Michael Turner, RIP

Aw, man ... another bites the dust.  This has been a sad year indeed.

I loved Witchblade.  And he was a phenomenal artist.  Never even knew the bloke was ill as he always came across as such a positive, nice guy.  Bloody hell, this just tears me up inside ...

RIP, mate.

From Aspen Comic's Vince Hernandez -

Hello all,

Unfortunately it's with great sadness that I must inform everyone that Michael Turner tragically passed away last night, June 27th at approximately 10:42 pm in Santa Monica, Ca. Turner had been dealing with recent health complications arisen in the past few weeks. More details concerning Turner's passing, and services, will be given shortly.

Anyone wishing to send their condolences to Michael Turner's family is encouraged to send to:

Aspen MLT, Inc.
C/O Michael Turner
5855 Green Valley Circle, Suite 111
Culver City, CA, 90230

Aspen also encourages anyone wishing to make a charitable donation to please send to Michael Turner's requested charities:

The American Cancer Society

Or

The Make-A-Wish Foundation


Turner was diagnosed with chondrosarcoma (a bone-based cancer that attacks the cartilage) in March of 2000, which ultimately cost him his right hip, a portion of his pelvis and several pounds of bone. Turner was very open about his cancer, making convention appearances throughout the entire time, and never giving in to the illness.

Mike got his major break in comics at Top Cow, where he made his name as the artist on Witchblade with a look that was reminiscent of studio founder Marc Silvestri, but was all his own. His work was highly in demand throughout his career, and he was a frequent cover artist for a diverse number of series over the years. Turner’s style influenced many artists in the new millennium, probably more than Turner himself ever realized.

Turner’s creator-owned Fathom debuted in 1998, and in 2002, he left Top Cow to found his own Aspen MLT, Inc. where he saw Fathom resurface, along with other projects such as Soulfire and Ekos. Turner had done a significant portion of work at DC early in the decade, providing covers for Identity Crisis and Flash, as well as for the “Godfall” arc in the Superman titles (which he co-wrote), and the interior art for “Supergirl from Krypton” in Superman/Batman, where he and writer Jeph Loeb re-introduced Supergirl into the modern DC Universe. More recently, he had been providing variant covers for Marvel titles, such as next month’s Uncanny X-Men #500. At his most recent convention appearances, both Turner, and later Aspen representatives spoke of how the artist was eager to complete his obligations to other companies, so he could finally get back to work on his own projects at Aspen.

Despite his illness, Turner was one of the most upbeat people at conventions and in the industry. He always radiated a sense of humility and gratitude to his fans, and always had time for a quick chat or a smile. In an industry that can and has beat the happiness out of many creators, Mike was resistant to it, and was ever happy to work and talk to his fans, and even talk to the press. From the first moment you met him, you were his friend, and he treated you like he'd known you all his life.

Since his initial diagnosis in 2000, Turner had several ups and downs, but, surely thanks in part to his positive attitude, he was seen as the guy who was going to beat it, and be drawing for years to come - he just had to kick this thing first. Mike was 37.

Solange S'Orange

There are days I really feel good about my self.  Not today as I am sick as a dog.  If the dog had asthma, bronchitis and the voice of Rod Stewart. 

Well, until I saw this photo of Solange Knowles.

And suddenly I felt marginally better.

Who the hell let her out of the house looking like that?  Beyonce, did you do that?  Why you be hating like that?  Tina, you designed that dress, didn't you?  How many times must I tell you to get some Barbie dolls and stop inflicting your daughters with your fashion mishaps?

The girl is 22 and she looks like a 32-year-old, failed showgirl from Vegas.  Or a Miss Clueless beauty pageant.

Come on!  It's even worse as her elder sister actually looks classy and fresh next to her while she looks like a hot, tranny mess.

That orange rosette explosion of putridness should be ejected into space.  Except alien invasion will definitely happen light years from now when they mistake that for a hostile attack.

For the love of all that's holy, someone give that girl a makeover!

Social Viagra Treads Stepford Footprint

What next?  A pill for the terminally stupid to give them some semblance of cognitive thought?  I bet that would sell like hot cakes.

Will this lead to a Stepford planet now?  I can just see the ads for this.  

Are you a social moron?  Try Social Viagra to keep you up and perky night, noon and morn!

Be shy no more!  With Oxytocin, you can score!

Wanna be James Bond instead of James Scorned?  Use Oxytocin - they'd be shaken & stirred!

I think I just made myself ill ...

Shyness drug could boost confidence

By David Thomas

Last updated: 7:36 PM BST 22/06/2008

A drug that combats shyness and social awkwardness, dubbed "social Viagra", could be developed after scientists investigated a hormone released by new mothers.

Scientists in the US found that oxytocin, a natural hormone that assists childbirth and helps mothers bond with newborn babies, helps reduce anxiety and calm phobias.

There are also signs it may help people with autism.

Teams in the US, Europe and Asia are now racing to commercialise a drug based on the hormone, which can be produced synthetically.

Paul Zak, a professor of neuroscience at California's Claremont Graduate University, who has tested the hormone on hundreds of patients, said: "Tests have shown that oxytocin reduces anxiety levels in users. It is a hormone that facilitates social contact between people. What's more, it is a very safe product that does not have any side effects and is not addictive."

The research has been backed up by studies in other countries.

Researchers at Zurich University in Switzerland were able to ease symptoms of extreme shyness in 120 patients by giving them oxytocin hormone treatment half an hour before they encountered an awkward situation.

A spray of the hormone has also been successfully trialled at the University of New South Wales.

Millions of people in the UK suffer from shyness, and one-in-10 people say it seriously affects their daily life. Some resort to drink or illegal drugs to help overcome their awkwardness.

As well as being released by mothers after childbirth, the hormone is believed to make people more generous. Research shows that the higher the natural level of oxytocin people have in their brain, the more likely they are to give money to charity and act kindly towards strangers. It has also been shown to increase the level of monogamy in rodents.

There is speculation that oxytocin might be able to help new mothers who have trouble bonding with their babies or orphans whose mental scars from neglect make it hard for them to love adoptive parents.

It could have other commercial benefits. For instance, it could be sprayed in restaurants to put diners at ease, or be used as an alternative to tear gas to calm rioters.

Story from Telegraph News:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/2175030/Shyness-drug-could-boost-confidence.html

The Devil Wears Prada, The Pope Wears Down PETA

I did not even know this but apparently the current pope has been labelled as the "Prada Pope".  Our man was even included by Esquire in its best-dressed men's list!  Really???  I wonder if it is going to become a habit - bada ching!  Sorry.

And I thought he was German.  "Burda Pope" might be more appropriate, ja?  

Dude, you're a fashionista and I didn't even know it!  Maybe being Catholic can be hip instead of a target for bad quips.

But perhaps my ignorance was bliss as it turns out all to be total hogwash.  

And all because ye ole Pope Benedict XVI wore red loafers.  And ermine.  I guess the devil may wear Prada but the Pope does not do communion with PETA.

Vatican paper says pope does not wear Prada

VATICAN CITY (AP) — The devil may wear Prada — but the pope does not. According to the Vatican newspaper L'Osservatore Romano, the bright red loafers that Pope Benedict XVI wears are not designed by the Milanese fashion house, as has long been rumored.

"Obviously the attribution was false," the Vatican newspaper said in its Thursday's editions.

"Such rumors are inconsistent with the simple and somber man who, on the day of his election to the papacy, showed to the faithful gathered in St. Peter's Square and to the whole world the sleeves of a modest black sweater," it said.

Still, Benedict's fashion sense has often drawn media attention.

Three years ago around Christmas, he showed up for his weekly public audience in St. Peter's Square wearing a fur-trimmed stocking cap that could have passed for a Santa Claus hat. The hat, as it turned out, is a "camauro," which dates back to the Middle Ages and figures in many papal portraits.

On a separate occasion, Benedict sported a sumptuous red velvet cape trimmed in ermine — another piece of traditional papal attire that had long been abandoned.

L'Osservatore Romano said the pope's interest in clothes has nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with liturgy — what symbolism traditional garments can bring to the Christian liturgy.

"The pope, therefore, does not wear Prada, but Christ," L'Osservatore said.

 

Yohji Bear

There is hope for all hobos.  This man is apparently a model.  Not just a model.  A haute couture runway show model for Yohji Yamamoto's latest Paris menswear collection.

Egads.

Milk of Dignity

Feminists everywhere are probably going to lynch me for saying this but ... what bollocks.

OK, of course, breast feeding is a wonderful thing.  Between mother and child.  But it should not be inflicted on the unsuspecting and uncomfortable.  Sure it is a natural thing.  So is pissing.  But if a bloke unzipped, took out his willy and started pissing in public view, he would get bloody arrested, wouldn't he?

So this is totally double standards, is it not?

Loads of women breast feed in public.  I've seen them.  They drape this cloth over their shoulder and their feeding spawns to hide their boobies from pervy or horrified eyes.  It's really considerate and discreetly classy.

But to demand your right to breast feed in public as a constitutional, human amendment right is a bit much.  It's like asking for extra pay to take leave to nurse your sick child while your single colleagues have to cover your duties with no compensation.  It's a trite bit unfair and what about the rights of the singletons?  Or the blokes having to hold their wee in while in search of the loo?

It's not as if the breast feeding mums can't go to the loo to breast feed too.  

I remember a girlfriend who called me up in tears years ago.  It was early morning and I was in the office when a weeping woman wailed over the phone.  It was her 30th birthday and she was going through some emotional depression at reaching that hallmark without anything to show for it.  So she hied herself off to the nearest McDonalds to drown her sorrows in a McMuffin and dishwater coffee when a woman and her baby sat at the opposite table.

And proceeded to open her blouse, take out her boobie and breast feed in full view of my girlfriend.

