Gate Tower Building is a 16-story office building in Fukushima-ku, Osaka , Japan . And what makes it notable is the highway that passes through the 5th-7th floors of this building. The highway is part of the Hanshin Expressway, a network (239.3 km) of expressways surrounding Osaka , Kobe and Kyoto , Japan . The Gate Tower Building is Japan 's first building to have a highway pass through it. And it had been nicknamed "beehive" referring to its appearance as a "bustling place". The Umeda Exit of the Ikeda Route of the Hanshin Expressway system passes through this building. The expressway is the tenant of these floors. The elevator doesn't stop on floor 5th-7th, floor 4 being followed by floor 8. These floors consist of elevators, stairways, machinery and other stuff. The highway passes through the building as a bridge, held up by supports next to the building making no contact with the building itself.
The building has a double core construction, with a circular cross section and special care is taken by providing surrounded structure to the highway to protect the building from noise and vibration. Generally expressways are built underground, and passing through a building is an extremely rare occasion. It dates back to 1983, when the redevelopment of this area was decided upon, "building permits were refused because the highway was already being planned to be built over this land. The property rights' holders refused to give up, and negotiated with the Hanshin Expressway corporation for approximately 5 years to reach the current solution."
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Blonde flight to Melbourne
A plane is on its way to Melbourne when a blonde in Economy Class gets up and moves to the First Class section and sits down.
The flight attendant watches her do this and asks to see her Ticket.
She then tells the blonde passenger that she paid for Economy and that she will have to go and sit in the back The blonde replies, 'I'm blonde, I'm beautiful, I'm going to Melbourne and I'm staying right here!'
The flight attendant goes into the cockpit and tells the pilot and co-pilot that there is some blonde bimbo sitting in First Class that belongs in Economy and won't move back to her seat.
The co-pilot goes back to the blonde and tries to explain that because she only paid for Economy she is only entitled to an Economy place and she will have to leave and return to her original seat.
The blonde replies, I'm blonde, I'm beautiful, I'm going to Melbourne and I'm staying right here!
Exasperated the co-pilot tells the pilot that it was no use.
And that he probably should have the police waiting when they land to arrest this blonde woman that won't listen to reason.
The pilot says, 'You say she's blonde?' 'I'll handle this, I'm married to a blonde, and I speak blonde!'
He goes back to the blonde, whispers in her ear, and she says, "Oh I'm sorry; I had no idea," gets up and moves back to her seat in the economy section.
The flight attendant and co-pilot are amazed and asked him what he said to make her move without any fuss.
The pilot replied, "I told her First Class isn't going to Melbourne."
The flight attendant watches her do this and asks to see her Ticket.
She then tells the blonde passenger that she paid for Economy and that she will have to go and sit in the back The blonde replies, 'I'm blonde, I'm beautiful, I'm going to Melbourne and I'm staying right here!'
The flight attendant goes into the cockpit and tells the pilot and co-pilot that there is some blonde bimbo sitting in First Class that belongs in Economy and won't move back to her seat.
The co-pilot goes back to the blonde and tries to explain that because she only paid for Economy she is only entitled to an Economy place and she will have to leave and return to her original seat.
The blonde replies, I'm blonde, I'm beautiful, I'm going to Melbourne and I'm staying right here!
Exasperated the co-pilot tells the pilot that it was no use.
And that he probably should have the police waiting when they land to arrest this blonde woman that won't listen to reason.
The pilot says, 'You say she's blonde?' 'I'll handle this, I'm married to a blonde, and I speak blonde!'
He goes back to the blonde, whispers in her ear, and she says, "Oh I'm sorry; I had no idea," gets up and moves back to her seat in the economy section.
The flight attendant and co-pilot are amazed and asked him what he said to make her move without any fuss.
The pilot replied, "I told her First Class isn't going to Melbourne."
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Robby's Night
A True Story Worth Reading.
At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines , Iowa . I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability.. I've never had the pleasure of having a prodigy though I have taught some talented students.
However I've also had my share of what I call 'musically challenged' pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby.
But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel but he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.
Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, 'My mom's going to hear me play someday.' But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.
Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons.
I thought about calling him but assumed because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue sometng else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital.. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mother had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing 'Miss Hondorf, I've just got to play!' he insisted.
I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for the recital came . The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my 'curtain closer.'
Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed, then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through it. 'Why didn't he dress up like the other students?' I thought. 'Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?'
Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo. From allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause.
Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. 'I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it? '
Through the microphone Robby explained: 'Well, Miss Hondorf, Remember I told you my Mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning and well. .. She was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special.'
