, best luck," for you see, I always find myself in the strangest, absolutely impossible to survive situations, and not only do I survive, but I do it with a degree of grace. If you ever want to experience this strange luck, then just call me up and offer a road trip. Sure enough, we'll almost die at least twenty times. At least.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Becky said she would stay awake so I wouldn't have to drive alone, but I knew has soon as I started playing with her hair that she was going to crash, which was alright. She's beautiful when she sleeps, and I wanted some time alone to consider the day. Had all of this nonsense really happened on account of a concert? Cassandra had said earlier that day, "We have gone through more than anyone to see this band." At the time, I wasn't so sure. Of course, we had gone through more than most just to see a band perform and even lost one of our friends on the way, but at that moment I couldn't be sure. Now, as I'm sitting in my room at three in the morning reflecting on the situations we endured, I am convinced she was right. We had fought like hell to stay afloat when all around us terrible things were happening. That's the spirit of us teenagers today, I suppose. You can't keep us down. We shape our world out to what we want it to be, and when we can't mold it right, we put up with it.

Finally, we had arrived back in Morristown, back down Panther Creek Drive, back up the street and down to hill to where Cassandra lived, where our female companions would be spending the morning, for it was already past six when we arrived.

"I love you."
"I love you."
Mwah.

Taylor and I, barely conscious by this time, somehow made our way to his house. The bastard made me sleep on the floor with no pillow and a sleeping bag. But that's the thing about us teenagers. When we can't change what we don't like, we put up with it.

Contributed by: William Steinbeck

Charity

2007-09-16T06:11:00.000-07:00

A steady diet of moral science classes, with its emphasis on the spirit of 'Giving' had created in me a need to be the Good Samaritan. But in my nine to five job I was so caught up in pushing files that the cold professional took over and mercilessly stamped out all charitable intentions. Even so, once in a while my conscience would made a dent in this professional facade. This would result in marathon telephone sessions where I would made inquiries about the various charitable institutions in the city. And then another file with its various anomalies would come along and yet again bid adieu to my good intentions. And so this comical thrust and parry went on.

And then one cold and blustery morning the mail bought in an invitation to an intellectual forum convened to discuss how an individual could help the lesser blessed. I accepted the invitation with unseemly alacrity hoping thereby to end finally the rumblings of my ill-tempered, oft-neglected conscience. So I togged up in my cotton attire hoping to absorb all the charitable vibes with the porosity of the garment.

At the appointed time I made my enthusiastic way to the venue of the Forum and found myself gawking at the Grecian portico of a palatial house. With great trepidation I walked into a room full of expensively dressed men and women partaking of drinks and savouries. I faltered thinking I had gate crashed into the wrong gathering and would have turned back but was carried forward on a stream of social pleasantries. I was introduced to a motley gathering which included not only scions from industrial houses and the media but also a sprinkling of bureaucrats. The important thing I was told, was that all those gathered without exception, had been commended for 'social' work and were agents for internationally renowned charitable organizations. Snatches of conversation seem to give a lie to the introduction since they were solely about business, parties, clothes and contacts.

After a while the meeting was called to order and the speaker of the forum was introduced . He was,we were told the head of a newspaper group in the city who dabbled in various charitable projects. To my utter dismay the desultory talk of the gentleman spreaker seemed entrapped in the mire of 'I' 'ME', 'MINE'. His talk was peppered with well-known names from various fields which were invariably prefixed by a nonchalant "My Friend......". Then with Pope-like brevity on the subject of the talk he opined "Money is power" and exhorted all to contribute financial aid to good causes. What about people like us I wailed whose pay packets do not allow for such largesse. But my tinny voice was submerged in a din of applause, quite at variance though, with the quality of the talk.

Then began the interaction session where suggestions of an ostensibly charitable nature came thick and fast. "The city dwellers should be given paper bags to keep the environs clean" opined a gentleman striking a match to his pipe. "Sweets and fruits should be distributed to natives of the adopted village on festivals" stated a lady and in a practiced manner made a sign of victory as a photographer clicked her for posterity. "Cultural exchange programs must be given a fillip so that techniques for social-economic improvement used in the United States or in Europe could be applied to India" piped in another gentleman volunteering to lead an experimental group to New York. And so it went on.

What school, I wondered had given them a concept of charity so different and so much more comfortable than my own. Well!! even a conscience a could be sealed and gagged by greenbacks. To each his own, I thought as I bade a reluctant good-bye to my awakening charitable spirit and pledged to myself to the more individualized concept of "charity begins at home".

Contributed by: Rachy Singh

I Don't Even Have a Roof!

2007-09-16T06:10:00.001-07:00

I would like to begin by saying that I am a relatively healthy human being. As I child I went through a stretch of illness, but from my high school years through my mid 20's I have, thankfully, endured little more that a head cold. Now that I have set the scene, I'll tell you about the rash.

For over a week I had been waking up in the middle of the night with severe itching fits. This only seemed to happen while I was asleep, which is unfortunate because when I am in that state I will do anything to alleviate discomfort, as long as it doesn't involve to getting out of bed. Since I was dealing with an itch my recovery options were to scratch it violently or smear it with the lotion I keep on my nightstand (Don't ask). My wife and I explored possible causes of my ailment, and the two most plausible were an allergic reaction to something in the sheets or bed mites. The sad fact is that both of those situations could be remedied by simply washing my bed linens, but sloth led me to explore other possible causes rather than just completing the simple chore.

Over time a rash began to spread across the left side of my chest. At first I passed it off as simple irritation from my abuse, but the redness soon gave way to raised bumps, which in turn morphed into oozing pustules. I asked my wife for her diagnosis, and after an examination she opined, "It looks like poison ivy. Have you come into contact with any poison ivy lately?" My wife is extremely intelligent, and while I trust her judgment in most matters there were two major flaws in her assessment. First, I live in a very urban section of Queens, NY. Everything, even the trees, are made of concrete and brick. The only green I see on a regular basis is the money passed during the morning crack deal. Second, I have an odd body shape. My narrow shoulders give way to a broad chest, scrawny arms, a delightful beer gut, and thick legs. I am the equivalent of God's Mr. Potato head. This has left me too ashamed to remove my shirt in the shower, let alone a forest.

I continued to ignore it. After all, what you don't know can't hurt you. Early the next morning I was at work performing my daily ritual of shirking responsibility. On this particular occasion I was leafing through the NY Daily News. On my way to the crossword puzzle I read a headline that instantly caught my attention. Generally, any glimpse of an actual news story would leave me glassy eyed, but this article sent a chill down my spine. It told the story of a 19-year-old woman who recently passed away due to complications from flesh-eating bacteria. The piece said this virus began as a rash, and progressed to include body pain, temporary blindness, and rectal bleeding. I tore upstairs to the restroom to examine my rectum, and each time I bumped into something in my frenzy I convinced myself it was do to temporary blindness.

As I sat waiting for the doctor I made a mental list of which I wanted to give my eulogy and whether or not I should be buried with my CD collection. The door creaked open and a beautiful young woman entered the room. She introduced herself as the nurse and conducted a preliminary interview. I realized as I sat there how old I have become. When did the girls I used to check out at the mall become nurses? I must admit, even though I am happily married, there was a certain part of my brain that still wanted to impress her. I had no control over it. For example, in order to get an idea about my immune system she inquired how many sexual partners I was involved with. Without even thinking I replied, "What did you have in mind".