Who promptly burst into tears and called me in the office in hysterics.

I was in hysterics myself at the thought of a woman baring her boobies with such impunity in public.

I never forgot that incident and have developed a deep phobia of going to McDonalds in the morning for breakfast in case of boobies flashing.

So the Italian mums protest that showgirls reveal their boobies so why can't they?  My dears, people pay money to see showgirls.  I reckon some people might pay you to put yours away.  And usually the telecast of gratuitous boob flashing are during the hours when kids are safely in bed.

And boobies are not a sexual thing?  Well, loads of blokes' willies are not sexual things too and more of laughable things but you'd get them arrested in a shot if they flashed those at you, wouldn't you?

Come on, be fair here ... and where's your dignity?

Thus, I am against the mass demonstration of rabid boob flashing by breast feeding mums with overdeveloped sense of entitlement.  OK, they should be allowed to breast feed if they cover up with the cloth tent act or go to the loo but no nekkid boob should be shown.  Hey, there might be young, impressionable kids besides your own around.  They could be scarred for life!

So ... Yes, you are entitled to breast feed where and when you wish.  And yes, we are entitled to call the cops on you for indecent exposure.

06/25/2008 03:26 PM

THE POLITICS OF BREAST-FEEDING

Italian Mothers Hold Mass Public Nursing

Whether it's dealing with the squeamish people or oglers, women often feel uncomfortable about breast-feeding in public. This week, a group of 100 women in Rome held a nurse-in to protest what they see as Italy's unfair stigmatization of women who nurse on the street.

Protesting social attitudes that stigmatize breast-feeding in public in Italy, more than 100 mothers gathered in Rome on Tuesday for a public mass-nursing aimed at bringing attention to the matter.

"People still give a start when they see a woman breast-feeding," Grazia Passeri, president of Salvamamme (Save Mothers), told the Italian news agency ANSA, "but they have to learn that a breast is not just a sexy object." Passeri's organization promotes mothers' rights and is currently running a campaign with the slogan, "I'll Nurse Where I Feel Like It."

Pointing out the irony that Italian television is full of lightly or un-clad women, Passeri added: "It's ridiculous that showgirls can show their (breasts) but mothers can't."

One of the participants in Tuesday's mass-nursing, told ANSA that, when she breast-feeds in public: "They give me evil looks, but I do it anyway."

Although the World Health Organization has labeled breast-feeding "the ideal way of providing young infants with the nutrients they need for healthy growth and development," many societies still feel squeamish about seeing women breast-feed in public.

In England, for example, breast-feeding in public can still be punished under public order laws and laws of public decency. That will soon be changing, though, as the government hopes to push through new laws by the end of the year.

"We intend to make clear in the equality bill that it's not acceptable for women who are breast-feeding their babies to be shooed out of restaurants, public galleries and other public places," Harriet Harman, the leader of the House of Commons, told MPs last Thursday, according to the Guardian.

A similar nurse-in was held in November 2006, when women gathered to nurse in public at 31 airports throughout the United States to protest after a flight attendant kicked a passenger off a plane for breast-feeding her daughter.

Source: http://www.spiegel.de/international/zeitgeist/0,1518,561978,00.html

Brazilian Waxing Unlyrical

This is bloody cruel, I say. It's not enough that women typically suffer from extreme anxiety over the state of their bodies when they have to put on their bathers ... they had to start attacking a leggy 5ft 11 Victoria Secret model for being fat.

Karolina Kurkova was recently attacked by the Brazilian press for having "back fat, love handles and cellulite on her butt". They were apparently "horrified" when the 24-year-old strutted the runway at a recent Cia Maritima show looking "uncharacteristically chubby".

Yo. Get a grip. If that is chubby I would hate to hear what they call Britney Spears.

OK, so Kurkova is not looking as fit and toned as she used to, which is rather unfortunate for someone at her age. But by no means is she chubby.

And don't forget the camera piles on weight on most women. I look like a chubby chipmunk on film when I weigh almost the same as one. Which is why I try to avoid cameras.

I reckon Kurkova has just been laying off the exercise the last couple of months and forgot to spray before going out on the runway. 

Still, as one of the highest paid models in the industry who allegedly earns $5 million annually with her famous body, she does have a responsibility to keep it in top shape during a swimwear runway show.

From a business point of view, it is not her weight that is the problem. But when the media and public get hung up on her alleged weight and no one remembers the swimwear line, it is clear than that she has failed in her job.

Note to self: Hit gym before wearing bikini when in Brazil.

Small Balls, Big Faux Pas

And people wonder why I am nervous about speaking Chinese or Korean.

Most of my language skills are self-taught. Learnt laboriously through a bizarre combination of comics, kungfu movies, books, dictionaries and friends.

As such, it means my pronunciation is highly dubious and my comprehension severely suspect.

Thus, I try not to massacre the languages unless forced to. I've seen and heard too many horror stories of people committing major faux pas with the best intentions.

Like the recent one I heard.

I was speaking with a young Chinese lady who is living in Korea. Her Korean is probably worse than mine which made her recounting of this story doubly funny.

When we were introduced, the hostess mistakenly introduced her to me as Korean so I immediately greeted her in Korean and did the formal introduction of my name. To which she started and, thinking I was Korean, she hesitantly returned the greeting in even more mangled Korean than mine.

When we realised we were both not Korean (no! really?!!), it was with much relieved laughter and embarrassment. Then I tried to speak Chinese, which sent us both into another level of hilarity.

Finally, out of pity, she asked that I speak in English. I was pathetically grateful.

We started chatting about the Korean culture and language and she told me the story of how her American boss bollocked up his first big presentation to a large local client.

According to her, he went into the boardroom and greeted them by something she verbalised as "chanmaneul". I have never heard this before and the closest I can think of is "cheukamaneul" which is, probably, totally the wrong spelling but essentially means "wait a minute" or "wait".

However, she informed me that it was a major boo boo by her boss as it means "You have small balls". Or so she was told by her Korean colleagues. 

It did not help that the clients were all Koreans. And males.

Although I have not, as yet, insulted anyone's private parts unintentionally in a foreign language, I have had my share of language faux pas.

Like when I asked "whose flying brother's boat and ship" was about when someone was talking about an email in Chinese. And accidentally frightened someone to death when I told him "I love" ("sarang") him because he was interesting when I meant to refer to "people" ("sarahm") as interesting, in Korean. And I inadvertently called someone a biatch when I meant to say she was crazy in Thai. Not that that made much of a difference, really, as she incidentally happened to be both.

It makes me highly nervous using my uncertain language skills but I reckon if you do not practise it, you will lose it.

So till I tell someone, unintentionally, his balls are small, I shall continue to blunder my way through.

Hat Prick

This is beyond sick and asinine.  It's like when you catch your husband in bed with another woman and he asks for clemency citing the fact that he used a condom out of concern about your well-being.

Except this is a hundred times worse.

And not only did this imbecile think wearing a condom made the rape right, he made his own daughter a prostitute by giving her about USD2 each violation.

The man, if you can call him that, should be castrated.  While wearing a condom.  Maybe that will mitigate the ball-less wonder of the sick bastard.

Rapist dad: I used condoms

By V. Anbalagan

New Straits Times, Malaysia

2008/06/20

PUTRAJAYA: He used a condom every time he raped his daughter. For that precaution, the rapist said he should get a lighter sentence.

This mitigation riled Court of Appeal judges Tengku Baharudin Shah Tengku Mahmud, Datuk Sulong Matjeraie, Datuk Ahmad Maarop and those in the court gallery.

His counsel S.I. Rajah mitigated that the sentence imposed on the accused was excessive. 

"Justice should be tempered with mercy. 

"The accused used a condom every time he committed the offence," the lawyer said.

"You mean it is okay to rape using a condom?" asked Tengku Baharudin.

Rajah had no reply.

The roti canai seller, now 49, appealed against sentence because he was a first offender and was remorseful for his action.

Four years ago, the Sessions Court in Petaling Jaya sentenced the accused to a total of 36 years in jail and 20 strokes of the rotan on four counts of rape.

Sulong, who delivered the court ruling, said the appellate court found no reason to disturb the sentence of the Sessions Court. 

He said the sentence was appropriate to send a strong message that such an act should not be condoned and to protect society.

According to the facts of the case, the roti canai seller raped the girl between May 2003 and August 2004. 

The offences took place at their home at night when the mother had gone to work.

The victim was then between 11 and 12 years old.

Deputy public prosecutor Aslina Joned told the court that the accused, a father of five, had betrayed the trust of his daughter.

Aslina said the father would give the victim RM5 as a reward every time he raped her.

A class teacher noticed her to be in a state of depression and the girl told her what had happened.

Police arrested the man on Aug 12, 2004, and he pleaded guilty to the charges in the Sessions Court a week later.

On the first three counts, the then Sessions Court judge Nurmala Salim sentenced him to 18 years' jail and five strokes of the rotan for each offence. The sentences to run concurrently.

He was sentenced to a further 18 years' jail and five strokes of the rotan for the fourth count.

Nurmala ordered this sentence to run consecutively.

Algae Fuelled

I saw this article about the Japanese research into another alternative fuel resource.  It's fairly interesting and promising at first sight.  Then you think how this would affect the ecosystem.

If the main resource comes from the sea which makes up a majority of the earth's surface, how would that ultimately affect not just the terrestrial landscape but also the atmosphere?  I can picture the seas drying up, our marine life deteriorating at an alarming rate and even greater stratospheric ozone depletion.

So, the Japanese will look into creating industrialised algae fields.  From the article, we would be talking about serious geographic coverage in order to fuel the world's supply.  So what?  We are going to be one giant algae plantation?  Again, this has serious implications for our ecosystem.

