Recently high school principle Eddie Walker sent in a resignation letter to his employers.  His resignation was based on professional and religious reasons.

The cause of the resignation  was the the formation of a Gay/Straight Alliance Club at Irmo High School.

Many people would probably inwardly wince at something like this being established where their children attend school, but discrimination against sexual orientation is now a no, no.  So many will not voice what they think as it may upset the apple cart.

Regardless of what a person's feelings or opinions are about the matter, school is intended to get an education.  The kind of education that may help the children obtain a job and conduct a responsible life in the future.  Schools are not meant to take on the role of mother and father in life.

I agree with Eddie Walker.  Kids have enough issues to deal with without promoting alternative sexual lifestyles when they are at an age where hormones can influence some to take over from gray matter.

That is something they can investigate when they are of age and on their own.

Others will disagree, but at least Eddie Walker is honest about his decision and will lose his income at Irmo because of his stand.  I respect the man for what he wrote and his resigning.

1. Relax

2. Hang out with friends and family

3. Organize our apartment

4. Decorate the apartment better

5. Spend more time outdoors

6. Go camping at least once

7. Sort through old paperwork and get a working filing system going

8. Do lots of fun craft projects and learn new techniques

9. Write letters

10. Watch TV less

11. Make more fresh meals

12. Save money

13. Find a local knit/craft group and go regularly

Three weeks in and I'm still on tally (or as one friend mentioned today "you're on par"). Really quite excited that I've managed to maintain the momentum for 21 days, and really rather pleased with myself with the commitment.

Have to say that this blog/journal/record is, I think, helping the cause. It's also helping me to cope better with stuff outside riding. Despite a heavy work week, I'm feeling calm as I look forward to the fact that I've the day off work tomorrow. Usually when I take a day off I "dread" what I'm missing, or more to the point whether I've forgotten anything.

Now in reality I ain't that important, and I've got colleagues and a team to support me. So maybe I have high control needs - but I do think this weeks ride tally (5 in four days) has really helped. I recognise more the signs of stress and the fact that I am cycling more and focussing on the commitment means that I am able to "let go" a little more.

Am very pleased with today's rides (one this morning and then the regular "Thursday social" this evening), even though they were amongst some of the slowest rides so far.

Had to get two in today because no rides occurred yesterday as I was in a real fug with work. It was really getting me down and when I got home I was in no mood to ride. The option was there to "ride through it" and try and shake off the fug. However I decided to relax and spend some time reading up on some motivation websites. It helped to a degree but despite riding early this morning, I got to work and the fug was still with me. My comments to the first two arrivals in the office really were crap - and there was no excuse in me spreading my "down-ness" onto others.

I decided then on two things - (1) to "choose" not to be in such a bad mood and (2) enlist the help of my team to help lift me out of the fug.

It worked.

I truly believe the combination of trying to get my team to help me out (we decided to plan a day out as a team - am looking forward to it) and simply recognising that it's my choice how I react to things (i.e. I could choose to be more happy/optimistic/hopeful) - really helped turn the day around.

There are some important points to review from today.

• I got things done (the important things).
• I spent good quality time with each of my team.
• I delegated (which I'm really poor at) to some degree (although not entirely happy in the rushed manner in which I did it).
• And most importantly I left work, not in a panic, but with a sense of calmness.

I'm *really* going to try this approach next time I feel in a fug at work. It's been successful this time, let's hope it works again.

My thanks to my team and those around me today.

Looking forward now to my day off. We're off camping tomorrow afternoon and the day off gives me an opportunity to get all the kit ready AND drop Ben off to pre-school (cool!)

Books and films both tell stories, but what we want from a book can be different from what we want from a movie. Is this true for you? If so, what’s the difference between a book and a movie?