She left, and a few minutes later the door swung open and the doctor made his grand entrance. He was an overweight man in his early fifties who walked with a cane and conducted himself with an overt sense of conceit. I felt as though he was trying to rip off the style of FOX television's "House". He assuredly announced that he had already made his diagnosis, but merely needed a peek at the infection to verify it. Who the hell was this guy, and why was he wasting his obvious supernatural ability at an urgent care facility in Queens? Before I even finished removing my shirt he told me not to bother. He had seen enough, and indeed, his worst fears were true.

He told me I had shingles. I tried to explain to him that given my fear of heights and the fact that I live in an apartment building made this impossible to contract such a thing. Could I have caught it from someone? Was my wife cheating on me with a contractor? Apparently the disease has nothing to do with roofing. Basically it is like grown up chicken pox. When I contracted chicken pox as a child, I never fully shed the disease it just went dormant. Now it had resurfaced and wanted revenge. The thing that really blew my mind was when the doctor informed me that shingles is a form of the herpes virus. Herpes? I'm not saying there's anything wrong with people who have herpes, but I if I have to have it at least I feel like I should have the enjoyment of catching it.

The doctor prescribed Valtrex, which is primarily issued to herpes sufferers. As I stood in line at Walgreen's I became overcome with embarrassment. I felt the need to proclaim loudly that it was shingles that I suffered from, not herpes. That's when I learned the painful lesson that no one wants to hang out with a shingles patient either.

Time has passed and the rash has subsided, but though my skin will be restored to its original form, my emotional scars may never heal. I have already been forced to defend my honour to two nosy guests who discovered Valtrex in my medicine cabinet. If there is any advice I can pass on to the youth of today it would be to be safe, never have unprotected sex with poultry or construction workers. At least, I think that's how it goes.

Contributed by: Brian Mollica

ChristmaChess

2007-09-16T06:06:00.000-07:00

"what's for lunch this Christmas?'
"gloop"
"I thought we were having gloop for dinner"
"that is glosh"
"oh, what's the difference?"
"gloop is glosh before it becomes glud"
"and the substance we had for breakfast"
"Oh, that was glug"
"Can I stir the glug as it becomes gloop? I do not want you to forget it and let it become glud"
"mmm. No"
"can I add salt"
"no"
"can I arrange the table"
"no"
"what can I do"
"arrange the chess board"
"choose a color"
"pink"
"(gulp) this is good gloop"
"yeah, make your move"
"why cant we both move at the same time"
"move"
"would this pawn mind being the first to move"
"let the carnage begin"
"don't pawns have rights"
"make the move"
"half the board is full of them, they should be a union by now"
"don't forget to eat your gloop before it cools and becomes gloo"
"if they had a union they would all be queens instead of being pawns"
"make the move"
"why should there be only one piece in a square"
"either because square was empty or because the piece in it just got killed"
"are you sure it is not illegal to kill in a game"
"good move"
"I feel sorry for your pawn"
"this game has been played for centuries this way"
"can my horse just share the square with your pawn"
"kill it"
"it is so mean to use a horse to displace a pawn"
"make your move my queen is waiting to get your king"
"really , that is so sweet, tell her my king is taken but he might be generous if she is nice to him"
"my queen wants to kill your king"
"is it really legal to play this game, I mean there is more a king and queen can do without killing each other, plus it's Christmas"
"eat your gloop"
"think of all the things our pieces could do together"
"your turn to move"
"instead of killing each other why don't we form an alliance and do something constructive"
"check"
"ah, there you go again"
"check again"
"chrismas or no Chrismas, I am sure it illegal to be bouncing so many checks"
"my queen is gonna get your king mated"
"your queen wants to kill my king and calls it getting mated"
"check mate"
"you have no idea what mating is all about"
"the game is over"
"can i continue moving the pieces"
"go ahead, if it makes you happy but just remember that the game is over"
"I love the way the horse moves"
"you would have won the game if you had moved it earlier"
"I did not want to win"
"you played like a loser"
"losing is not the only option to not being the winner"
"if you had made those moves before my queen mated your king, you would have won pawns down"
"I did not lose, I am still moving my pieces"
"the game is over, I won"
"would'nt it be nicer to be able to say We Won"
"We played chess not nice"
"that is not nice of you"
"what is that you are doing putting your bishop on that rook"
"that is my bisrook"
"what is a bishrook"
"a bishop teaming up with the rook"
"what on the chess board for"
"to be more powerful than a bishop or a rook is an any given time"
"now what is that horse doing on the rook... Lemme guess, it is horook"
"how did you find out"
"I am smarter than you"
"together we can be smarter than you and me are as individuals"

Merry Christmas

A Fly on the wall

2007-09-16T06:05:00.001-07:00

Would you like to be a 'fly in the ointment' ? A 'bee in the bonnet'? A 'snake in the grass'? A 'wolf in sheep's clothing'? I'm sure not. Neither have I ever desired to join the animal ilk.

But of late I am being driven by an unknown compulsion to be a fly on the wall. Hang on ! It has nothing to do with being an animal-o-phile in general or a fly-o-phile in particular. Nor does it have anything to do with a 'karma' dependent human -animal reincarnation. Hold on ! It also has nothing to do with any Freudian voyeuristic compulsions. Why then was a happy human suddenly gripped by a desire to be a fly on the wall.

Well it all started like this. In the last month or so I was working busy as a bee in the office, in the happy expectation of being promoted on account of good work done.But one fine day as I entered my office 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed', I was told that a junior colleague had been promoted in my stead. How had this unhappy state of affairs come about, I anxiously inquired.I was told that ameeting had been held by the board constituting the who's who of our organization and the decision taken. Something had gone wrong! But how ? And where ? Was it my work? Or was it a consideration extraneous to the official set-up?How could I find out? Simple. By being a fly on the wall.

With the passage of time the compulsion slowly faded but only to raise its insistent head at important times in my life.When my beloved jade glass went missing. When my interview for a coveted job was being rated. When my doctors put their heads together in the examination room to diagnose a small lump in my back as I waited outside and slowly climbed the walls in my anxiety. When my seven month-old son was hurt and was being operated under general anesthesia . Oh how I wished at times like these that I was a fly on the wall and privy to all that was happening inside closed doors.

However, many of my friends feel that being privy to existential. Secrets would take the zing out of life. That it is the inaccessibility of the shadowy depths of the world that add excitement and interest to life. And to be a fly on the wall would take away that extra something from life. Yes I suppose secret goings-on not only titillate human interest but also set the adrenalin pumping

Contributed by: Rachy Singh

Hypocrisy

2007-09-16T06:03:00.000-07:00

I have often wondered at the etymology and semantic content of the word 'hypocrisy'. After hunting in vain for its Latin, French, Lativian(?) origins , I finally realized that the word had about it almost a kind of onomatopoeic quality. The word actually sounded its meaning. For it assimilated within its alphabetic confines all the qualities that define a hypocrite.

The 'root' of the word itself is 'hypo' or 'hippo' ,hinting at the 'hide'-like opacity of the animal which acts as a barrier ,discouraging access to the inner 'persona'. Simply put, it means a dissonance between the outer and the inner self. To use an analogy, ,when a person bowing to his schizophrenic tendencies ,attempts to play 'Jekyll and Hyde' , in modern day parlance he can be dubbed as a hypocrite.

The 'genus' of the hypocrite family has several species and sub-species.For one, there is the 'Dolly -Clone' whose gentle sheep-like behaviour or one-time friskiness makes the people around him confide and trust his 'sheep-like eyes'till they find to their shock and disbelief that he is a 'tiger -in -sheep's-clothing'and not the sure-footed Taurian goat they could trust.