And from the human race's checkered track record, it is highly likely that the natural ocean beds will be ultimately stripped naked to harvest the algae, regardless of the legal and industrialised algae plants.

Maybe high-rise hydroponics algae manufacturing plants?  Something that will not impact our already beleaguered ecosystem?  Surely Mother Nature has had more than her share of nips, tucks and "enhancements" that we should leave her alone before more parts of her falls off like Michael Jackson's nose?

Still, it would be good that we have alternative sources of fuel but when would this end?  We rape and totally destroy one resource after another to fuel our never-ending greed?  Is that what being human is about?

Ah, I think I should go give my brain a rest and have some seaweed soup ...

From The Times

June 14, 2008

Japanese scientists create diesel-producing algae

Leo Lewis, Asia Business Correspondent

Under the gleam of blinding lamps, engulfed by banks of angrily frothing flasks, Makoto Watanabe is plotting a slimy, lurid-green revolution. He has spent his life in search of a species of algae that efficiently “sweats” crude oil, and has finally found it.

Now, exploiting the previously unrecognised power of pondlife, Professor Watanabe dreams of transforming Japan from a voracious energy importer into an oil-exporting nation to rival any member of Opec.

The professor has given himself a decade to effect this seemingly implausible conversion: Japan’s export-led economics have always been shaped by their near 100 per cent dependence on foreign energy. In the present world economic climate, those economics are looking especially fragile.

“I believe I can change Japan within five years,” the Professor told The Times from his laboratory in Tsukuba University. “A couple of years after that, we start changing the world.”

The algae, he believes, will spearhead enormous changes to the way that energy is produced and to the explosive geopolitics that have developed around the global thirst for fossil fuels. They could also overturn the current debate on corn and sugar-based biofuels. It is madness, he says, for humanity to pursue sources of energy that compete with its own stomachs when there is a far purer source that does not sitting in a test tube in his laboratory.

Professor Watanabe’s vision arises from the extraordinary properties of the Botryococcus braunii algae: give the microscopic green strands enough light – and plenty of carbon dioxide – and they excrete oil. The tiny globules of oil that form on the surface of the algae can be easily harvested and then refined using the same “cracking” technologies with which the oil industry now converts crude into everything from jet fuel to plastics.

The Japanese Government has supplied him with hefty grants to work on ways of industrialising the algae cultures. The professor admits that there is much work to be done to bring the financial and environmental costs of creating algae oilfields down to reasonable levels: to meet Japan’s current oil needs would require an algae-filled paddyfield the size of Yorkshire.

But – in laboratory conditions at least – the powers of Botryococcus braunii are astonishing. A field of corn, when converted into biofuel ethanol, may produce about 0.2 tonnes of oil equivalent per hectare. Rapeseed may generate around 1.2 tonnes. Micro algae can theoretically produce between 50 and 140 tonnes using the same plot of land.

The discovery of Botryococcus braunii and its precious excretions has taken years. The oil-producing properties of Botryococcus algae have been known for decades, but the volume and quality varies between species.

There remain, however, substantial obstacles before cars and aircraft are all running on algae. Although field tests have proved that there is little technical difficulty in breeding or harvesting the algae, the sums do not add up. A prospective algae-breeding oil concern would either have to invest billions of dollars in expensive breeder tanks – at a cost of around three times what the oil would sell for on the international market over the lifetime of the tanks – or find an enormous expanse of well-irrigated land in a country where labour can be bought very cheaply. It is for this reason that Professor Watanabe believes the world’s first algae farms will be constructed in countries such as Indonesia or Vietnam.

You've Been Served

This was apparently served to a woman in a noodle stall in Singapore.

High Rising G-String of Death

It's finally happened. G-strings can maim.

No, not because they will floss in unmentionable places and cause further expansions of certain body cavities as accused by some naysayers.

But because they can blind you.

Victoria's Secret is out. They are actually terrorists from the underbelly of society. A Los Angeles victim, (yes, a woman) is suing the bottoms peddlers of injuring her eye with their G-string.

No, no ... they did not flash her. Or rather a metallic piece from the G-string caused her life to flash before her eyes momentarily. Apparently, a decorative metal bit from the Victoria's Secret "low-rise v-string" propelled itself off the garment and went for her eye.

This vicious attack on Macrida Patterson, 52, happened last May.

The "Sexy Little Thing" (no, not Ms Patterson ... I think) touted by Victoria Secret as "Easy. Breezy. It's the natural choice", lived up to its breezy claim by flying in the face of the wearer. The victim filed a product liability lawsuit against the knickers knock-outs, which did not claim any monetary damages but insisted that a "design problem" in the thong caused damage to her cornea.

This, in turn, caused Ms Patterson to miss a few days of work, which will now be affecting her for "the rest of her life". 

I think the last may be a bit of a thin line of contention.

Strangely, Patterson refused Victoria's Secret's lawyers' requests to examine the alleged faulty garment. I am sure they meant to examine it while she was not in them, which makes her skew-eyed coyness a bit suspect.

Perhaps Patterson should look on the bright side of things. She wanted no visible panty lines. Well, no vision may be the solution. Perhaps VS was trying out a new strategy ...

Korean Engrish

Buying T-shirts in Asia can be rather entertaining. You see a nice one that is well-constructed and tailored (read: makes you look hot) and then you read the words in the front. Or back, sometimes.

Walk feild. See drims. Happy together.

Here we go loop de joop.

Cat happy. Miuow.

Say what? Er, pass ...

I suppose it's similar to seeing some white dude with a huge tattoo on his arm. It's a Chinese character and you can tell he thinks it's bitchin'. Except the words says Happy. If it was read in reverse image. It's the wrong way round, mate.

So it was with some amusement that I received an email of the new promotional poster of a rather famous singer (sic) in Korea, with the unfortunate name of Li Hyori, who has launched her latest album.

It is even more ironic as the warbler has a rather risque image (well, for Koreans anyway) and everyone who can speak English in Korea is sniggering at it.

I rid poster. Laugh small big. Now and just now.

Surmount on the Mounds

This woman, aka Maxi Mounds, just entered the Guinness World Records. No guesses what for. 

Her measurements are 36MMM and weigh 9 kg on each side. The rest of her details are mounted on her comp card.

Congratulations ... Or Not

I was rather amused to see a retraction in one of the papers today.

It said -

My apologies to Amber Aikens, delightful wife of Chelsea restaurateur Tom, whom I said yesterday was pregnant. In fact, she tells me she is not. 

Crikey. I hope the editor, sub-editor and reporter managed to get their Manolos out from their mouths safely.

Growing up, I was taught to give up my seat to old people, very young kids and women with a bun in the oven. Being a good little girl, I did that on a regular basis. Until the day I gave up my seat to a lady on the bus and got yelled at. Apparently she wasn't preggers. She was just kind of chubby and terribly hormonal.

Well, that taught me. After that I would eye women suspiciously. Unless they were severely and blindingly preggers, I was not going to risk a bollocking by trying to be kind.

Then there was the time I was at a dinner party and met a couple I had not seen in ages. She was much bigger than before and wore a big, billowy gown that could pass for a Cirque du Soleil tent. 

So I congratulated her in total delight on being preggers. And wanted to die a thousand deaths when she frostily informed me she was not preggers. Yes, we are still friends although I had to grovel big time.

But I got my own comeuppance.

I was in a taxi in Singapore after spending the day shopping and doing the ladies who lunch thing. I remember I was wearing a red salwar kameez. The taxi driver was extremely friendly and when I reached my hotel, he very solicitously asked me to be careful and to watch my steps as I got out.

I was a bit puzzled but thought, what a nice guy!

And then he congratulated me on my pregnancy.

Ring Around A Domestic

There's a lovely young couple, of whom I am rather fond, who will be getting married soon.  They spend a lot of their time playing games together. Not that kind of games, you bunch of pervs. Proper board games. Carom (*picture of carom match from  wengkhong.blogspot.com), backgammon, scrabble ...

Anyway, they are always together and their good humoured bickering during games are quite entertaining and often divides us into two distinct camps. When I am there, the wife-to-be and I will form the "I pity you weaker sex" brigade, sending the husband-to-be wailing for male reinforcements. When the blokes huddle in unity, they try to lord it over us only to retreat sheepishly when the wife-to-be threatens to tell his mum. He's deathly afraid of his mum.
So, I had the chance to catch up with them this week and heard them arguing semi-seriously for the first time since I have known them.

The cause? 

Shopping.

They have been shopping furiously to furnish their new apartment before the wedding. The wedding preparations, from the gowns to watches to china, are taking their toll.

But nothing can tear a affianced couple faster than an over-sticky band-aid ... than ... THE ENGAGEMENT RING. Dum de dum de DUUUUMMMMM ...

I should know. I've been engaged more times than some people have had boyfriends and my jewelry case used to boast an array of engagements rings until my embarrassment made me auction them away for charity.

I know all about cut, carat, clarity, colour and catastrophe.

First comes the pressure, on the poor bloke, to worry about what kind of ring he should get. Traditional diamond? Or something more modern and unconventional? Like a coloured stone? What if she thinks he's being cheap? What if it is the wrong colour? What if she thinks he's trying to imply she is not pure (Asian context here)? 

Oh bugger it ... off to the pub for a pint.

While there, the clueless male asks some of his mates for advice. He fails to notice that half of them are pissed. The other half never had a girlfriend before. And those who had would rather die first than get hitched.

No worries, he asks the total stranger next to him wearing a wedding ring for advice.

The bloke says, "Get a diamond. Small one. Safer."

He's mighty grateful and fails to notice the counseller is a middle-aged twat who's just been kicked out of his house for playing hide the sausage with the nanny. Which was why he was going to try to sleep on the pub floor that night.

So, our man decides on a traditional diamond engagement ring. He brings his best mate with him to a jewelry store.