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.
No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy . Prodigy Of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil for it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.
Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995.
At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines , Iowa . I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability.. I've never had the pleasure of having a prodigy though I have taught some talented students.
However I've also had my share of what I call 'musically challenged' pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby.
But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel but he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.
Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, 'My mom's going to hear me play someday.' But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.
Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons.
I thought about calling him but assumed because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue sometng else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital.. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mother had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing 'Miss Hondorf, I've just got to play!' he insisted.
I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for the recital came . The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my 'curtain closer.'
Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed, then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through it. 'Why didn't he dress up like the other students?' I thought. 'Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?'
Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo. From allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause.
Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. 'I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it? '
Through the microphone Robby explained: 'Well, Miss Hondorf, Remember I told you my Mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning and well. .. She was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special.'
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.
No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy . Prodigy Of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil for it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.
Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Malaysian Indian Dilemma
Ever wonder why there is an Hindraf movement. Thought there isn't much statistic published but Malaysian Indian are becoming a minority and the forgotten people.
Indian are brought to Malaysia during the British colonial to start up rubber plantation in Malaysia. Some brought in to become administrative clerk or civil servant for the British. The British first rule the India only later that they came to Malaysia.
Indian in that work in the British Administration later become professional of today Malaysian Indian. Though that is rich like doctors, lawyers, accountants etc. But those laborer of the rubber plantation are not so fortunate. They are those that often being look down become security guards, cleaners, garbage collectors, road sweepers, office boys, lorry drivers, taxi drivers or as a last resort indulge in gangsterism, crime.
After the independent, our country at first are still a major rubber producer. This Indian who work for generation at the estate still have a home and jobs. But as our country progress, their rubber estate are converting to palm oil. Palm oil does not require as much labor compare to rubber which must be tapped everyday. Those these poor Indian are force out.
Their education level and skilled are low. Therefore little choice of job are available to them. Our country implement the New Economic Policy which favor the Malay, cause these Indian to be further marginalize.
The Indian population is getting smaller a mere 7.0% compare 11.5% in 1957. Soon they will be less than 5% and be like a minority like the orang asli. Our country would not be what is it if not for rubber. Remember that!
Indian are brought to Malaysia during the British colonial to start up rubber plantation in Malaysia. Some brought in to become administrative clerk or civil servant for the British. The British first rule the India only later that they came to Malaysia.
Indian in that work in the British Administration later become professional of today Malaysian Indian. Though that is rich like doctors, lawyers, accountants etc. But those laborer of the rubber plantation are not so fortunate. They are those that often being look down become security guards, cleaners, garbage collectors, road sweepers, office boys, lorry drivers, taxi drivers or as a last resort indulge in gangsterism, crime.
After the independent, our country at first are still a major rubber producer. This Indian who work for generation at the estate still have a home and jobs. But as our country progress, their rubber estate are converting to palm oil. Palm oil does not require as much labor compare to rubber which must be tapped everyday. Those these poor Indian are force out.
Their education level and skilled are low. Therefore little choice of job are available to them. Our country implement the New Economic Policy which favor the Malay, cause these Indian to be further marginalize.
The Indian population is getting smaller a mere 7.0% compare 11.5% in 1957. Soon they will be less than 5% and be like a minority like the orang asli. Our country would not be what is it if not for rubber. Remember that!
Michael Polakovs
The creator of the Ronald McDonald die on December 6, 2009 at the age of 86 years. He was hired by MacDonald in 1966 to create the character Ronal McDonald. He designed Ronald’s clown-face features, chose the canary-yellow jumpsuit and gave him big red shoes and striped socks to reflect the colors of the restaurant. He appeared in the first eight television commercials that featured the character.
Also popular as Coco the Clown - Michael Polakovs.
Also popular as Coco the Clown - Michael Polakovs.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sani Express Bus Accident 10 Killed
Headline of road accidents are often report especially there is a long weekend or festival holiday. When everyone go back to their hometown or for vacation. The biggest new of the week 10 people killed when an Express bus skidded and ram into the side railing
Reported in the Star
It is very sad to hear such news. Especially the first one that can be prevented. A rickless driver that sleepy cause 10 innocents people killed.
He should be prosecuted by the laws.
Driver let it be bus driver, taxi driver and others has a heavy responsibility. It is not only their live are at stack but those they carried.
Reported in the Star
Driver Mohd Kamil Mohd Ra shid was feeling sleepy as his bus was leaving the Tapah rest area.
He had planned to have his co-driver take over at the next stop — the Sungai Perak rest area.