Then come the 'money changers'who are true in that they talk as well as think about nothing but money. But the dissonance lies in that they talk about financial contentment and absence of desire for more money. But in actual fact they crave money, expect monetary benefits at every turn and if thwarted turn their malicious fangs upon those who dare to come between them and their desire for money.

There are then the spiritual 'Houidinis' who with the magic and charisma of their personalities project a spiritual aura . They talk about upliftment of the spirit, about rising above the worldly 'greed'call of material acquisitions, about achieving a sense of utter contentment.But the truth is stranger than fiction for their claim on worldly goods and their desperate craving for it breaks legal as well as human barriers.

There are also the 'sychophant 'hypocrites, a species , that is found in the office environs. This species is characterized by a fawning behaviour pattern which emerges in the presence of the boss. Their ballet-like movements around the boss are a sight for sore eyes. They may hate and despise their bosses but all their energies are focussed towards keeping the boss happy by any means-be it flattery, be it gifts or be it by getting odd jobs done.

Then there are the 'Gemini contenders'. These species are outwardly positive, progressive and god-fearing but are actually negative and regressive ,belonging to the ilk of the damned. They are characterized by hyperbole in their projections, be it work-related or a projection of their alleged compassion for the 'children of the lesser god' or a projection of their attainment of god-like bliss.In the hypocrite crime gallery , they are 'Jack-the-rippers' who rip away the faith, trust,illusions and sensibilities of people around them brutally , accompanied with a psychopathic glee.

And finally , there is the Hydra-headed Hypocrite whose hypocrisies are many and varied , whose moral corruption is so great that as a good samaritan ,if you lop off one of his numerous heads, another grows in its stead to create havoc. There is no escaping the wretchedness of this hypocrite whose talk of greatness is mired in the slush of corruption, whose projection of love and compassion has the roots of selfish opportunism, whose Machiavellian manipulations go beyond the descriptive decorum of a word and who like Mephistopheles has sold his soul to the devil for material advancement.

Hypocrisy in today's world has become a by-word for success for it hints at a society which belies transparency and thrives on half-truths.

Hypocrisy is dead !

Long Live Hypocrisy!!

Long Live Hypocrisy !!!

Are you Left, Right or Middle?

2007-09-16T06:01:00.000-07:00

To dispel any suggestions to the contrary, this article is not about politics. Your brain can see this incorrect identification: but which one?

Most individuals have a difficult time performing a task from the opposite lobe than their personality dictates. The left brained like my wife are simply ecstatic about figures, numbers and mathematics. Why am I the one who handles the chequebook and tax returns when that is where she gets her jollies? Women have a way of massaging your brain to make you think left is right and right is left. Directing our attention to their sensual, soft, curvy parts makes a nose ring merely figurative. My reaction of such dedication to math runs from "ho hum," to "I got to stop pulling my own hair out before I go bald and the woman takes up with a hairy accountant." The rest of us who are right brain people have sensitivity and are inclined towards the arts.

Roger Perry a Nobel Prize winner conducted split-brain experiments (not to be confused with split pea experimentation often performed by 3 year olds: sneaking the awful tasting vegetable into the nearest napkin, to shuffle them into the closest toilet at the earliest opportunity). Perry determined that "there appear to be two modes of thinking, represented rather separately in left and right hemispheres." He further suggested that

"Our education system, as well as science in general, tends to neglect one side over the other. What it comes down to is that modern society discriminates against the right hemisphere." Aha! I knew it! I know I am not simply an oddball, black sheep with idiosyncratic peculiarities that are out of the norm. I am actually being "kept down by the man!" I am practically an endangered species. Now I understand why the toilet seat must be down in the bathroom. It is not a guy versus girl issue. It is a left-brain versus right brain one!

Basically the truth of the matter is that we all use both sides of our brain even though observing rush hour traffic would suggest that we seem more like a bunch of brainless zombies from Night of the Living Dead Goes to the Demolition Derby. It is just that the left-brain thinks it knows everything! I keep telling my wife this but all I ever get out of it is a comfortable sleeping spot on a hot couch.

The left takes over like Mr. Spock and dispenses with the genteel right side's irrational images and inspiration. You could almost see a devil sitting on one shoulder and an angel on the other, and we know who usually wins that skirmish. It is as if a brutish dictator rode into town and removed the pleasant easygoing right side and sent it to the dungeon. The carnage is worse than a bunch of 1950's housewives let loose at a 75% off white sale at 'Macy's'.

Here are some of the findings of brain function: The left-brain is responsible for logic, details, facts, math, science, comprehension, perception, reality, strategy, and practicality. The highlight of the right brain is the ability to drool. "Talk about painting a one sided picture!" Everybody knows there is quite a story to a wet spot. Now I face the prospect that, when my daughter wakes up in the morning with a wet mark on her pillow I will know she is right brained and destined for a rough life. Actually, 'righties' use feelings, pictures, imagination, symbols, images, philosophy, fantasy, and religion (which in some circles is the same thing as fantasy).

Then there are the 'middle brainers'. You would think that they'd be a combination of left and right. Maybe they should be capable of swinging from one side to the other. They tend to be genius.' Albert Einstein, apart from formulating the theory of relativity, E=MC2 , was a big middle brain user but more importantly he had cool hair for an old dude. He even came up with a little known universal brain formula. L+R=P (Left brain + Right brain = Politics). Now that makes sense. The left wants to control your life, the right is brainless and needs to be in the dungeon and the middle is the diplomatic bridge between the two. Okay I was wrong this is all about politics. I guess my brain is not functioning properly. It's leaning toward the middle and that can be scary. I do not know if I can stand being sensitive, thoughtful and a genius too!

Contributed by: Giosue' Santarelli

The Invisible Web

2007-09-16T05:58:00.001-07:00

I have been working on the net for last several years. I always thought that when I needed to find anything on the net I could use Google, Altavista, Hotbot, Yahoo, Excite, Snap, About, AOL, MSN, Looksmart, Web crawler, Ask Jeeves, Northern Light and covered almost the entire gamut of the Internet for my searches. It was one day when going through a job advertisement on Web Researcher, in qualifications column, I saw ...."knowledge of Invisible web required....". Now what was that..Invisible Web...? I had never heard of it before. Research on the topic produced startling information which I share with you.

What exactly is Invisible web: A vast majority of information available on the Internet does not reside directly on the World Wide Web. It is found in hidden databases that cannot be seen or searched by common Internet search engines. There are many many such databases This vast Ocean of databases is commonly referred to as the "The Invisible Web". It is called Invisible as it is not searched through commonly used search engines. It is also called "Hidden Web" as this part of the Internet hides inside the Data Base. Some People call it the "Deeper Web" because most of the search Engines only search (spider/crawl) the surface of the Internet.

Why is this part of the Internet Hidden/Invisible: To understand this we must understand how search engines work. Search engines visit (crawl, spider) the web servers registering the addresses of Web pages they discover. When they come across a database, they read and index the home page of a database. They do not go inside that database to find out what is stored therein. Thus search engines don't distinguish between the index page of a huge data base and a simple Web page. Although information is there in the Database it is invisible to the search engine because of its technology. Another reason is that the HTML pages we normally post on the Internet are fixed or static pages. Pages of the databases are more active and offer content that is put together from many parts of the database. These are called dynamic pages. Commonly used Search Engines cannot index dynamic pages and so the databases remain hidden.What is the extent of the Invisible web: The Google Search Engine mentions indexing 28.0547 billion pages. This at the moment is considered to be one of the biggest indexing of Web pages. Bright Planet a company which has brought out a white paper on the subject estimates this to be 800 billion to 950 billion web pages. This translates to up to 500 times of the visible web. The Invisible Web contains 7,500 terabytes of information, compared to 19 terabytes of information in the commonly searched Web. There are an estimated 1,00,000 Invisible web sites and growing.