My first thought is that books and movies are entirely different things, but that's not true.  Both tell stories.  Both can entertain and educate.  They can both move you at a very deep level and stay with you for a long time.  They can both make you scream and want the part of your life that you spent with it back (Talented Mr. Ripley and The Emperor's Children are my cases in point).  They both stem from someone's desire to communicate with the rest of humanity.  I'm glad to be living in a day and age that has both mediums.

Still, they should not be judged on the same level.  I most definitely read for different reasons than I watch a movie.  I wish that I could fully explain the way that I feel while I'm reading a good book.  All at the same time I am outside my body and experiencing another reality while I'm sitting (hopefully) someplace comfortable consciously feeling the texture of the book cover and pages and breathing in the scent of a book's pages, which is the most calming scent on the earth to me.  When I'm in this place, I feel the most connected to myself, this world, and all that it contains.  I wouldn't call it sacred necessarily, but it is a positive force in my life.

Movies, when they are good, also take me someplace new.  It's not the same type of experience.  It's more purely entertainment.  It is no less an art than writing, but it doesn't reach me in the same manner.  This is entirely personal, though.  I believe what I experience with reading my husband experiences with movies.  What is wonderful about a movie is that the experience of seeing it can change based upon who you see it with.  For example, I love Gone With the Wind.  I've seen in countless times alone or with a few extra people.  It wasn't until it was re-released maybe about 10 years or so ago that I belly laughed as I watched Mamie on screen.  The group dynamic added to the experience of the movie.  For me with books, reading in a large audience would be distracting and detract from my experience.  It wouldn't enhance it in that way.

Long story short, I love both books and movies, but I approach them in much different ways.  How about you?

We found a great little trail near our new neighborhood, and lo, a plethora of trilliums. They are very pretty, I love the flower's simplicity. With two very fast moving kiddos with me I didn't get a chance to fire off more that two or three shots, so a trip back on my own is in order, so I can do it justice!

It also got my itching for a new macro lens. Hmmm.

And my little one, already climbing fences. I don't imagine that there will be much in life that will hold her back, like this fence would not have if her daddy hadn't been there to grab her!

I am now ridiculously tired and my Word page is doing weird things which is making all my lines of text look really tiny,even if they aren’t.  I expect if I fiddle about with lots of formatting menus I can rectify it, but I honestly can’t be arsed, even though it is really, really bugging me quite a lot in that; ‘I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it just does,’ kind of way. 

I have a lot of things that get me like that.  Stuff that can’t be helped.  Stuff that I should just chill out about and not spend precious mental time writing stiff letters to imaginary people who may or may not be willing to help me, but who I am pretty sure if I ever sent such imaginary letters to, would laugh uproariously before setting them alight in an upturned dustbin lid.

One of the things that really bugs me is when the volume on the television shoots up when the adverts come on in between the programmes.  At first I thought it was my ears, but it bugs Jason too, so unless we're sharing a mutual ear hallucination it's unlikely.  Then  I thought it was just us being weirdly paranoid and a bit mad old ladyish, but apparently it isn’t.  I was mooching about on the BBC News website the other day when I read that it is one of the things that the television controlling important officey people get the most letters about.  People are concerned that it’s a public nuisance and that their neighbours will award them Asbo’s, particularly when a CILLIT BANG! Advert comes on sandwiched between some gently soothing Morse and his lyrical strings.  Apparently they’re so concerned that there will be new laws about it soon which mean that if the advert people make super shouty adverts they will be taken outside and shot, quietly, with a silencer while we squirt them with CILLIT BANG. 

Hoorah say I, who is only liberal about things like starving people, people living under harsh military dictatorships and the question of free mittens on the NHS for the under fives.  It turns out that in other things I am a draconian Nazi in full colour, training extensively for my upcoming starring role as World Dictator Extraordinaire. 

I think the lady who parks half way across our drive every other day because she presumably thinks I’m never going to get over my phobia of driving and driving instructors should be stapled to my front door as a warning to other uncaring parkers.  I think that our current headmistress, who spends so much time worrying about the children becoming knuckle dragging reprobates with amoebic brain cells because they wear hooded cardigans but won’t fund story sacks should be incarcerated in a giant iron hood for a week whilst being forced to listen to the complete Thomas The Tank Engine oeuvre, read by an illiterate six year old.  And that’s only for starters. 