Bloody hell, there are so many types of diamond rings. And diamonds! What's this brilliant rose and princess slice business? What about the ones in the picture? You know? One diamond on some silver band thingy? Yeah, that one.

What??? 20,000 pounds???? Are ye joking? No? Feck off!

He retreats home to nurse his wounds and to restrategise. He decides to check the girlfriend's preferences.

For weeks, he puts magazines strategically in her path and for once, instead of switching off her chatter when she coos over this or that, he listens.

He casually asks her which picture she thinks is good and which are shite. He takes notes. He sweats. Bloody 'ell, she has expensive taste.

Finally, he makes a decision and goes shopping again. He buys a smallish diamond solitaire with acceptable Cs ... he's not sure what they are but the blokes in the store said they were VS - very sweet. He chooses the cheapest yet reasonably respectable option which is still the amount of some small banana republic's GDP.

So it's all sweat, blood and tears as he sobs over the massive hole in his wallet. Now he had to worry over the proposal. 

This is hard. It has to be romantic. Yet unique. But it must suit her taste. She must not expect it. He had to keep it a secret. 

Bloody hell, back to the pub for a pint. And a pattern forms.

Somehow, our hero manages to pull off the proposal. Girl accepts amid happy tears and a shy pretense of surprise. She's no fool. You think she would not have wondered why he was suddenly interested in her taste in fashion and actually looking at her magazines?

Then out comes the ring.

Silence.

"Wow, it's so ... dainty."

"Yes, yes, I wanted it to look good on you. Nothing too loud and flashy for a classy babe like you."

"Well, nothing will be flashing alright ... "

Uh oh ...

So they had a huge domestic over the ring. She's annoyed that he did not pay attention to her taste. She hates the traditional solitaires with fussy filigree that he bought her. He thought she liked traditional and classic designs. He'd seen that kind of ring on his mother and aunts.

The size of the diamond was also in contention. Why so small? So they could save for the wedding and honeymoon. 

Those are over in a flash but she would be wearing the ring for life, she sniffed. Why so small? 

He mutters darkly.

Nowadays, the size of the diamond on an engagement ring is equated with the size of the man's love instead of his wallet. 

For some reason, somehow, the cost of a diamond ring is taken as a matter of course. Of course the man has to fork out a diamond ring. Of course cost should not be a consideration. Of course it only matters if the girl likes it.

I am sure glad I am a girlie.

I've been the best female friend male mates have called at all times of the day and night to cry in panic over what ring to buy. I've had to accompany numerous mates on their virgin sojourn to highway robbers disguised as jewelers as they hand over their life-savings, for something that might land them on the living room couch for weeks.

Within my collection of engagement rings was a solid silver band with a minuscule diamond chip that cost all of 40 pounds. It was the first engagement ring my ex-husband gave me. Back then, he was terribly poor and it was all he could afford. 

Actually, the first engagement ring he gave me was the twist tab from a can of soda which I used to flick him on the forehead with. Needless to say, his first proposal was rather unsuccessful. (Not because of the cost of the "ring," mind you.) So were his second, third and ... but that's another story ...

I cherished that ring more than the ridiculously dearer, and vaguely tacky, diamond engagement ring he gave me later to compensate for the first offering. He never understood why I preferred wearing the "el cheapo" ring over the over-blinged doorknob disguised as a ring. 

Our two young friends got into a terrible argument over their engagement ring. It was a pretty, little thing, albeit rather old-fashioned and slightly twee. But this came from a bloke who favours Metallica T-shirts, wears all black and heavy silver chains.

The fact that he even sat through fashion magazines to pick out a pretty little ring is an achievement and testament of his adoration of his bride-to-be.

But our girl was too hurt and humiliated. I think she forgot who they both are and what they are about in her frenzy of romantic fantasy. They are not Prince Charming and Princess Charmed. They do not have the coffers of a small nation to spend on an engagement ring. They have much bigger challenges ahead of them than a piece of carbon pressurised from too much romantic expectations.

I truly felt sorry for both of them.

He has to go back and get her another ring.

She has to get him an engagement watch in return.

That was the compromise as they almost argued themselves out of a wedding. He gets her a "better" ring. She gives him a an engagement gift as well ... a Guess watch he had been eyeing.

Sigh. Young love. 

I've booked my ticket to be there for the wedding but I am not counting on it.

Hanguel Buddha?

I'm not on a Korean bash fest but it just happened that I had the Korean papers to read and a couple of things struck me as odd.

This one has always intrigued me. I remember my history lessons that taught me that Korea and Japan originally started out from Chinese migratory developments. And so it was a bit of a shock to read in some Korean research papers, years later, that they considered themselves the original country from which the Chinese and Japanese ancestry evolved.

Of course, this was explained to me, by some more learned friends, that this was mainly from North Korean propaganda but the statement and argument has persisted throughout the decades.

So, it was with much interest I read that a report from Korea Daily, based on a research paper from Sunkyunkwan University in South Korea, alleged that Buddha was Korean.

Suddenly I had visions of one of the characters in Goodness Gracious Me tying a turban around a bust of Shakespeare and declaring the latter Indian.

The historians in Sunkyunkwan Uni claim that during 700 BC, Koreans living in the southern part of the Korean peninsular ventured across the oceans. Some reached Japan and formed the roots of some of Japan's culture. Other continued their journey such that around 650 BC, they reached the Straits of Malacca, onwards to Bangladesh and then Sakyamuni was born!

Now, the Korean historians are refuting that Sakyumuni was Aryan and an Indian prince. Their proof? His daily activities, which they claimed were very "east asian". They also correlated some of the words from the Buddhist scriptures to Korean, claiming that the former are "transforms" from Korean.

A book of this research is expected to be published at the end of the year. I would be highly curious to read this.

Why?

OK, let's take it one at a time. Of course, this is based on my limited knowledge and lack of time to do any conclusive research of my own. So top of head observations are:

Them early Koreans had a worse sense of direction than I do. They went from Korea to Japan. OK, that's not that bad a journey. Then went all the way down to the Straits of Malacca. And then circled back up to go to Bangladesh! Did they do this via land or sea because if it was by sea, that was monumentally daft. If by land, that was superlatively daft.

Also, how did they build the boats? If I remember correctly, iron and metallurgy were not developed till about 500 BC in Korea. And I think ships were not developed till after 100 BC. If they swam, I am surprised the Koreans have not won all the swimming events at every Olympics.

Second, Buddha was Aryan. He was born an Indian prince who gave it all up to find the "truth". It is in most religious scriptures from Buddhists to Sikh. His daily activities? What? That he ate little and only vegetables, fruits and milk products? So did a lot of people globally then. He slept. Koreans did that too. He ate. Wow, so did the Koreans. He went to the loo. By God, so did the Koreans! That's it! He's Korean! Ah, I see ...

And let's look at Buddhanet which states that Buddhism took root in Korea after some Chinese monk went on a conversion spree at around the second half of the AD fourth century. Buddhism was introduced during the Three Kingdom period which ran from around 57 BC to around 668.

Let's see, Buddhism started in China in the first century BC through trade with the Central Asians.

The Central Asians learnt about Buddhism from the Indians in third century BC. 

My maths suck so I cannot understand the Koreans's new maths here. 

The last supporting evidence are the words in the Buddhist scriptures deriving from Korean. Alright, from my understanding when I had to study a little of both Korean and Japanese, the origins of both came from China. Which is why I find kanji rather easy. 

However, I remember my Korean instructor telling me that Korean is not only borrowed from Chinese but a ridiculously large percentage of it is also borrowed from other languages. One of which is Sanskrit. The language in which most Buddhist scriptures are written.

Still, stranger things have happened. I bet when Galileo first announced the world was round, loads of people gasped and choked before they decided they were gonna hang him.

I would be highly interested in reading the findings but at the moment, based on the report in Korea Daily, I am finding it highly amusing.

I hope the reporter does a better job in his follow-up.

A Child By Any Other Surname

I know I probably have no place adding my two cents' worth on this issue since I am not Korean nor am I a mother.  But I wondered about the pros and cons and consequences and implications of the legal changing of surnames for children.

Faint not.  I have not suddenly discovered an erstwhile maternal instinct nor developed a biological time bomb in my self-centred body.

I just saw an article in Dramabeans about Korean actress Choi Jin Shil seeking and receiving the right to legally change her children's surnames from that of her ex-husband's to hers.

To be honest, I have no clue who she is but I wondered about the necessity of the action.  Was the ex-husband a raving axe-murderer from whom she wanted to protect her children, thus the change of name to protect their identities?  Or was his surname a really bad one, like Deepshit or Dickwatis, which will bring them eternal grief?

I read further and it appears that Choi felt that she has "no intentions to remarry, her ex-husband had remarried, and she would like to lead her own life and wanted her children to proudly bear her name."  

Hold on.  I am still confused.  OK, what would a remarriage have to do with her children's surnames?  I am not familiar with Korean laws so this is a genuinely inquisitive question.  And so, okay, the ex-mistake had remarried.  Does that mean their two children are any less his children now?  

Choi has been divorced since 2004.  Surely she has been leading her own life since then?  After all, the courts granted permission for the surname change based of the fact that she was the "child-rearing parent" for the past four years.

I understand that Korean women retain their own surname after marriage.  Apparently, the Korean system previously advocated that women were never accepted as a "true" member of their spouses' family and thus carried the stigma of being an outsider by not sharing their husbands' surnames. 

It's rather unfair, isn't it?  After all, you can shag them and have children with them but they are always outsiders?  I sure hope Korean wives enjoy great fringe benefits.