What is the significance of this concept to Web Masters: As web masters especially those working with the data bases it is very essential to know that a conventional search engine will not index their site/ web page. More likely it will only index the Index page of the entire data base once. There is, as yet, no solution to this problem of data base not being found through a conventional search engine.

Why is Invisible Web important: Most of the Invisible Web contains information that can be publicly accessed and available for free. This information is extremely relevant for domain names, market research,and is commercially relevant information.

Gateways to Invisible web: Now the question arises how to search the Invisible web. One way is through gateways, which are the interfaces giving direct access to the thousands of searchable databases on the Web that the major search engines ignore. Some of these are Alpha Search, The Big Hub, WebData.com, Digital Librarian etc.

How to search the Invisible Web: Besides gateways there are specific search engines which search the Invisible web. Most significant amongst these are Lexibot, Infomine, InvisibleWeb

contributed by:Kainaat creations

Boolean Operators in Internet Searching

2007-09-16T05:57:00.000-07:00

We all search the Internet frequently for specific information.Supposing you are looking for the topic: Cinematic techniques used by James Joyce in his novels. The first and the obvious way to search for the topic is to type the word James Joyce in the search box of the search engine. This would yield a large number of pages of sites related to James Joyce as also all James and all the Joyce pages. Opening all these pages and browsing them for specific topic of cinematic techniques is a very tedious job. Are there any short cuts ?

Well yes there are short cuts and these are called Boolean operators based on the Boolean logic (after George Boole,18th cent.Mathematician). Boolean operators are used to combine search concepts in a more precise way than is possible with word searching.

The few important ones are discussed below:

AND:
The AND operator narrows a search to include only those web pages that contain both keywords. The search syntax for our above query would be; james AND joyce AND cinematic AND techniques. AND operators are a great way of limiting the numbers of search results because they link two subjects to create a new query subject for the engine.Thus the engine will only search for web pages on the Internet that will include all the four subjects.

OR:
The OR operator broadens searches to include web pages/ web sites that contain any keywords of the search. The search query in our case could be; joyce OR joycean OR joyces. OR operators can be useful when searching for alternative spellings,or searching for synonyms e.g.in our case; techniques OR concepts OR methods

NOT:
The NOT operator narrows a search to exclude certain keywords. Say searching for james joyce cinematic techniques we don't want the search engine to open web sites relating to James Joyce Foundation, James Joyce Society etc. The query will then be; james AND joyce NOT foundation

NEAR:
NEAR operators work similarly to AND operators, retrieving only those web pages that contain both keywords, but NEAR operators further limit the search results by requiring that the keywords be within ten words of each other. This is especially important in our case of a proper name search because when we look for james and joyce the engine will also open pages of james dean, james hill, james watt, james smith etc. and similarly of richard joyce and william joyce etc. Use of NEAR operator will open only pages of james joyce. The query will thus be james NEAR joyce.

IMPORTANT:
It is very important to note the in all the discussion above the operators have been mentioned in uppercase and the searched words in lowercase. This is essential, because if operators are mentioned in lower case the search engines will ignore them as these are the most commonly occurring words in any web page.

The major search engines all permit Boolean searching, but they vary in the syntax they require. Learning the fine points of a particular search engine will greatly improve the precision of your queries. This fine tuning to the major engines like Google, Altavista, Excite, Northern Light, Hotbot, Lycos, Yahoo, Web crawler, Infoseek etc. will be discussed in another article.

Search strategy to Search that elusive Web page

2007-09-16T05:53:00.000-07:00

We all have had times on the internet when we don't find the thing that we are looking for on the net.It is not only time consuming but also very frustrating. With the web growing every minute the number of pages is increasing to incredible levels. From 54,000 odd pages in 1994 to about 1.347 billion pages in 2001 to 8.058 billion pages in 2005 the growth has been phenomenal. How often we wished that someone could have classified things for us like our office secretary and kept them in small filing cabinet, subject wise so that without wasting time we could reach for it straightway.

Directories: Search engines crawl the net and store information about every site they visit. They don't categorise or differentiate. Humans all along have been making the effort to simplify and classify the information available on the Internet. This classifications have been called directories.

How are directories created: The Directory researchers work constantly to examine new web pages one-at-a-time. They classify all the pages they find to categories. These start with one main category and then keep going down to sub categories and sub-sub categories .e.g. The Home page of An American Museum of Contemporary Art may thus be classified as :

ARTS & ARCHITECTURE > ARTS > CONTEMPORARY ART > AMERICAN > MUSEUMS

The people working on the directory projects browse the new pages, make value judgements concerning the appropriateness of each page for listing, find a suitable category for listing, and exclude inappropriate content. This whole process is very much like what a librarian does when he selects, acquires, catalogs, and weeds books.

What is an open search: The most common way of searching the Internet is by using keywords. Type the keywords for the topic you are looking for in the search box of the search engine and see the relevant search results. e.g. searching for biography of Robert Ludlum you may type biography, Robert Ludlum. This type of search is called open search. (here we are not discussing the results of this search)

What is a directory search: In directory search we go form one main category to a category to a sub-category to a sub-sub category of the search directory, till we reach the desired level of the topic we searched e.g. searching for the same biography the path would be;

Arts > Literature > Authors > biography > (alphabet) L > Ludlum > topic

When to use open search:
1. When you want to quickly reach to relevant web pages and you have the keywords

2.When searching for all the freshly published content.

3.When you want all the pages on the topic without excluding anything.

When to use Directory Search:
1.When you dont have the keywords.

2.When keywords are not yielding the results.

3.When the open search is giving too many results.

4.When seeking for quality article/ web site on a specific subject.

5.When you want to exclude all junky pages from the search.

What are the top of the line directory projects: Compiling a directory is a time consuming job. Not every web site or Search Engine owner starts a simultaneous project of creating a directory. Looksmart was one of the early pioneers in this field and it subsequently tied with Altavista. Now they together claim to have the Largest directory on the Internet with 350 million indexed web pages. AOL.com is another big player which has a Human compiled directory. DMOZ is also in the field and attempting to create one of the largest open directories on the net. Wikipedia is the latest entrant and going very rapidly everyday.

We can only say in the end that search engines are essential but Directories are also important.Because the search engines will search and search and create chaos, it is only the humans who will bring sanity to this data.

Significance of Meta tags and Key words

2007-09-16T05:50:00.000-07:00

How do search engines relate Description, Keywords ,Title and Content in the Body of web page:

Search engines are continuously 'spidering' crawling the web. When they visit a web site they note the URL (universal resource locator) of the web page, Title of the web page, Description Meta tags, Keywords Meta tags, as also Keywords in the text or the body portion of the web page When we submit a search query to the engine The job of a search engine is to find the content which most suitably fits the search query, the engine links up these words with what it has stored in its memory. Depending upon the occurrence of these words in the web pages already spidered by it the results are displayed. It is very essential to understand that different search engines respond differently to the Meta tags. Some use only the Title tag, others use description tag and few others the keywords. So all three tags are important and also all three must have similar content.