Don’t tempt me on the subject of elderly people who think that just because they’re old they’re allowed to say and do what they like including pushing in front of harassed middle aged women with three kids in the Co-op (it’s luck you silly cow.  You’re not bloody immortal, as I will only be too happy to prove to you).  And let us never mention the stupid woman who rang up claiming to be from the bank and wanting me to give her all my personal financial details, who then got upset because I refused to believe she was from the bank until she gave me some proof.

Other things that I let bother me that I shouldn’t include:

• People allowing their small children to randomly squeeze and fondle produce in supermarkets, which they then don’t buy.  I don’t want to buy Wensleydale with Jacinta’s thumb prints in thanks.

• People asking their children to ‘stop doing that Bethany darlin’ please…’ in that tone of voice that means: ‘You know I’m so weak willed that I’m going to let you carry on doing that Bethany, even if your bad behaviour escalates to the point where you try to stick a skewer sideways through your brother’s head and there are twenty other people queueing up to show you the meaning of the naughty step.’

• People who work behind the counter in the Post Office stopping to have a ten minute chat with a customer when they’ve finished serving them, even though they’ve got diabetic pensioners queueing out the door and down the road, fainting into the gutter in numberless hordes.  Apparently these things can't be rushed because it is a ‘community service’.  No love.  That's what I get for stabbing you in the eye with a pen on a chain when you've kept me waiting for forty five minutes while you chat about begonias.

• People who say: ‘With all due respect..’ just as they’re about to say something about you that is so disrespectful that it is awe inspiringly awful.  They then get upset if you get upset, foolishly believing that the phrase: ‘with all due respect’ acts like some wonder vaccination for acts of gross rudeness and stupidity.

• The fact that pants rarely come in packs of five any more.  It's all the fault of that brazen hussy on the M&S adverts who can't speak properly, and tantalises you with pictures of delicious food to then make you weep that when you rush to the fridge you've got some old Parmesan and an out of date Muller Light instead.

• The fact that if you have more than two children you will always have to buy multiple packets of everything in supermarkets because nobody caters for odd numbers except Captain Birdseye who sells fish fingers in bags of such size and quantity you can feed everyone, even if you're The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.

• The man across the road who cleans his car more than he talks to his wife.  It's sexual, the amount of attention he lavishes on that car.  It's like watching porn. Ewwww

• Mr. Tumble from CBeebies (my mum saw it for the first time this week and summed up my thoughts exactly: ‘I’m sure he’s very nice, but I wouldn’t let him near my grandchildren.  It’s not right.)

• Marmalade

Round them all up in a field and shoot them.  That’s what I say.  Either that or reintroduce compulsory national service for the over eights.

I'm not complaining, I'm not doing anything but writing. This is a personal diary, so I'm going to treat it as such. I certainly hope I don't come across entitled, whiny, foolish, stupid, bratty or anything other than me. I don't have the luxury of perspective, the gift that is wisdom and age which only can come with time. So many people write about their lives, especially their past lives. I am still in the middle of living the time that's always changing, the time that is the most eventful. Think about it: the under-35 and even under-30 is the most eventful time in a person's life. The time in which you're still really living.

This is not to say that life after children and marriage and jobs is meaningless. It certainly is not. But most people slip into a routine. Most people's day-to-day after they are settled doesn't involve much eruption. Not many people change careers and there are few interruptions that really force evolution in one's life. Those people are privileged to look back, relive their past lives and see their mistakes and what they did wrong, and even better: learn from it. They don't make those mistakes any longer.