Anyway, the article hastened to assure that the decision is a sound one.  Apparently, when Korean women remarry, the children will take on their new stepfathers' surnames.  I refer back to my first question.  If Choi has decided she will not be considering remarriage, why is that an issue?  Why do it now?  The kids are only 5 and 7 years of age.  Plenty of time to make a decision of such monumental significance.

Choi's rationalising is that the name change is not intended to sever her children's ties with their father but "an affirmation of the care she has given them and an assurance of the relationship" she has with them.  Look, if you have been the sole parent taking care of them, surely they will not forget that so soon?  And what? 18 months of pregnancy was not assurance enough that they are her children?  And to whom is this affirmation for?  Her?  Her children?  Society?

Is imposing her will of surnames on her children a matter of pride for her or her children?

I actually did not even think that deeply about this article till I saw the line that stated Choi's children did not particularly comprehend what the big deal was as they had assumed that the name change was a natural conclusion.  What?  They are 5 and 7 ... most children at that age are still learning to write their names in flowing cursive.

I have nothing against the woman but it seems more like a matter of personal ego massaging than any real logical or sensible long term consideration.

Dramabeans stated that it is forward-thinking to grant Korean women the right to change their children's surnames.  My Korean knowledge is ludicrously limited but I would have thought it would be much more sensible and fair to let the children decide, when they are old enough, whose surname they would like to carry for the rest of their lives.

A surname is not a change of knickers.  You cannot discard or disregard it cavalierly just because you decide you would like to claim your children solely.  They have a right to their father's name.  They should have a right to decide.  When they are ready.

It is enough that parents have such authoritarian rights over their children to decide what they wear, how they cut their hair, what they eat, or which school they should go to.  

By saying that the change of name will not sever the relationship with their father ... I think it smacks a bit of double-talk.  Conversely, if a surname has no relevance to the relation between a child and its parent, why then the pursuit to change it to hers?

Surely the bringing up of a child is to nurture him or her till they discover their own identity?  By changing a fundamental element such as a surname, does it not defeat the purpose?  Would this not subject the children to identity crisis and promote a power-struggle between parents?

I think mothers naturally have a much stronger bond with their children since they tend to be the main care-givers.  The act of breast-feeding and carrying the seed of union in the womb for 9 months is something a father can never share.  Surely letting him experience the joy of seeing his namesake born into this world is a small, acceptable boon?  

Of course, I could be totally wrong and Choi's decision could have immense merit but I wonder.

Kiwis and Hedgehogs

Ah, the Kiwis ... they slay me even if I feel a prick on my conscience for laughing at them.

Somehow I now have visions of Zena doing one of her battle cries as she swings a hedgehog furiously around in the air and launches it into her enemies.  Hedgehog Power!  Aaaaiiiieeeeeeeeeyyyaaaaaaa!!!

Kiwis do it the organic way apparently.  They fight au natural.  Not for them the metallic clank of knives and blades.  And fie on using guns and 2x4s.  

According to AFP, a Kiwi (not the bird, the man ... then again ...) has been convicted of assault with a prickly weapon.  This obviously frustrated hairdresser-wannabe must have felt so passionately about a 15-year-old's bad hairdo that he decided the teen needed a hedgehog helmet to cover his sins.

The misunderstood Samaritan, William Singalargh, aged 27, was fined by the court for his misguided efforts.  They deemed it an assault and offensive behaviour.  Perhaps to the hedgehog but I think his defense lawyer should have shown exhibits of the boy's hair to support their case, if they were to even have a strand of hope.

Fortunately, the Wellingtonian court dropped the more serious charge of assault with a weapon.  We can only surmise that the hedgehog had been asleep and did not have its back up during the attack.  In fact, there was some accusation that the hedgehog was actually deceased at the time of the crime, since it was definitely dead when the police arrived at the scene of the crime.  In which case, Singalargh was lucky that they did not charge him with assault with a dead weapon.

Despite Singalargh's plaintive appeal that he was not a hedgehog hurler, judge Ian Thomas listened to the evidence of other witnesses, who fingered Singalargh through his bright orange pants.  I would say he deserved the fingering.  Honestly, who wears bright orange pants nowadays?  Even Prison Break broke away from that horrendous fashion statement.

But the story related by the victim was even more damning than Singalargh's pants.  On February 9, 2008, the teen had been walking home with his two mates when Singalargh and his three accomplices confronted them on the road outside his home.

Singalargh apparently asked him, "Do you want to wear a hedgehog helmet?"

The teen made the mistake of declining the hairy offer, which drove Singalargh to hedge his bets and attempt to reconstruct the latter's hair by hurling the hedgehog at him.  Unfortunately, Singalargh obviously wanted to straighten out the 15-year-old's hair on his lower body as the ball of pricks hit the boy ... well, near his prick.  On his hip actually.

Left with a red welt and four quills on his hip, the boy cried for mummy who ran out and prevented a second volley.  That ticked Singalargh off so much, he decided to launch another ball of attack by mooning her.  Surprisingly, she was not blinded.  By either his bare buttocks or his bright orange pants.

According to police constable Lyndon Reid, Singalargh also made a monumental arse of himself by admitting to possession of a hedgehog and to using alleged hedgehog as a hacky sack.  So that left the prosecution case completely in the sack as Singalargh ended up with sharp words from the judge and a pointedly appropriate sentence.

Singalargh had to pay a fine of $545 (the cost of the hedgehog was probably not accounted for), of which $389 went to the victim.  The boy ... not the hedgehog.

There is no report on whether there is a memorial service for the misused hedgehog or if the teen is still hip with this sentence.

But there are rumours that there is now a legislation under consideration for the mandatory registry and licensing of hedgehogs and a public campaign on safe hedgehog possession in the home.

Stonehenge Unearthed as Burial Site

Well, this theory has actually been lurking for a very long time but recent reports have unearthed, no pun intended, it as a real possibility now.

So, Stonehenge was possibly a giant burial site.  And they even managed to name drop NatGeo to make it credible.  I just wonder if the two blokes who recently went klepto there were in actual fact, gravediggers now.

From the Associated Press comes this article about how new research shows Stonehenge to be a burial site for centuries.  And the surrounding settlements were seasonal homes relating to the famous heritage site.

I can just see it now ... "We're going to our summer vacation home to tend to the graves of a couple of ancestors.  Just a bit of dusting and cropping ..."

Study: Stonehenge was a burial site for centuries

By RANDOLPH E. SCHMID,AP Science WriterAP - Friday, May 30

WASHINGTON - England's enigmatic Stonehenge served as a burial ground from its earliest beginnings and for several hundred years thereafter, new research indicates.

Dating of cremated remains shows burials took place as early as 3000 B.C., when the first ditches around the monument were being built, researchers said Thursday.

And those burials continued for at least 500 years, when the giant stones that mark the mysterious circle were being erected, they said.

"It's now clear that burials were a major component of Stonehenge in all its main stages," said Mike Parker Pearson, archaeology professor at the University of Sheffield in England and head of the Stonehenge Riverside Archaeological Project.

In the past many archaeologists had thought that burials at Stonehenge continued for only about a century, the researchers said.

"Stonehenge was a place of burial from its beginning to its zenith in the mid third millennium B.C. The cremation burial dating to Stonehenge's sarsen stones phase is likely just one of many from this later period of the monument's use and demonstrates that it was still very much a domain of the dead," Parker Pearson said in a statement.

The researchers also excavated homes nearby at Durrington Walls, which they said appeared to be seasonal homes related to Stonehenge.

"It's a quite extraordinary settlement, we've never seen anything like it before," Parker Pearson said. The village appeared to be a land of the living and Stonehenge a land of the ancestors, he said.

There were at least 300 and perhaps as many as 1,000 homes in the village, he said. The small homes were occupied in midwinter and midsummer.

The village also included a circle of wooden pillars, which the researchers have named the Southern Circle. It is oriented toward the midwinter sunrise, the opposite of Stonehenge, which is oriented to the midsummer sunrise.

The research was supported by the National Geographic Society, which discusses Stonehenge in its June magazine and will feature the new burial data on National Geographic Channel on Sunday.

The researchers said the earliest cremation burial was a small group of bones and teeth found in pits called the Aubrey Holes and dated to 3030-2880 B.C., about the time with the first ditch-and-bank monument was being built.

Remains from the surrounding ditch included an adult dated to 2930-2870 B.C., and the most recent cremation, Parker Pearson said, comes from the ditch's northern side and was of a 25-year-old woman. It dated to 2570-2340 B.C., around the time the first arrangements of large sarsen stones appeared at Stonehenge.

According to Parker Pearson's team, this is the first time any of the cremation burials from Stonehenge have been radiocarbon dated. The burials dated by the group were excavated in the 1950s and have been kept at the nearby Salisbury Museum.

In the 1920s an additional 49 cremation burials were dug up at Stonehenge, but all were reburied because they were thought to be of no scientific value, the researchers said.

They estimate that up to 240 people were buried within Stonehenge, all as cremation deposits.

Team member Andrew Chamberlain suggested that that the cremation burials represent the natural deaths of a single elite family and its descendants, perhaps a ruling dynasty.

A clue to this, he said, is the small number of burials in Stonehenge's earliest phase, a number that grows larger in subsequent centuries, as offspring would have multiplied.

Parker Pearson added: "I don't think it was the common people getting buried at Stonehenge _ it was clearly a special place at that time. One has to assume anyone buried there had some good credentials."

The actual building and purpose of Stonehenge remain a mystery that has long drawn speculation from many sources.

And not all archaeologists agree with Parker Pearson's theory.

Indeed, the June issue of National Geographic Magazine quotes Mike Pitts, editor of the journal British Archaeology, as saying some details of the theory are problematic with gaps remaining to be filled. Uses of the landscape in the area for farming and grazing, for example, do not seem compatible with a ritualized place.

"The value of this interpretation is not just the idea of linking stones and ancestors, but that it works with the entire landscape," Pitts was quoted as saying.