Pitfalls of using unrelated Keywords in Meta tags :
It is a common belief that if a Web master has the right keywords his page would figure in the top 10 of a search engine. Meta tags are important as they do help in search engine listing but they are like a double edged sword.Most search engine look at the Keywords, Title and Description of the web page and then they try and relate these to the Actual Content of the page. It is vital that the Title, the Description and the Keywords are in unison with each other as also with what is appearing on the web page. Having a too long description (it wont fit in the description window of the search engine), Keywords should not be repeated. If there are to many Keywords and unrelated to the content on the page the search engine will classify it as spam and put the page out of its listings.

And one final word-please, please don't steal keywords from a popular web site, it is Illegal..

Significance of Meta tags and Key words

2007-09-16T05:44:00.000-07:00

What are Meta tags:
Meta tags are a code used in the web page programming (both HTML & JAVA). They are not visible when a web page is being viewed by a browser. However the search engines use the Meta tags to categorise and classify the content of the web page. Web masters use Meta tags for better placement of their pages on the search engines.

What are commonly used Meta tags:
1. Keywords: This Meta Taget of keywords (with a comma after each keyword)

2 Description: Meta Tag gives description of web page's highlights .

3. Title: Defines the title of the web page. (some authors don't consider this as a Meta tag.)

Other less significant metatags:

4. Author: This tag defines who wrote the web page.

5. Generator: This tag defines the program used to create the web page.

6. Robot: This allows a page to be indexed or not to be indexed by search engine..

Where should be the Meta tags located on the Web page:
Any HTML document (web page) consists of a Header portion and a Body section. The information located in the Header is used by search engines. So meta tags should be located in the and the portion.This has t be included for all pages. For framed pages include META TAGS on all individual framed pages and NOT merely on frame set page.

How to use Title, Description and Keywords in the Meta tags:
The Title tag must accurately define the content on the web page. The description tag must in 1-2 short sentences give the gist of your page. The Keyword tag in about 8-15 'key'words should highlight the most significant aspects of the page. If we were to define the Meta tags for this article they would be;

The Joker

2007-09-14T23:21:00.003-07:00

We all must have noticed that in life around that even in the most tragic and heart-wrenching situations, there would be a person who seems unconcerned, unaffected by the circumstances. He is a person, as it appears is someone who will never take life seriously. For him the life is just another joke, to be laughed away. No doubt humour does add spice to life, and it kind of smoothens the rough edges in the machine of life. It may appear that such people fritter away their precious lives in this casual and careless manner.

But everyone misses the tragedy behind the veneer of this joking, jovial, and apparently careless carefree human. People laugh at his antics, lighten their hearts and move on leaving him behind entrapped in his miseries. He feels that by sharing his joy they may share his misery. Everyone eats away the cake but no one bothers about the dirty old oven, that was on fire for hours, to bake the cake.

This is how life is, or is that how, life supposed to be ?

Contributed by: Kainaat Creations

Lovers' quarrels

2007-09-14T23:16:00.000-07:00

One minute you seem like lovesick turtledoves teasing, laughing and giggling with all your might. Then a few minutes later, you begin yelling and berating each other and a lover's quarrel is already in progress. A little bantering was all it took to stoke up a rising emotional tension.

Every now and then, no matter how close and intimate a couple is, an argument occasionally looms to create a tide in the relationship. Although sometimes it shakes a relationship down to its very core, if handled well, it is healthy and can help create lasting relationships. Here is a list of what couples like you usually argue about and what you should do whenever you are faced with another petty bickering.

Jealousy

Jealousy is a natural human emotion. It is not negative in itself. How people react to jealous feelings make it negative. Usually, jealousy stems from the lack of trust or lack of assurance from one's partner. It can also come from a low self-image or an inferiority complex. If you are the jealous one, learn to act by reason and not by emotion. Your jealousy is just a product of your own mental-emotional patterns that only exist in your head. Just because your lover admired something about another person, does not mean that you are loved any less, or that the person is more attractive than you are. Voice out how you feel to your partner so that you can discuss things and he can help you alleviate your jealousy. If your partner is the green-eyed monster, assure him of your devotion and reassure him of his innate worth as your love mate. Perhaps your partner needs more attention and affection than you are giving him.

Individual Differences

When you first met, it may be the similarities you found with each other that instantly created the bond and rapport. However, as you knew each other better, it is your differences that potentially fashioned the strength of your relationship. Hence, it is important that you value the differences that make you unique as a couple. Perhaps, there might be times when you may want to change your partner into your view of his potential. However, even if you would succeed in your crusade, chances are you would lose respect for him for allowing you to have done it and for not having the personal strength to be him. So it is better that you both learn to compromise and meet halfway every time a conflict surges. Be ready to recognize each other's weaknesses and learn to appreciate what the other has to offer. Instead of seeing yourselves as separate individuals, practise seeing each other as an aspect of yourselves. In this way, you shatter the illusion of separation and bridge the gap that's keeping you asunder.

Unfulfilled Expectations

When a dispute recurs but too many times like a bad case of athlete's foot but you have no clue as to what's really causing the problem, odds are it was because your partner did not meet your expectations or he didn't meet yours. When expectations are not met, a spat usually ushers in. Depending on the expectations you may want to concede in your relationship, it is highly commendable that you bring your expectations upfront from the very start of the relationship. Determine which expectations are most important to you and which are most important to your partner. Spend some time tossing around what you both desire and need from the relationship and what you must have and will not tolerate from each other. Remember, love works best when it involves both give and take.

You're-Wrong-I'm-Right Attitude

Instincts often tell us not to give up and admit defeat in times of disagreements especially if we are certain that we are right. Nevertheless, to think about it, does it really matter, who is right and who is not? In a relationship, it is never good to assert too much, if it means you could hurt your partner. Let go of having to "be right!" If you must speak up, do it lovingly. Never tell your partner that he is wrong straight in the face. If you do this, you may just stir a storm in a teacup and set about a violent outburst. Instead of having to be RIGHT, decide with your mate that it is more important to be HAPPY. Discuss in loving way areas of mutual concern then agree on certain terms so that you prevent yourselves from meshing with future disagreements.

Money Matters

When you're going through the honeymoon phase of your relationship, money may not be much of an issue. Nonetheless, as the relationship progresses, power struggles and control issues around money may just start surfacing. This creates tension that if not resolved, can put a serious damper on the relationship. Where critical differences exist in your financial expectations, try to negotiate. Work out a way of managing your finances that gives you both some control. In any case, if one is earning more than the other, he/she shouldn't hold all the control because even if the other is contributing less in the financial aspect, that does not mean he/she is contributing any less in other areas of the relationship. Over all of this, if there are still issues, sit and talk things over. Discussion and cooperation may not confer instant solutions to difficult financial issues, but knowing you and your partner agree about how to approach the situation will help maintain the zing in your relationship.

Arguments by nature are difficult and can even be hurtful and frustrating. Yet, they are a normal natural aspect of any relationship. Like the salt to meat dishes, they add flavour to the lives of couples and help build better relationships. On the other hand, if disputes are poorly handled, they can also potentially wreck a strong relationship. So, in order to avoid this, every disagreement should be carefully handled in a way that would boost relationship satisfaction and pave the way for new growth together. Truly, it is fun to fight and make up (and out) after knowing you have worked together through it all.

Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo

The System

2007-09-14T23:14:00.000-07:00

Being good enough to make it- you might even say it is unnecessary. It is not about who deserves and who is not. There is a system of accreditation, through which you pass through, to successfully to make it. It can cause you to compromise on the way you wanted to make it but you are going to have to pass through the system if you want to make it anyway. Going through the system is the only way you can make it.