I have wisdom on my peers, I hope I'm not arrogant in saying that. But it is something in my possession. That doesn't stop me from making my own, unique mistakes. I'm more mature than most my age, as well. I hope that isn't arrogant as well. But I am also still just a brand-new 20 year old, fresh off the conveyor belt that is being a teenager. My maturity exists, but it's not nearly as solid as someone five, ten, fifteen years my senior. My maturity is shallow. I think clearly, see how the world works, but I'm still self-centered enough that my judgment is fairly clouded. I still have life to live before I gain wisdom, an entirely different animal than maturity.

Until I have that gift of perspective, of age, of real maturity, I don't see myself changing until there's something drastic which inspires it. I don't think it's fully necessary to make those alterations in myself just yet. I see errors in my ways, I do. But for the moment, I want to make the mistakes I need to in order to become a really great grown-up.

second time: you need invitation from your friend living in Paris and  a copy of  her passport, oh, and the train reservation from  Paris to  Germany

Third time: oh, you still need resident stamp from your friend in Paris

Damn it!!!! Why you just tell me at one time?  Actually I will sublet some place from someone in Paris. I know the requirement will make her so annoying and time consuming!!!! I feel so sorry and guilty about that.  Oh, there is also another thing that disturbs me. God damn it!!!!! Why my life becomes like that?  shit!!!!

ps: I'm so angry, I can't type in Chinese now, but I really want to say something out !!!

Actually, my mother-in-law was scheduled for surgery this morning but plans changed when she was diagnosed yesterday with an infection. With a round of antibiotics, the surgery will be on again, probably next week. But of course she was very nervous, then frustrated, so my husband and I eased her angst by taking her out for her favorite dinner at a little gem of a place here in Rhode Island. Yes, the Alaskan King Crab Legs, sweet potato, spinach, and tons of bread and buttah (as she calls it) were just what the doctor ordered, and soon she was cracking up with laughter at my husbands's jokes and antics. He knows just how to make anyone, especially his mom, feel bettah.

My mother-in-law is 89 years old. She drinks beer. Tells jokes. And still bakes treats for her kids, grandkids, and now great-grandkids. So I wasn't surprised when she brought along a gift bag of her famous cinnamon twirls to drop off at Audrey's home. Yes, she not only remembered Audrey's birthday, but spent the day before her supposed-to-be surgery baking Audrey's favorite cookies. She placed them into a Tupperware container that she remembered Audrey loving as a child, and birthday wrapped them in a beautiful presentation. But remember... this is all on top of being worried about the surgery that was canceled at the last minute.

But anyway... Flo got to talking about the baby shower that she "threw" for me when I was expecting Audrey, the shower that happened to be 30 years ago yesterday. Yes, the exact date as our little dinner last evening. She reminisced about what she baked that day, who was there, what I wore... and especially about how I carried things up and down the stairs that day as she warned me that I would be having that baby sooner than I should.

Well, she was correct. The shower was on May 21. Audrey was due June 26. I went into labor 30 years ago today, May 22.

I knew something was going on when I felt a whirlpool-like swish that woke me up from a sound sleep. I knew something was going on when I saw a little pinkish-ness on the morning toilet paper. So as soon as I arrived at school that morning (30 years ago today!), I rushed to our school nurse and told her of my "condition." She smiled and said, "Honey, you're in labor."

"But I can't be! The baby isn't due for 5 more weeks!" I said. Well, cried.

So began my day. Me in total denial. But my denial was not something Audrey was considering, so at 10:00 am, as I stood up to teach a class, my water broke. I was so huge that I couldn't see my legs and feet, so I asked my team-teacher if there was water... or blood... on the floor. She saw nothing, so I knew the liquid had to be clear. Thank God.

Thank God, too, that my husband and I taught at the same school, so I sent a student from my English department to the Math department to PLEASE get my husband.

My husband was there in a heartbeat and off we went to the hospital. I was admitted immediately. My husband made all the important calls. His mother said, "I told her not to be going up and down those stairs." And we waited.

And waited.

But it seems that Audrey had changed her mind.