Facing the World Without

When I read over the weekend a news flash that Natascha McElhone's husband had passed away suddenly at age 42 and that she was pregnant with their third child ... I felt my heart break for her.

A sudden, swift flood of grief overcame me briefly before I told myself to get a grip.

I did not know these two people so I could not understand why that brief sentence would reduce me to a weepy sap.  But somehow, the three elements made my heart ache for Ms McElhone.  Sudden and unexplained.  At their doorstep.  Pregnant with third child.

He came home to die.  Without realising it, his feet guided his last moments just enough that he could be home.  She was not home though.  Lord, I had to reach for the Kleenex.

I told myself it was probably PMS or something to that extent and swept it from my mind so I would not be a maudlin mess.

Then I read this article today.  Natascha McElhone's touching obituary of her late husband.  Simple.  Heartfelt.  Surprisingly joyful despite the obvious sorrow.  Intelligent without pontificating.  And ultimately ... heartbreaking.

Her beautiful eulogy included this -

I feel so ill-equipped right now in my sleepless, shocked state to write anything coherent, but I want to get in there and shout aloud his name, make sure no one misunderstands him.

Ms McElhone, you succeeded and there is no one who read your article who could not admire him as a man and both of you for sharing a love and mutual respect that deep and profound. 

I have always thought her an intelligent actress with depth.  Now I see her as a woman of much love and substance.  I do not doubt Ms McElhone will be more than a survivor.  She will flourish with the memory and love of her husband and children.  I wish her all the best.

And reach for more tissues.

Never Apart

Blood is a strange thing. We used to joke that if you even have 1/16th of Maori blood, you can claim all the rights due. Which makes almost anyone eligible.

People with a prince for a great-great-great-grandfather, will still claim royal blood today, even if they live in the projects and work in a kebab shop. It seems the tenuous mixing of white and red plasma clamps a much more tenacious fist onto our psyche than we know.

Having so many different bloodlines and living in so many places means being able to identify with more than your share of cultures, people and beliefs. It also means you are more easily buffeted by the winds of fortune.

As children, we sat at home and cried when we watched the trains derail in india, killing thousands. We wrung our hands and felt divided and torn as we saw the ravages of the Falkland wars. We mutely withstood the sneers and jeers as 911 happened. We made our homes available to refugees during the tsunamis. We kept a vigil as bomb threats overtook Christmas in Germany and worried about each and every relative still remaining at home. We waited at airports to welcome and comfort each distant relative returned from a war-torn country.

We are far flung and stand with our feet on more than one shore. Crimson rivers have strewn the ground where we stood as we shed our blood to protect the land we call home ... even if it was only for a few decades. We have planted and harvested and given back to the land we made our fortunes in. We have silently made offerings and amends, because our actions may be misconstrued in these times of deep distrust and paranoid but understandable suspicion.

This morning, I read the latest criticisms hurled at someone trying to do his part for charity. It made a heart already sorely wrung even more fragile.

I have not said anything about the Sichuan earthquake thus far. It does not mean I do not feel it less, or more. It simple means that some sorrows run so deep that only tears can express the river of grief.

Perhaps only Agnes can understand that the silent sorrow whispers more thunderously than the shouts of lament and platitudes of words.

It is unfortunate that a man donated $100,000 to the Sichuan earthquake rescue efforts and was criticised. Why? Because he was Andy Lau. 

The critics accused him of being stingy since he is such a big and successful celebrity and should and could have donated more. Quite right. How dare he? 

I mean, he only headlined and headed many of the initiatives to aid the rescue work. He wrote two songs and galvanised his other celebrity mates to sing and record the songs to raise money towards the efforts. He also begged all his mates to donate $100,000 each and then led by example by openly donating that amount first. The $100,000 was also set as a standard so there would be no comparison between each donor, so as not to take away from the issue at hand. How ironic.

I am no Andy Lau fan. I do not have any strong positive or negative feelings towards the man. But I think it is such mean-spirited criticism that is crippling charity efforts today. In Korea, it is much the same. Celebrities do not even want to be associated with charity work as it will garner negative publicity with evil-minded individuals accusing them of using it as a public relations tool.

It is true that true charity should be done quietly and without expectations and for the good of the beneficiaries and no one else. However, one of the biggest tool a celebrity has is just that. Their celebrity. They know their mere appearance will inspire fans and groupies to copy their actions. It is why celebrity endorsements work so well.

It is a double edged sword. You help the charity when you use your celebrity. But you get shredded by the critics for being a publicity whore. 

Perhaps that is Andy Lau's greatest sacrifice for the Sichuan earthquake victims. His reputation for their redemption.

Whatever his intentions, you cannot fault him for helping. Perhaps he did it because he is Chinese. Perhaps he did it because he has family and friends in Sichuan. Perhaps he did it because he just happens to like Sichuanese food. Or perhaps he did it because he is simply human.

Even if I disliked the lyrics to his song Promise, I will give a nod towards the man for silently bearing the criticism and not letting that deter or embitter him in his goal to lend a hand.

Rather, I prefer the lyrics, even if the melody is deplorable, of the song Never Apart, which was written specifically for the Sichuan victims. Sung by Jackie Chan, who really should not sing, and with the lyrics by Nan Shu, it is much more meaningful and profound. I apologise for my poor translation and can only hope Agnes can help me clean it up.

生死不離
In life or death we will never be apart
你的夢落在哪裡
Even in the place where your dreams have fallen
想著生活繼續
Life will continue
天空失去了美麗
Even as the sky loses its beauty in darkness
你卻等待夢在明天站起
You're still waiting and hoping to stand up again 
你的呼喊刻在我的血液裡
And your cries are engraved in my blood

生死不離
In life or death we will never be apart
我數秒等你的消息
I count the seconds as I await news of your return
相信生命不息
Holding on to the belief that life will never end
與你祈禱一起呼吸
I say a prayer with you, as I take each breathe with you
我看不到你卻牽掛在心裡
Although I cannot see you, I carry you deep in my heart 
你的目光是我全部的意義
To see your gaze means everything to me

無論你在哪裡
No matter where you are
我都要找到你
I will find you
血脈能創造奇蹟 生命是命題
Our shared blood can create miracles, life is the eternal answer
無論你在哪裡
Wherever you are
我都要找到你
I will find you
手拉著手 生死不離
Hand in hand, we will never be apart

生死不離
In life or death we are never be apart
全世界都被沉寂
The entire world is submerged in silent sorrow
痛苦也不哭泣
Tears unshed even in pain and sorrow
愛是你的傳奇
Love is your legacy
彩虹在風雨後堅強升起
The rainbow will rise in glory after the storm
我在努力看到愛的力氣
Our efforts will flourish from the power of love

無論你在哪裡
No matter where you are
我都要找到你
I will find you
血脈能創造奇蹟 生命是命題
Our shared blood can create miracles, life is the eternal answer
無論你在哪裡
Wherever you are
我都要找到你
I will find you
天裂了 去縫起
The sky has been torn part, let us mend it together

你一絲希望是我全部的動力
One thread of hope is all I need
搭起我的手築成你回家的路基
I raise my hands to form the road for your return home

無論你在哪裡
No matter where you are
我都要找到你
I will find you
血脈能創造奇蹟 生命是命題
Our shared blood can create miracles, life is the eternal answer
無論你在哪裡
Wherever you are
我都要找到你
I will find you
手拉著手 生死不離
Hand in hand, we will never be apart

無論你在哪裡
No matter where you are
我都要找到你
I will find you
血脈能創造奇蹟 大山毅然舉起
Our shared blood can create miracles, life is the eternal answer
無論你在哪裡
Wherever you are
我都要找到你
I will find you
天裂了 去縫起
The sky has been torn part, let us mend it together

手拉著手 生死不離
Holding each other's hand, we will never part in life or death


On that note, some have taken the route of criticising China for its oft-times misguided policies and stands, leveraging unkind statements such as "retribution", "they deserve it", even discussing their population, education and human rights practices in light of the recent tragedy. 

This is not the time to cast blame or to kick a dog when it's down. Whatever a nation's past crimes, real or alleged, a tragedy of this magnitude and sorrow should not be degraded or demeaned. Let us try to maintain some humanity and extend hearts and hands in good will instead of finger wagging. 

Until their land is healed and their people can sleep in peace without tears on pillows ... we should not add to their grief.

Man Or Mouse - Sperm Them Not

Boys, you know when your parents told you to stop wanking yourself or you might go blind? Well, now you may be pleased to know that your sperm may cure the world.

On the other hand, you are apparently not much more than a mouse ...

Oh, how many ways can you milk this ... isn't it rather apt that this research comes from animal health? 

Scientists look to sperm to power nanobots
Flagellum could potentially provide locomotion, early research suggests
By Bryn Nelson
ColumnistMSNBC contributor
ET Jan. 2, 2008

A tiny assembly line that powers the whip-like tail of sperm could be harnessed to send future nanobots or other tiny medical devices zooming around the human body, according to a preliminary research report.

Borrowing a page from reproductive biology, the proof-of-principle study offers a peek at how nanotechnology might overcome the problem of supplying energy to the envisioned menagerie of nanobots, implants and “smart” probes aimed at releasing disease-fighting drugs, monitoring enzymes and performing other medical roles within a patient’s body.

To be biologically compatible, these hypothetical devices would need to be formed not from tiny springs and nuts and bolts but from biomedical components. “At that scale, biology provides the best functional motors,” said Alexander Travis, an assistant professor of reproductive biology at Cornell University’s Baker Institute for animal Health. “But how do you power these kinds of structures?”

One potential answer has come from the tail, or flagellum, that propels human sperm at a rate of about 7 inches per hour. (In comparison, if a 6-foot man swam the equivalent number of body lengths in an hour, his tally of 3.7 miles would smash the American long-distance swimming record.)