The system does not give you credit on merit. It has a predefined list of things that you can do for getting credits. This list is too general to cater to the development of the individual with the diversity of each of our specific abilities. If we were clever enough to realize that the credit would do us good, we would get the credit giving it first priority. That credit gives us the respect we need from people who can "get us there". Beyond a point, qualification, achievement, capacity and ability lose value and that respect takes us there. How you get it doesn't matter because once you get it, you are given charge and then you're free of the system and you can then handle matters how you wish to.

Through the system, we achieve our goals but it makes us compromise on our true essence in cases when there is a conflict of interest. We end up wasting the time when we have the most potential by earning our way up the system. We get through it by the time that time is over and a lot of time gets wasted in-between.

Because they say that every pleasure got its edge of pain, we should not make it so. The trouble we sometimes go through to enjoy happiness makes us unable to make the whole process worthwhile. The system passes on a lot of regret and unhappiness from one generation to the next. In any case, this price has to be paid. Everyone from the previous generation goes through the process and we have to go through it too compromising and giving something or the other up.

Are the future generations going to keep on regretting? Are dreams going to be a heavily priced commodity forever and ever? For how long will the regret go on? Is it too late too ask this question? Is it for us now, this generation, to refuse to take that regret on? Where will it go then? It cannot vanish into oblivion. Someone has to suffer that to happen. Who will? Are people willing to forget and forgo all that having to regret makes them lose in the end?

The system makes us depend on it (because it determines our success) and then when we have passed through it, all stripped of our strength, we depend on it to move on further. What we lost through it, we do not allow the next generation to have or attain by pushing them through the system to lose the same. The system can only be disabled if we do not allow it define our rise up towards our goals. If it has to be gone through anyway, for what we lose through compromises we should not blame it but press on until it breaks- at least for us. If we have what it takes, we will make it. What "gets us there" will be our own merit and abilities and we wont have anyone to oblige and nothing to regret to blame anyone or anything in the end.

Contributed by: Sunil Noronha

Feline Courage

2007-09-10T08:49:00.000-07:00

Have you ever experienced one of those rare strange times when things just go way beyond normal?

You learn things from cats....

Fangs. Killer claws. Hisses, grrrs...and later, yelps. Who is not familiar with cat-dog combats? It's a "hair-raising" party of limbs and tails and yes, the loser sheds most of the fur- mostly, the cat.

It was night time and I was in the living room reading a tear-jerker when I heard a throaty, prolonged and wavering wail. Instantly I dropped the book and rushed to the door with one thought in mind - my cat was under attack. The thought brought an ugly picture to my head. I feared an on-the-prowl Sparky or a hyperactive Caesar or worse, the Big Dogs on the Block (BDOB a.k.a. askal) was circling my Khufu in anticipation of tearing her apart.

So you could just imagine the shock on my face when I caught Khufu chasing Sparky, a dog two times her size. A dog. My cat just chased a dog. I thought it only happens on TV.

"You were supposed to be helpless," I scolded Khufu but actually I was torn between being proud of the cat and being afraid of it as it sat on its hind, licking its paws...Sparky completely forgotten.

But then my memory bank had retrieved from its archives a plausible explanation about what had transpired in the scene of crime. Said dog seemed to have a phobia with cats for once upon a time it received a blow from a cat's paw on the head. So I thought my cat was just plain lucky. Sparky would avert from anything that meows.

But then another weird night came and dogs were running for their tails. The militant cat had struck again.

Dogs. Not one, but two. Dogs- definitely not puppies. One was Caesar and the other was a BDOB- both bigger than Sparky. I was impressed.

Perhaps it would happen again, perhaps not. But I wouldn't want my feline friend to make it a hobby or she'll drive all the dogs away.

Here's the norm: cats are to be chased by dogs. The poor cat must have gotten tired of running for her life that she decided to make a brave yet an unthinkable move to alter cat life in our dog-infested neighborhood.

It seems she has gathered up her tattered pride and charge, come what may, to make a statement in the name of the feline race. The statement would be: We cats may be soft, but we are not fragile.

How easy it is for us to run away from our fears or to give in to the unfairness of the bullies to avert the hassles and side effects of battle, having known not the possible victories we could achieve...dreams stay as mere dreams.

But fear is fear. If only we could just throw it out of the window and have it locked out from our minds. But fear is a part of our existence. It is a psychological battle, a tug-of-war between yes and no. For me, it is not something we bulldoze in a day. I remember how my cat used to sacrifice her food to the dogs and be rooted indoors. It took her time to gain the courage to go against the norm we thought could never be changed.

Perhaps the passport to courage is to be sure of who we are, to believe, to act big no matter how small, like the cat that fought for its claim of territory and demand for respect with a personlity bigger than a dog.

We all have our own dogs to chase to turn our "impossible" into a badge we can proudly wear. As for me, I'm not done with mine yet.

Contributed by: Sheryl Joy P. Olano

Attitudes

2007-09-10T08:44:00.000-07:00

It took a move to the South and a culture shock from hell for me to learn that I was black. Of course I'm being sarcastic. I mean, I knew I was black. I grew up in a house with loads of mirrors. I knew that I had to have my hair hot combed and the little white girls at school didn't have to. I guess I should say that it took a move to the South for me to learn how important my being black was to everyone else.

I was a military brat so I didn't grow up in one solitary place. My scenery was always changing. I was so use to change that I didn't think that a move from California to Alabama would be that much of a change. Ah, how the youth walk in ignorance. Upon arriving at Saks Middle School, I was befriended by three nice white girls. The most popular white girls in the school. I was so relieved to have allies in this strange new world that I didn't notice that I was making all the black females at the school very uncomfortable. It's a good thing for me that people in the South aren't shy.

I remember that day in gym class as clear as Dasani.

"You Tasha?" An intimidating voice came from behind me. Suddenly, I felt like I was in the Middle of one of those great American Westerns.
"Yeah." I replied, turning around.
"You want to be white?" She demanded.
This flustered me. I started stuttering. I was pissed that I was loosing my cool.
"No!" I finally thought of in a witty comeback.
"Then why do you hang out with those white girls?"
Well, because they were the first people to befriend me in this hell.
"Because…" I began.
"And why do you talk so proper?"
I wasn't really aware of the fact that I spoke any differently than anyone else that spoke English, minus that slow Southern draw.
"Well, uh." By this time, her posse of thugs were backing her up.
"Where you from anyway? Why you speak so good? You think you better than us. You think you white? You Oreo."

Needless to say I came out of this interrogation alive. I heard everything as I spent the rest of my time growing up in the South. Oreo, gray girl, punk ass. Then, one day it dawned on me that it's very fishy that I have experienced more racism at the hands of black people than at the hands of any other race. And, I'm black.

The bottom line is that I'm not going to go out of my way to befriend someone simply because they look like me. It's not a great accomplishment to be the thing that Nature intended you to be. It's possible that this is a problem that is currently facing the black community.

The only people that can ensure the survival of the African-American community are black people. How the hell are we supposed to get stronger when we keep telling our own youth to belittle themselves. Why in the hell would you want to go and put more pressure on a black kid to be "more black," when the rest of society is going to expect him to be better?

Black people should train their people to run faster, jump higher, and speak better than anyone else. Maybe that's the problem in the black community. Maybe it isn't the "white folks," but a problem from within. Maybe we are handicapping our own youth. It is possible we are responsible for the 85% of black men in prison. Perhaps, we should look within to explain all the single black mothers on welfare. Maybe they aren't better because we aren't telling them that they should be. But, what do I know about black folks?