I had contractions all that day, 30 years ago today. But none so alarming that the baby seemed imminent.

At midnight my husband was sent home to rest up for the next day, when I would be induced further.

I remember staring at the night sky and the stars from my hospital window. I knew my little baby was a bit too early to be coming, but I prayed and prayed for a healthy baby. I thought of all the shower gifts that were piled into a corner of the un-prepared nursery. I thought of my dad who had died three years earlier, and who so wanted to be a grandpa. I knew he was smiling from above.

The next morning, May 23, was a spectacular warm and sunny May morning. And I labored that morning, that afternoon... until a cesarean delivery was "ordered."

My husband was allowed into the delivery room with me... and I watched my husband's eyes as he watched our baby be born into this glorious world. And at 5:53 pm our little girl made her beautiful appearance. She weighed 4 lbs. 9 oz. and measured 17 inches. She was the most beautiful baby. She was whisked away for all the necessary premie things... and I woke up a couple of hours later in recovery.

As I opened my eyes, our pediatrician was standing over my bed. He told me that my baby was perfect... and he wanted her name so the nurses could put it in big letters across her incubator.

That moment defined my baby girl. I had thought Allison Audrey was a lovely name. My husband LOVED Audrey Allison. And at that moment, I knew just how loving and special and perfect this daddy was for this perfect little baby girl.

I whispered, "Audrey Allison."

Our Audrey Allison has always loved her name. And each time I say it, I think of my husband's eyes as he watched her come into this world. His first daughter. His first little baby girl.

And I think of my mother-in-law... scolding me for walking up and down those steps on the day of my baby shower.

And guess what? She was still scolding me last night! Ah, yes... we had such a wonderful time talking and smiling and laughing and being scolded about those days when our precious little bundle of joy was making her way to us.

So Audrey... happy almost 30th. 30 years ago today I was thinking of my baby... you!

And thanks, Nana Flo... for all the wonderful memories of that special, special time.

Ahh look at all the lonely people…  Eleanor Rigby/Paul McCartney

I remember back in the ‘80’s, someone coined the phrase “The Me generation.”  Anybody else remember that?  Well, I dunno if all that’s true when you page through the vast and seemingly endless numbers of people self publishing through blogs and see that many have gone uncommented on.

People, young and old, smart and not so smart, poor and not so poor…  every kind of people busting out all over with thoughts and feelings, baring these to the world (or so they think).  So much for the “me” generation.  All these invisible, unreciprocated, un-listened, not-responded-to “me’s” out there just hoping to connect.  What do they all want?  I mean, what do they all really want?

“Well, I’ll tell you want I want, what I really, really want…”  Spice Girls

I want to feel belong.  No… not belonging.  Belong.  Belong feels effortless.  It’s like “Ahhh…”  It feels like always being in a state where giving others joy is not only more important than receiving it yourself, but it does not even come to mind.  No quid quo pro. No expectations.  Automatic-pilot joy in giving.  The upside of this unconscious, unmanufactured, unselfish, un-self-centered, un-me oriented mindset is reciprocity.  Glorious, emotional needs fulfilling, not too hot, not too cold, but just right-- reciprocity. 

I have a sense that people-- that tiny percentage of the human population that is not overly preoccupied with me/ego snuffing daily pursuits like oh, not being car bombed, for example or sleeping through the whistle of scud missiles firing in the night, or picking through hard, cracked, barren soil for a seed to eat, or walking bare foot 20 miles to fetch a pail of water, or battling AIDS, or homelessness, or joblessness-- who have it all just about covered in the life maintenance department-- just want to feel belong.  Not belonging.  I said Belong. 

Like going to work every day.  This is the place I come to every day.  Belong.  Like managing the home and caring for minor children.  Belong.  Like not having to perform because these strangers that you’re lunching with may be a potential new friend.  Belong. Like crying out “Help!  I need somebody.  Help!  Not just anybody.  Help!  You know I need someone.  Help!”*  And it arrives.  Belong.