To supply the energy for its locomotion, a sperm cell’s tail is essentially studded with tiny assembly lines that produce a high-energy compound called ATP. Officially known as adenosine triphosphate, ATP has been called the universal energy “currency” of living cells because of its ability to store, transfer and release energy. When a power source is needed to run processes within a cell — say, bending and flexing a sperm’s flagellum — ATP releases its reserves through a process that results in its decay to a simpler chemical form.

The most efficient producers of ATP are mitochondria, the cell’s miniature power plants. Sperm tails contain a spiraling helix of these mitochondria within the area closest to the sperm’s head. On the remaining three-quarters of its tail, however, the cell uses an approach based on a pathway called glycolysis, in which sugar is broken down into several components, including high-energy ATP molecules.

Proteins normally require the freedom to twist, bend or change shape to be functional. Research by Travis and Cornell colleague Chinatsu Mukai, together with other scientists, suggests that in sperm, the 10 proteins involved in glycolysis have been tweaked so they stick to a solid scaffold-like support running the length of the tail while still maintaining their activity. Travis and Mukai borrowed that approach to re-jigger the proteins so they stuck instead to the surface of a tiny gold chip covered with nickel ions. For their research, the scientists used mouse sperm proteins as templates for the synthesized versions. (Human and mouse sperm proteins are closely related.){NOW, DON'T YOU WISH YOU'D KNOWN I WAS GOING TO HIGHLIGHT THIS SO YOU DID NOT HAVE TO READ THE ABOVE?}

After tethering the first two proteins in the pathway to the chip, the researchers found that both did well in breaking down glucose and handing the end-product to the next protein. Compared to versions lacking a surface-targeting domain and “just randomly glommed” onto a structural support, the engineered proteins performed especially well. Most of the remaining assembly line has yet to be similarly tweaked, but Travis and Mukai’s work suggests it should be possible. “We believe it is one of the first, if not the first, example of building a biological pathway on a manmade surface,” Travis said. The collaborators have a provisional patent for the ATP-making strategy, though no commercial partners as of yet.

Like a vehicle running on gasoline, the sperm’s power production emits waste. Fortunately, its tail harbors a transport protein that acts like a tailpipe to kick out waste and keep the production cycle going. Future nanodevices, Travis said, could include this transporter to similarly maintain their energy production. Maximizing the pathway’s efficiency could prove important for future strategies, such as filling tiny delivery capsules known as liposomes with cancer-fighting drugs and studding their outsides with antibodies that would direct the medical packets to attack specific tumor cells. Under that scenario, a steady supply of ATP could power the pumps charged with dispensing the medication at a certain rate.

Other scientists are likewise mining the emerging field of nanotechnology and its largely unrealized potential for delivering high-impact devices in ultra-small dimensions. Recent studies, for example, have harnessed nanotubes, nanodiamonds and magnetic nanoparticles for drug delivery (but not yet within humans). One group has created a tiny nickel-based rod that spins almost like a tiny propeller as it uses ATP. Another team, led by Carlo Montemagno at the University of Cincinnati, is working on a technique that makes ATP from light photons.

As a veterinarian, Travis said his interest in wildlife conservation got him into reproductive biology and research aimed at fighting infertility and exploring birth control methods. Through efforts by his lab and others, he discovered that one of the most abundant proteins in mammalian sperm, hexokinase, is also the first enzyme in the glycolysis assembly line on its tail. That observation led to questions about the protein’s role, location and, eventually, about whether it and its assembly line partners might be useful for other applications. 

Cornell University’s emphasis on nanotechnology “just kind of clicked” with his reproductive biology research, Travis said. He and Mukai presented the initial results from that scientific pairing in early December at the American Society for Cell Biology’s annual meeting, held in Washington, D.C., and are now preparing the study for publication.

Dr. Erkki Ruoslahti, a nanotechnology researcher and distinguished professor with the La Jolla, Calif.-based Burnham Institute for Medical Research, said he was intrigued by the approach and considered it a valid first step. “It sounds good to me — that’s the kind of thing that the field needs,” he said. “Having some sort of way of being able to power nanodevices is the number one bottleneck in constructing really clever devices.”

The safety of nanotechnology devices has yet to be fully resolved. Ruoslahti cautioned that sperm-inspired ATP generators would need to overcome the likelihood that the altered proteins would be recognized as foreign by the body’s immune system, provoking a strong immune response. Even so, he pointed out that some nanoparticles potentially serving as the basis for savvy devices of the future are already in use, including magnetic iron oxide particles used for advanced body imaging. “These are not pie-in-the-sky technologies,” Ruoslahti said. “They’re already with us.”


You don't say?

A reader sent a comment about Michael Jackson in a white lab jacket trying to er ... work out some samples from mice, singing Ben ... so that led me to re-work the lyrics, with a mental image of MJ with white lab jacket and one white glove giving a hand (ahem) to Ben .

Ben, the two of us can see no more
We've both wanked what they were looking for
With a bot to call my own
I'll never be alone
And you, my friend, can't see
You've wanked it all from me
(you've wanked it all from me)

Ben, you're always wanking here and there
You feel yourself up just everywhere
If you ever look behind
And don't like what you find (oh, I am so not even going there)

There, flagellum, you should know
You've got a place to go
(you've got a place to go)

I used to say "eye" and "pee"
Now it's "grasp", now it's "whee!"
I used to say "eye" and "pee"
Now it's "grasp", now it's "whee!"
Ben, most people would spurm you away

I ain't fisting to a word they say
They don't whip-tail as you do
I wish they would try to
I'm sure they'd wank again
If they had a friend like Ben
(a friend) Like Ben
(like Ben) Like Ben

Alright, no need to call the RSPCA or the white with the white jacket.  No, not MJ!  I'll be good now, I promise!

Slippered Lady

I am usually not particularly impressed by photos of flowers and the such, consigning them to the Hallmark greeting cards genre of photography.  But this ... this is just breathtaking.

I've never seen this particular strain of orchid but it is bloody gorgeous.  It is apparently a white lady's slipper orchid.  What an apt name.

And thanks to postpurchase over at Flickr who took the picture.  

Cradle of Life

I'm not a baby person and not inclined to the Anne Geddes type thing but something about this photo, New Arrival, really struck me as fab.

Saw this at Flickr from a photographer by the name of katbphotos and she was saying she wanted to use tulle instead the next time.  Lord, no!  

The cheesecloth gives an organic texture and realness to the piece that is very powerful.  I cannot imagine what the hell she must have been thinking to even contemplate tulle.  Next, she might want to sprinkle star dust on the baby ... Shudder!

Among the comments was a reference to yet another famous Flickr photographer, shutterblog, who apparently had had the same idea before.  The colour is gorgeous but I still prefer the one by ktabphotos.  Somehow, the stark contrast of the black velvet and the pristine yet weathered paleness of the cheesecloth works so well in highlighting the baby.  Shutterblog's one is just a little too Anne Geddes cutesy for me.

Even if katbphotos had unwittingly produced a powerful statement (I will never get over the tulle leaning), I think New Arrival portrays the beauty of birth and life perfectly.  It's not all pretty.  There's grit and strength behind the paucity and seeming fragility of new life.

Running Around Like a Headless Chicken

'Nuff said.

Go Away

The silence of footsteps behind

A constant presence eroding the distance

Smiles and conversations flow towards the unsuspecting audience

All they see is unfettered resistance

To shackles of conformity 

Self-centred preoccupation

From whence came this dream?

Or should the semantic evolve to nightmare?

For it instills fear 

Not the clearly defined blood line of physical horror

But of the unknown and unwanted

That cannot be tossed carelessly to the winds

Lurking silently in wait

Behind the darkened curtains of sleep

Always the sense that matrimony misfits

For one who has seen little of the benefits

Logical cogitations of a paper

That cuts and shreds more easily than sabres

Dalliances with many

Heart tangling with few

None ever felt right

The mind's eye just could not sight

Any that shook the conviction

Conjugal bliss is indeed another conviction

Third time pushed

Thrice capitulated

First time he intruded

In a tear-soaked dream in the night

The impending sense of suffocation

Had crept ever closer

Eyes and hands holding tight

Around the heart, chest, hands and feet

To ensure the lack of flight

Cursing the predictability of actions

The trend set in defection

Of unscheduled flight from the chains of matrimony

Two months before the incarceration

That caused all eyes to watch with deep suspicion

And the increase of loving attention

To ensure the glide across the aisle

At night, the eager would-be groom

Holds on with tightening possession

Sleep is both comforting and troubling

Dreams comes in greater procession

But none like this had come before

He came for the first time two months before the wedding

Dark silence was his cladding

Mist and fog swirled like 

Inane smoke machinations from a rock concert

Sensing his presence before sighting

The heart hurts

Fissures pierce jagged shards 

Slow, sure cracks break asunder

The self-imposed peace of acceptance

The tears force bleeding beads of heartache to the surface

Immense surprise at the liquid expressions on the face

Of such happiness and excitement that had mingled

With a lifelong fear of marriage

Such joy and love for the partner

Such devotion and faith for each other

Who now comes in my sleep

To force his attention upon my subconscious?

Remember me

Sensing his presence and still not sighting

It threatens and calls at the same time

Go away

Remember me

Insistence pierce his quiet words

Modulated, sure and gentle

In tone and volume

But plaintive and searing grief 

Hurled from the shadows

Behind those words

My heart had began aching before he spoke

It was as if it recognised the pain

Before it hit

My face had become tear-stained

Before his familiar voice had curled

The two words around my soul

Who are you?

What do you want?

I do not know you

Leave me alone

Remember me

I am the one you love

Remember me

Fear gripped me

Sorrow rended my soul

Tears seared my lips

My arms felt the cold

No warmth could I keep

What are you talking about?