I'm just an Oreo.

Contributed by:Natasha Larry

10 Ways to Reduce Commuting Stress

2007-09-08T20:53:00.000-07:00

The Circus: A Landscape Of The Unconscious

2007-09-04T06:57:00.000-07:00

Anyone who's ever been to a Circus understands its power to captivate and thrill. But its enduring timelessness and mass appeal suggests that there just may be a lot more going on "underneath the big top."

Taken as a subconscious metaphor, the Circus holds many clues to the unconscious. Each Circus act, in fact, taps right into certain archetypal and timeless human dramas. Think about it. When something resonates with you, it's because at some level you recognize it. The fantastic nature of the Circus lulls us to a more vulnerable and child-like mindset - and yields access to our unconscious mind.

Clowns represent our raw emotions, unfettered by rules of convention or maturity. With rare exceptions, clowns are innocents, reacting to the world from the pure id of their being. Whether happy or sad - their feelings are unmistakably revealed by their faces in bold, colorful and exaggerated expressions. Their gestures and actions mirror this innocence, often with hilarious results!

The exception to the clown-as-innocent - the Evil Clown -- is so terrifying to children and adults alike that he has become a stock character in horror movies. What makes him so insidious is the duplicity of his mask. Because of his clown nature, he is perceived as a safe innocent - he is trusted. When he is revealed for what he is, the ensuing terror is doubled due to feelings of shock and betrayal.

If clowns represent pure emotion in the subconscious landscape, trapeze artists and tightrope walkers represent fears and phobias. There are, according to psychologists, two natural fears - fear of loud noises and fear of heights. In the surreal setting of the Circus, this natural fear of heights comes to represent all of our fears - natural and unnatural. For what is fear of heights if not the fear of death - the most terrifying feeling we can experience?

As we watch these aerialists fly through the air or balance tenuously on a narrow strip of rope, we feel our own fears surface and are torn between the desire to witness "death-defying" stunts or to cover our eyes and turn away. This tension is a ubiquitous human experience - it's the two distinct and divergent parts ourselves that are always at odds. We feel the part that wants to fly battling the other part of us that is afraid of the unknown, of failure, of death.

When we think of fear in the Circus environment, there's another image often comes to mind: that of the brave Lion Tamer. In addition, although his activities undoubtedly strike at our subconscious fears, his role is more important in the context of control and power. As human beings, we have a need for control over our environment. Nowhere is this more evident than in man's desire to master nature - or if you will, in the domestication of the wild. The Lion Tamer epitomizes control, wielding little more than a stick and a whip, he manages to bend some of the world's most ferocious beasts to his will. Who among us hasn't dreamed of that kind of power?

However, perhaps the most controversial element of the Circus is the realm of the freaks. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Circuses and carnival sideshows regularly featured humans with abnormalities and disabilities. During the sideshow heyday, people collected pictures and postcards of famous carnival "freaks" such as celebrity Siamese twins. In today's social and political climate, such overt exploitation is frowned upon, yet the fascination with "freaks" remains. Why?

Although most people realize that Circus freaks fascinate, very few understand their role as comforters. People of low self-esteem can find immediate relief by comparing themselves to the disfigured and disabled. In fact, history is full of examples of depraved indifference and cruelty toward those considered different or less fortunate. The simple and shocking conclusion is that looking down on others makes us feel better about ourselves. A bit on the chunky side? Go look at The Fat Lady - you'll feel better instantly. Annoyed with your brother? At least you're not attached to his head!

I wonder if Carl Jung or Sigmund Freud ever attended a Circus. I wonder what they would make of today's wildly surreal Cirque du Soleil. And I wonder about the future of the Circus. What will it look like a Century from now? And I believe the Circus will exist for generations to come. Because as an outward manifestation of the unconscious mind, it has the power to captivate and the relevance to endure.

Contributed by: ~ Moira Gallivan

Rambling Thoughts from Someone with a Frozen Smile on Her Face

2007-09-04T06:54:00.000-07:00

Senseless words are cascading out of your mouth like air-filled bubbles. They are empty and meaningless to me; they evaporate as they leave your mouth, disintegrating into the air, never reaching my ears.

All I can hear is the incessant tick-tock of my watch, strapped to the arm that holds up my head. I am disgusted with this place, this hour-- I want to get out, to leave, and to escape. Yes, escape. This place they call higher learning. This place and its walls of confinement. This place they say you can think for yourself.

As I sit here and listen to you stumble over words to define religion and philosophy-- your idea of religion maybe-- I laugh a caustic laugh at your expense, at the loss of your soul. The cold textbook readings and dry lectures based on stale facts and mere man's so-called theories make me sick. I am ready to break free to leave far-away people who I seldom see and to leave the so-called surrogate family members assigned to me.

I want to take my clogged mind (with all of its problems and insanities bouncing around) and go. To be far from here is all I ask. To get away from fake, sympathetic looks or haughty glances trying to control me or figure me out. I wish people would stop trying to get me to conform to who they want me to be-- I wish I could stop caring what others want me to be-- I wish I could accept myself. You tell us to think, you want answers-- you say so from up there at your metal podium, as if standing behind that gives you power.

I am done, with my thinking for now. My brain is tired. I am done feeling, because it only hurts and leaves me confused.

I think I need a long nap.

Contributed by:~ Casey Manes

The day my children became Teenagers

2007-09-04T06:24:00.000-07:00

It's not that I didn't see this coming; I did. But many endings in life come on gradually, with no fixed, calendared date.My youngest child is almost ten and I can't remember the last diaper I changed, the last time I filled a bottle with juice, or emptied a potty chair. The lines between babyhood, childhood and the teen years are blurred simply because you rarely know when something significant is happening for the last time. But one day last summer, the childhood of my 12 year old abruptly came to an end when he suddenly told me to "lay off the kisses will you? "Sheesh! You're acting like we're married or something"

Now let me make it clear, I am not a mouth kisser. I know that many families kiss all relatives on the lips, but the family I grew up in were cheek kissers; I was not laying a bunch of sloppy kisses on this kid's lips, just quick, occasional pecks on his beautiful forehead. To hide my disappointment, I immediately made a joke out of it, walking over to our golden retriever, kissing the side of his head and asking him if we were married now. But I had gotten the point, loud and clear: I was to lay off displays of affection for my most affectionate child. .

For up until that day, that's what he was. When he was a baby, he simply loved being held. While Aaron, my oldest, stopped nursing the moment he learned to walk, Jeremy would have been content to nurse according to La Leche standards. Even when he became an active toddler with a penchant for wandering, what he loved most - when he tired of his peregrinations -- was to be held. By mom. As recently as this past year, he would sometimes absent-mindedly hold my hand as we walked through store parking lots, abruptly pulling away when he realized that he was in public.

And here he was declaring, what sounded to me, like complete emotional independence. My nine-year-old daughter, Abigail, immediately put her own signature on this same declaration by chiming in with, "yeah Mom You should stop kissing us like we're babies or something " Suddenly I was greatly relieved that we had pets. After all, John and I had showered affection on our beloved cat Nathaniel long before Aaron was born. Let's see: two cats and a dog. And they all love me. And, of course, I can always wait for the grand-babies: hmmmm . . . Aaron is 14; if he was married by age 25, the babies might start coming around the year..."