People are blogging.  People writing more than ever before.  But are people reading? 

“Is there somebody out there?  Is there someone who hears my…?”  Dear God/Midge Ure

This is How it Feels Not To Belong...

*Help!  The Beatles

We’ve only just begun to live White lace and promises
A kiss for luck and we’re on our way
And yes we’ve just begun "The Carpenters"

”A few days later Carroll and I went down to what was once the place I lived. I went inside a grabbed my clothes, a few photos, my two guitars, my other surfboard and I said goodby to La Conchita and the single life.

It wasn’t to long that Carroll and I settled into the lifestyle of a young couple working and pooling our resouces together to sustain a comfortable lifestyle. I was able to buy a car from my friend Steve Padroni who lived at Rincon Point. It was a blue 1968 Rambler American station wagon with a six cylinder engine and an automatic transmission. It also came with a big bright orange bumper sticker that said “NATIVE CALIFORNIANS UNITE” I loved this car it was the perfect surfing vehicle. I continued working at the Plastic Factory. I was working three 12 hour days with four days off. I was also busy one night a week mopping and polishing the floors at Casa Ayala. This allowed me to eat there whenever for free.

Carroll and I had been living in her apartment for about two months under the guise that I was looking for my own place. Which I kinda was. I had checked with a few people in town that were renting rooms or small studios. But whenever I brought these up to Carroll she would get all teary eyed and sad and ask me why I wanted to leave. “Well basically your parents don’t like our arrangement” I told her. “I know” she said “They don’t like the idea of us ”Living in Sin” “OK then I’m looking for my own place so we arn’t living in sin and then your parents won’t be on our case” “Do you really want your own place?” she asked me “Well to be perfectly honest I could live with you forever if your parents didn’t mind.” Really? forever?” “Yeah probably” I said. ”Then lets get married” Gulp! “It would be just like we are now but legal and then my parents would be happy.” “Maybe we could look for our own little place and get out of my apartment.” The wheels in my brain began to turn all the positives and negatives, you know weighing things out. “Humm maybe we could find a little house on or near the water. Do I really think I can make a long term commit... fuck long term, you mean a fuckin lifetime commitment to one women. That was the hard one. ” I don’t know Carroll that's a really big step I gotta think about it.“ “Whats there to think about don’t you love me?” Whoa! now we’re throwing that word out on the table. It had suddenly occurred to me that I had never said “I love you” to her. She had me pinned down with her marriage proposal and the “don’t you love me” thing, a one two punch to the soul. “Of
course I do baby” I blurted out. “But let me think about this and I’ll get back to you OK?” “OK” she harrumphed. We didn’t talk much that evening and I was doing some serious soul searching. But I still thought she was hot!

A week later we were engaged to be married and the planning began with earnest. Carrolls parents were elated to marry their first daughter and they were going to spare no expense. Then about two weeks before our wedding day we found our dream house. We had heard from a friend that a small cottage located on Bates Road was available for rent. Now for those of you that don’t know, Bates Road is a small two lane coastal canyon road that follows Rincon Creek back up into the coastal mountains. It’s the turn off to go to Rincon Point. The small wooden bungalow was located right at the mouth of the canyon on the side of a small hill. It was lush with vegetation like a jungle and all you had to do was walk down to the point to ride world class waves. I was sooo stoked to get that place. I knew this marriage thing was a good idea. We were to move in one week before our wedding day.

The days and weeks flew by and before you knew it the big day was upon us. We got married in the historic Santa Barbara Mission and held the reception at Rockie Nook Park just around the corner. It was just another typical lavish wedding. If you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all. The best part was coming home to our little house on Bates Road.

Talking about things I hate: stupid college projects, their are useless.You work for a week so a teacher can pretend for 5 min that he is examinating you. We don't need no education...or at least not in this manner.