I do not know you

How can I love you?

I only love one 

I have no idea who you are!

Remember me

He is not the one

I am the one

I am the one who loves you

I am the one you love

Remember me

I know of not what you speak

Leave me alone

I have not been with any other

Since I have love this man

How can I love you if I have never met you?

Go away

Leave me alone

He is not the one

Remember me

I am the one you love

Remember me

His shadowy presence cannot be detected

The direction of his words unfathomable

Yet they are unerringly accurate

Sure as arrows they pierce and cut

Through the mists 

Straight to the heart

Eyes try to break through the clouds of dreams

What does he look like?

Who is he?

An almost desperate need to identify

The cause of such shatteringly pain in the heart

That had not ceased since awakening to his call

The anger that he dared to push such unreasoning grief

Unto my complacent peace and joy

That was hard-won and constantly wavering

There he is

The eyes see not

But the heart knows

Face unseen

Body undefined

It is a phantom

That had a sure grip fisted onto a breaking heart

Why is there such sorrow?

Why do I weep so?

Why is my heart breaking?

I do not understand

I am in love with no one except the intended

Have never felt such unexpected heartache 

Who are you?  

Why do you do this?

Go away

Determination firms the shatteringly heart

Blindly turning to run away

Turn around!

Turn around and look at me!

Remember me!

I am the one who loves you!  Remember me!

Turn around!

Remember me!

Now screams of terror burst uncontrollably

No!  Leave me alone! 

I do not know who you are

I cannot remember someone I do not know

Leave me alone!

Leave me alone

Go away!

I wake 

Crying uncontrollable

The heart emits such fiery bursts of pain

I grip my chest in fear of real physical ailment

Sitting upright in the reflected raw colours of glass stained

Tears soaking the pillows and my garment

I am awake

Why does the heart not stop aching?

The nightmare is over

He is gone

Confusion

Swift turn of the head to stare at the sleeping face

Momentary blindness as I wonder who he is

The lack of recognition before realising 

Place, time and circumstance

Guilt as I touch his hand to confirm

You are the one I chose

Shame and guilt compound as he seeks my touch in his sleep

As if to reassure himself I am not gone

To somewhere he cannot hold on 

Holding his hand reluctantly

Somehow feeling like an adulterer

That someone has been wronged

Resting back on the pillow

The beginning of a distance between the promise

Sobs still rendering sleep impossible

Fear

What 

Who

Why

Finally overcome by weariness

A new day

Determined forgetfulness

Never mentioned

And ultimately forgotten

Until the day when marriage dissolved

In the midst of angry words and threats

In the hidden sanctuary of avoidance

In the insistence of space and time

In the stalking of an angry soon-to-be-ex-spouse

The dream returned

Ruthlessly 

Remember me

Startled from the fogs of forgetfulness

Crafted from the need for peace

And a chance for the chosen

The memory of the past encounter return

The heartache and sorrow the same

The questions and answers remain

Remember me

Turn around and look at me

Remember me

Go away

Leave me alone

The stalking dream returns once in a while

The script unchanging

The period of rest between disturbance varies

To lull into a sense of security that coincidence tarries

An anger builds

How dare he?

A rebellion stirs

Even as a fear grows

No shackles

No more

No belief in soulmates

Such silly romanticism 

A mockery of intelligence and sanity

The concept even insults the mind

Barricaded against the temerity

Of the dream that haunts and plague

Logical explanations must abound

My mind and sanity both sound

But it plagues enough that 

Desire for further entanglements 

Dissolve

Wariness in case one should both be the salve

And catalyst

For the torment of dreams involved

In making me eschew 

Disavow

There is no one

No one to remember

A festering hatred for those words

Startled fear when they are heard

Instant anger at their power

To disturb the much wanted and fought for

Peace 

Do not make my heart bleed

Do not bring tears to me at night

Do not ask for my love

Do not wait for me around the corner

Do not hide in the shadows

Do not call out to me

I do not want this

Leave me alone

Go away

I now remember you

Remember you as one who stalks me

When I deserve peace

Leave me alone

Go away

Henchmen Risk Stoning

Apparently, two men decided to chip away at one of Britain's, and the world's, most noteworthy heritage.  

Hammering away at the Heel Stone, the central megalith at the ancient site of Stonehenge, the two morons managed to chip off a large, coin-sized piece before their vandalism was discovered.  

Obviously more accustomed to pitting themselves against ancient, inanimate objects, the two men did a runner by jumping over a fence and driving off when they were spotted by security guards.

Site officials claim that it was a very slight damage but still upsetting because such wankish behaviour has not been perpetrated on the UNESCO World Heritage site in decades.  

Stupidity may be hereditary and incurable in some cases, unfortunately.  

Gambian Gay Beheading

Let us all pray ...

To the Creator above, below, sideways, upside down, spread-eagle, downward dog pose, whatever, and whatever and in whichever language you would like to be called today, please enlighten your humble confused.

I, in all my behemoth ignorance, am having a crisis of faith.

That is, my faith in common sense and logical thinking.  But obviously, the two concepts are not compatible with the word "faith".  Not that I am trying to be blasphemous, oh Mighty One who might strike me down with righteous lightning from on high.

I humbly submit my confession of total confusion and ignorance.  I beg for a sign.  A sign that I should stop reading the newspapers, watching any form of information broadcasts and surfing the net.  In fact, I think I should just stop reading full stop.  And I am also reconsidering this whole con-job of thinking.

It is your servants of moral good who have brought my ungodly thought processes to light.  I do not know which division of the Heaven squad they are from but they're good.  Real good.

God's Squad Team Leader aka President Yahya Jammeh of Gambia recently shook me out from my erroneous ways by threatening to behead all gays if they do not leave Gambia.  I had no idea that that is the latest directive from you, Lord of all things big and small, but not beheaded.  I confess I was misled into thinking gay people were also human and therefore considered one of your children.  I had no idea they were adopted!

It was that Satan fella, wasn't it?  They're all his love-children and he tried to pass them off as one of yours.  That's just so wrong.  

I'd always treated them as mates.  In fact, I even claimed some of them as best mates.  I am so sorry, Lord, that I was such an unwitting minion of evil.  From now on, I shall walk the straight and narrow path and threaten to behead any of them who try to be in my vicinity.

I would also like to recommend President Yahya Jammeh (by the way, I love his name because in your infinite wisdom you gave him a name that means arrogant in Indonesian ... which he is not, of course ... so clever!) for the Angel Network award.  You know, the one started by your lobbyist.  Yes, the tupperware party circuit organised by that Ms Oprah who mans your lobby.

Anyway, I think his speech to announce this latest directive was incredibly touching.  I can even quote it ad verbatim, with the help of the Sydney Morning Herald.

"The Gambia is a country of believers ... sinful and immoral practices (such) as homosexuality will not be tolerated in this country," the president told a crowd at a political rally on May 15, local journalists told AFP on Thursday.

My God, I admit I am a trifle slow as it's taking me quite a while to figure out out what kind of believers Gambians are.  And it does not help that I keep hearing the tune of "I'm a believer ..." which causes my hips to shake and my feet to tap.  All terribly inappropriate for reading missives of religious doctrines.

Actually, if you do not mind terribly, oh Saviour of all threatened by the scourge of homosexuality, can you just drop me a hint of what the Gambian are believers of, please?  You can either leave me a voicemail, text me or IM me, Lord.  I am also on Facebook.  I can My Friend you, OK?

Anyway, back to your promised land of Gambia.  It is obvious they are your chosen people, Lord, for why else would they be the only ones chosen to be cured of Aids?  You are infinitely wise and loving to withhold your favour from the rest of the world who condone such sinful and sordid practises of sodomy.  Tough love is much needed.

President Jammeh went on the mountain-tops (no, I did not so hear the lyrics "The hills are alive ...") and told his people that you have given them the "miracle" cure for HIV and Aids in January this year.  What a lovely New Year gift, Lord.  I am not complaining that all I got was the flu because I know now that it was probably because I went out partying with my gay former-friends.  I now realise my sins.

The treatment is based on medicinal plants and a Koranic verse, which I think is so fantastic.  I am so stoked that it's all organic, without using chemicals.  Like even the Scientologists will be able to use this, if and when they accept that the Koran is pre-Thetan and Hubbard.  

I wish your chosen people in Gambia had greater faith and did not have to be ordered to give up their Aids antiretroviral drugs.  But I know you can get through this as you did in the old days when you had to send blights, locusts and the such to every household to convince them that you could cure diseases.  Maybe if they had radio then and you could tome, "Dr Love is in the house ..."

Like if you can bring it, you can take it away, ya know?  They should really just put their trust in you.  

But President Jammeh is keeping the faith and what a fine example he is setting for the infidels.  I think you should promote him to Prophet status.  Not that I am telling you what to do, of course, Lord.  I'm just saying ...  maybe a little something something for this fine crusader of God.

Alright, I have to go now, Lord, as you know I have to go find that Koranic verse and do some herb gathering.  Ya think you could like maybe help me out here by putting an X on the right page in the Koran and on the spot where the weed is growing?  

* Please note that title of post should be recited to the tune of one of Bob Marley's songs.

Dear John, You've Lost Your Family Jewels ...

I read in the Sydney Morning Herald that former PM, John Howard has been violated.  OK, OK, his house got broken into and apparently some jewelry was nicked.

These burglars have some balls.  Not only did they rob a former political leader, they did it in broad daylight!  The paper reported that the police were called to the "Wollenstonecraft home, on Sydney's north shore" at 4pm after the automatic alarm was tripped.  

Obviously no one was home, with the big man around the house out of the house, overseas.

Well, at least the burglars only did away with Mr Howard's family jewels ...