Walking up the stairs, trying to work rather unsuccessfully through the math of this upsetting new development, I realized something horribly selfish about myself. I love children and babies, not only because they are adorable, but also because they are so easy to get along with, so easy to entertain and so easy to win love from. I mean, how hard is it to make a baby laugh? "Peek-a-boo " Or the never-fail put-the-top-of-your-head-into-their-middle routine that gets them every time. With toddlers, you only have to be there and actively listen to their latest babbling about a bug, a bird, a doll or a garbage truck. But the best part is that babies and toddlers can't get enough hugs and kisses. It seems I could never love my babies too much, and they always returned that affection so adorably. Would I never again be invited to kiss those smooth cheeks, those darling foreheads and feel their sweet kisses on my own cheeks? Perhaps now it would be harder to show love for the kids and to receive their love.

Twelve-year-old problems are not fixed with a clean diaper, a full bottle, a good nap and a hug. Although the baby days were difficult in their own way, my children's love for me was never in question, simply because I was their mother. Meeting the needs of babies and toddlers is, of course, exhausting, but it is also simple. Like they are. How would I ever begin to understand and respond properly to the complex emotions of my budding teen-agers?

I decided to stay out of their way for a while. I wanted to take my cues from them, and not vice versa. But before I had completely descended the stairs, Jeremy, oblivious to my inner turmoil, eagerly called me over to show me a funny Calvin & Hobbes strip from his library book. Aaron, my 14-year-old, who was the first to declare displays-of-affection-independence, insisted that I watch X-Men 2 with him that afternoon. In spite of the unforgivable fact that I am his mother, he really likes to discuss his favourite movies and stories with me, something he has done since his precocious toddler days. Abby? She got some dental work done a few days later and I got quite a few voluntary hugs. I think her declaration was a little premature.

Although I will tread very carefully from now on, I'll always be there for them emotionally, whether it means watching a movie, reading a comic strip or giving a welcomed hug. I will try and love them the way that they need, not the way I need. And maybe, once in a while, and only on special occasions, I'll be able to steal a precious little forehead kiss. Let's see now, how many years until those grand babies get here . . .?

Contributed by: ~ Kathryn Atwood

The Artificial Womb

2007-09-04T06:21:00.000-07:00

I suppose from the first moment of existence the primary will of man is to avoid pain and find pleasure. This can be looked at as a constant dynamic, which is hardwired into our psyches, by nature itself. From this, I shall conclude that throughout the life span of the human species Natural Selection favored those who maximized pleasure and minimized pain, hence the term “Artificial Womb”. This can be taken in a literal and figurative sense. This is literal in the sense that actual pleasures can be derived from comfort and safety. This term also can be figurative in the sense that our minds ultimately are designed to propagate the genes which created it; this can give a sense of security in many realms of thought. The womb itself insulates us to a degree, creating a buffer zone to reduce the awesome shock of any random reality, and inevitable fate.

Aspects of the artificial womb cross both ends of the psychological spectrum, from the casually superficial to the outright essence of who a person is. Spirituality, religion, beliefs in deities all stem from the desired warmth and protection of the womb. These “safety nets” bring reassurance that everything will be “ok” in the end, that life and your existence is important in the grand scheme of things. These socio-psychological devices, which men have designed to substitute for the lack of actual meaning and relevance.? From the moment of conception we have striven as human beings to recreate a particular sensation, which does not exist; the chasing of artificiality is the ultimate practice in futility. Fictional accounts of characters (The Bible and all other religious text) all served and continue to serve the purpose of containment, let say of ignorance against enlightenment.

Security stems from ignorance. The less conscientious you are, the more secure you feel. Tragedy and pain are created from exposure to an alternate perception of your reality, in other words, the pain of exposure outside of the womb, which was false in the first place. Civilization’s structural foundation is founded on maintaining the collective artificiality of the womb for the masses. Sometimes this is not enough, other modes of maintenance are explored. Drugs, for example, keep those moments of pain away momentarily; this is a literal symbol of how artificial it all really is. As I’ve stated before religion and conventionality are the biggest methods to insure the masses feel secure in their false sense of relevance.

From the first breath at birth to the last at death we search for the warmth, the security, the content obliviousness, which can only be found in the womb. Outside of this, is a harsh, bitterly chilled visceral reality. We forsake logic, lucid thought processes, and honest reflection for disillusionment, conformity and abstractions that keeps us in a daze which seems more pleasurable than the former. Throughout our brief and ultimately irrelevant existences we trap ourselves in the artificial womb, never truly comprehending that it does not exist. I would gather from this, that maybe the unrelenting appeal comes from the artificiality itself. If ignorance is bliss, then enlightenment must be torture.

Contributed by: ~Kenneth Thomas

My House with Kids

2007-09-04T06:17:00.000-07:00

Being a parent, even in the best of situations, is not easy and with five kids, ages eight to fifteen; my house can get quite chaotic. Rarely, if ever, does a person around here obtain a single moment of peace, let alone any privacy. Every day and at any given time someone in this house has a problem.

No matter how trivial the issue at hand may be, my utmost attention is generally required. For instance, the constant bickering over petty things never seems to end. Who will watch what on TV? Should this even matter, for goodness sake, we have three televisions. Who sits here? Who plays there? Honestly, who really cares? Somebody is always hitting this one while another is teasing that one. There is the frequent name-calling, which might consist of moron, dummy, or stupid. These are, however, only a few since many of the other names would make a sailor blush. Quite often I find myself amazed by their ability to create such elaborate words while at the same time they seem to be lacking such simple behaviours like self-discipline, manners, or common sense. Walk into my house and you are sure to hear, "Mom, she hit Me." or "I'm telling!" Everyday there is someone accused of taking something; yet, upon my inspection, the item in question is usually just overlooked and sitting right under their noses.

Chores are another aspect in my home that often get overlooked by these five hooligans as well. Naturally, most all day-to-day tasks fall on me if anything is actually going to get done. Laundry is always fun. With three girls forever changing clothes, I am never short of items to wash; and the two boys, well let's just say they really enjoy mud. Trying to persuade any of my joyous children to pitch in occasionally is pretty much a joke. How hard could it be to pick something up and put it back where it belongs? Of course, when there's some money involved, everybody is open to helping out. What the kids do not seem to realize is the fact that if I could afford to pay someone to help with the household chores, I would have hired a maid a long time ago. This brings up another issue; it costs to run all of them back and forth, especially with the price of gas today. From doctor and dentist appointments to ball games, after-school activities, and sleepovers, my mini van is continually on the road.

Patience is something not yet achieved by any of my children. Before they go outside after school, all homework must be completed; however, none of them wants to wait for his or her turn. Instead, each of them will read aloud at the same time. Since I am normally the only person available during these hours, there is no possible way for me to listen to or help all of them at once. When supper nears, I hear a lot of "What are we having?" and "Is it done yet?" As if it makes any difference, they will not sit still long enough to eat it. Depending on whether or not the blessed varmints actually lie down at night, I might be able to get into bed at a decent hour. More often than not, this rarely happens as planned. There is sure to be the sudden outbursts of thirst, which are, always followed by, endless bathroom breaks.

I desperately long for the moment when I can finally sit down and relax, hopefully, with my sanity intact. The stress I receive is overwhelming and continuous, but my responsibility as a parent keeps me going. Even though there have been times when I have felt like running away to a deserted island, I thrive on trying to make sense and order out of this chaos. No matter how minor the problem or stressful the job, these are my kids, and I would not have it any other way

Contributed by: ~ Nikki Phipps