What I like: almost strange peoples wishing you good night from the bottom of their heart :)

http://gawker.com/392686/craigslist-cash+wavers-fury-these-photos-are-mines

Last week I had my first exam in this semester. It was the module I hated the most, it was so complicated, a random mix of numbers, theories and empirical evidence. I like the teacher, he did his best to make me understand. I putted in the work, but I was still struggling. A month ago, I returned to working full time, therefore my revision was late night/early morning reading. I was tired but I was focused, I was determined. I stayed up late into the night, jumped out of bed early in the mornings, sometimes as early as 3.05am. The motivation was to “pass- with flying colours”  I mean, how could I not pass? I had all the information, what can possibly go wrong?

On the day of my exam I felt nervous, I was a mess, anxiety, tiredness and worry. The exam was at 6.00pm! At 5.30pm, I told my non-Muslim study buddy I was going to pray Asr quickly. I hurried away to the prayer room. I started my prayer in a hurry, for the first raka, I picked one of the shortest surah’s. When I got to the sajadah, I was suddenly overcome with guilt. I could not believe I was rushing my prayers for an exam. A bloody useless exam in this dunya was interfering with my prayer, my investment for the future , my worship, my link with Allah. In the four days leading up to the exam, I had swapped my after fajar Islamic reading in preparation for this exam, my thoughts had constantly been on passing this exam that I forgot the biggest one of all.  How sad, how shameful! I contemplated not even attending the damn exam. I made a promise, never AGAIN.  From that moment on I was clam, in fact I did not even care anymore, its importance started to fade. I even got to exam hall late. I did my best, then walked out and did no give it a second thought. Since then I’ve had three others...

Photo by Jorge Casais
(www.olhares.com/Jeici)

Lord, please be with the entire Chapman family as they deal with this unthinkable  and tragic loss.  Wrap your loving arms around the entire family.  Give them your comfort, healing, love, peace, and understanding.  Surround them with people that will hold them up, comfort them, pray with them, lead them, love them, and minister to them as they have ministered to so many of us.  Help them to feel your hope and peace.  Remind them of your unending love and that they can bring their anger, pain, sadness, wonder, and questions to you and that you will answer in your time.  Lord, you know what this family needs right now and I pray that you give that to them.

The nation of Japan faces a devastating population crisis. The crisis, however, is not a problem of too many people living in Japan, but too few. Japan, with several other nations close behind, faces what we might call a population implosion.

Indeed, Japan has experienced 27 consecutive years of declining birth rates. Within just a few short years the nation will experience massive social problems and a complete breakdown of economic activity.

In previous eras, this kind of population loss would be explained by war or some natural catastrophe such as famine or the plague. None of these explanations is relevant to Japan's experience, however. As a matter of fact, the population of Japan actually grew during World War II, only to start falling in the early 1980s.

As The Washington Post reports:

The number of children has declined for 27 consecutive years, a government report said over the weekend. Japan now has fewer children who are 14 or younger than at any time since 1908.

The proportion of children in the population fell to an all-time low of 13.5 percent. That number has been falling for 34 straight years and is the lowest among 31 major countries, according to the report. In the United States, children account for about 20 percent of the population.

Japan also has a surfeit of the elderly. About 22 percent of the population is 65 or older, the highest proportion in the world. And that number is on the rise. By 2020, the elderly will outnumber children by nearly 3 to 1, the government report predicted. By 2040, they will outnumber them by nearly 4 to 1.

The numbers tell the story. Almost a quarter of Japan's population is 65 and older; only 13.5 percent are children. The inescapable conclusion is that there will soon not be enough Japanese to keep Japan functioning as a nation, society, and culture.

The paper calls the reality "a slow-motion demographic catastrophe that is without precedent in the developed world." Looking ahead, the paper assured its readers that it was not overstating the case. Indeed, "The economic and social consequences of these trends are difficult to overstate."

The Japan Center for Economic Research predicts that Japan will lose 70 percent of its workers by mid-century. Japan may now be the world's second-largest economy, but it cannot retain that status with a population in severe decline.

A society that stops having children is like a healthy person who simply decides to starve himself.  This is an act of the human will, not a natural calamity.

The population explosion prophets are still warning of a population crisis to come, but they got the story almost perfectly backward when it comes to nations like Japan.  Russia and several other European nations face similar crises.

Babies are a clear sign of cultural confidence and cultural health.  The Washington Post describes this crisis as "Japan's disappearing children."  Those words do describe Japan's predicament -- and this crisis will not disappear.

Only a few sentences in life are worth hearing -

Only a few sentences in life are worth hearing -

for the rest you could well be deaf as a flower.

Words of love, comfort, compassion;

wonder, wisdom, counsel, healing -

all the rest dissolving into dull oral mud,

smalltalk history sludge - chitter-chatter;

like living near the sea,

this soundtrack, looping -  

holidays/work/shopping/weather/

hairstyles/TV/film/school/cars -

playing from our own mouths,

fleshy ventriloquist dummies,

when your eyes are speaking different

stories – darkness, passion, love, need;

my heart hears but says nothing - fear,

manners, gagging; binding shy hands.

So media trumpets come brassly blazing,

like the annual uprising of first daffodils -

brash, blasting suddenly over the hill, 

all fierce Sunday bonnets, so dazzling;

we hear briefly the annunciation -

revelation of the Human Genome;

shivering, enormous implications,

intimation of galactic enormity -

and the ethereal luminosity,

as moonshine in your hand;

the poetry of it

under the noise.

 ‘The draft genome sequence is a dynamic product, which is regularly updated as additional data accumulate en route to the ultimate goal of a completely finished sequence… it remains an incomplete, intermediate product that is regularly updated as we work towards a complete finished sequence. The current version contains many gaps and errors.’ International Human Genome Sequencing Consortium, Nature, 2001

‘What is the difference between draft sequence and finished sequence? In generating the draft sequence, scientists determined the order of base pairs in each chromosomal area at least 4 to 5 times (4x to 5x) to ensure data accuracy and to help with reassembling DNA fragments in their original order. This repeated sequencing is known as genome "depth of coverage." Draft sequence data are mostly in the form of 10,000 basepair-sized fragments whose approximate chromosomal locations are known.To generate high-quality sequence, additional sequencing is done to close gaps, reduce ambiguities, and allow for only a single error every 10,000 bases, the agreed-upon standard for HGP finished sequence. Investigators believe that a high-quality sequence is critical for recognizing regulatory components of genes that are very important in understanding human biology and such disorders as heart disease, cancer, and diabetes. The finished version provides an estimated 8x to 9x coverage of each chromosome.’ Human Genome Project, US

What if I had only few more month to live? What would I be doing then? Will I be tahe same person I am now knowing I'm going to be dead few month later? This thought never occur to me ... it just came when I watch "The Bucket List". The movie for me sends a lot of message, it make me thinks about life in a very different perspective that I had never thought of! I think I did surprise myself that I could even think this way ...

I am the kind of person who wants to be someone but not myself! I don't know a lot about myself, I just do things because I have to ... not because I wanted to! Its because I use to think if I do things in my own way and it gone wrong, be a mess ... I'm the one in fault. I am afraid to take responsibility for myself, for my life. I just let someone else take the blame for every event in my life that doesn't turn out the way that I wanted to. I'm a bad person in my own term, I really am. If I am in a sad moment or in trouble I will drag others with me too. I am judging myself right now! Though honestly I don't judge most people I first met, I constantly judge myself with everything that I do. I try to be a perfectionist, when I do know that no one in this world can be perfect. Human are made to make mistakes and learn from it!
I am a very very lonely and sad person inside! I am not what you see outside, I am the person inside. Its like a split personality. I'm living two life in one body. I always has another person inside me ... and sometimes I question myself ... who am I???
I don't know if I can change myself for my own sake ... I just know that I will try!! :D ]]>