They never made it that far.
The double-decker express bus skidded and crashed into a road divi der, killing 10 passengers less than an hour later, just 5km before the Jelapang toll plaza.
...
The double-decker bus, owned by the Klang-based Sani Express Sdn Bhd, skidded before hitting a road divider at the 272nd kilometre stretch of the the North-South Express way at 1am yesterday.
All the 10 victims were seated on the lower deck of the bus, which departed from Klang at 9pm on Friday for Kangar in Perlis with 48 passengers.
He had planned to have his co-driver take over at the next stop — the Sungai Perak rest area.
They never made it that far.
The double-decker express bus skidded and crashed into a road divi der, killing 10 passengers less than an hour later, just 5km before the Jelapang toll plaza.
...
The double-decker bus, owned by the Klang-based Sani Express Sdn Bhd, skidded before hitting a road divider at the 272nd kilometre stretch of the the North-South Express way at 1am yesterday.
All the 10 victims were seated on the lower deck of the bus, which departed from Klang at 9pm on Friday for Kangar in Perlis with 48 passengers.
It is very sad to hear such news. Especially the first one that can be prevented. A rickless driver that sleepy cause 10 innocents people killed.
He should be prosecuted by the laws.
Driver let it be bus driver, taxi driver and others has a heavy responsibility. It is not only their live are at stack but those they carried.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Stamp
Our great leader wanted a special postage stamp issued with his picture on it. So, he instructed his people, stressing that it should be of international quality.
The stamps were duly released and he was pleased.
But within a few days of release of the stamp, he began hearing complaints that the stamp was not sticking properly, and he became furious.
He called the people responsible and ordered them to investigate the matter. They checked the matter out at several post offices, and then reported the problem to the politician.
The report said, "There is nothing wrong with the quality of the stamp. The problem is people are spitting on the wrong side."
The stamps were duly released and he was pleased.
But within a few days of release of the stamp, he began hearing complaints that the stamp was not sticking properly, and he became furious.
He called the people responsible and ordered them to investigate the matter. They checked the matter out at several post offices, and then reported the problem to the politician.
The report said, "There is nothing wrong with the quality of the stamp. The problem is people are spitting on the wrong side."
The Pride of King Cobra
Once there lived a king cobra in a small hole. When he was small he ate little creatures. As he grew up he began to eat eggs, lizards, frogs and rabbits. And when he grew up further he started to eat even other smaller snakes. His pride grew with him.
All small animals began to fear the king cobra. This boosted up his pride. He began to think "Now I am the most powerful creature. I am the king of the forest. All animals fear me. Let me move from this small hole to a bigger place".
He searched for a place to suit his size and status.
Finally he came across a big tree. He selected the tree for his house. He saw an ant hill near the tree.
He thought "Why should there be an ugly ant hill near my royal house?" He hissed aloud "I am king Cobra, the king of the forest. I order the ants to vacate immediately". There was no reply. He got wild and struck at the ant hill.
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
A little pride is good for encouragement but too much of it will only see us falls like the King Cobra
What a surprise! In a minute thousands of ants swarmed up the king cobra biting him everywhere. The king cobra could not bear the pain. He ran away.
All small animals began to fear the king cobra. This boosted up his pride. He began to think "Now I am the most powerful creature. I am the king of the forest. All animals fear me. Let me move from this small hole to a bigger place".
He searched for a place to suit his size and status.
Finally he came across a big tree. He selected the tree for his house. He saw an ant hill near the tree.
He thought "Why should there be an ugly ant hill near my royal house?" He hissed aloud "I am king Cobra, the king of the forest. I order the ants to vacate immediately". There was no reply. He got wild and struck at the ant hill.
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
A little pride is good for encouragement but too much of it will only see us falls like the King Cobra
What a surprise! In a minute thousands of ants swarmed up the king cobra biting him everywhere. The king cobra could not bear the pain. He ran away.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Poor Man's Wealth
Ramchand and Premchand were neighbours. Ramchand was a poor farmer. Premchand was a landlord.
Ramchand used to be very relaxed and happy. He never bothered to close the doors and windows of his house at night. He had deep sound sleeps. Although he had no money he was peaceful.
Premchand used to be very tense always. He was very keen to close the doors and windows of his house at night. He could not sleep well. He was always bothered that someone might break open his safes and steal away his money. He envied the peaceful Ramchand.
One day, Premchand call Ramchand and gave him a boxful of cash saying, “Look my dear friend. I am blessed with plenty of wealth. I find you in poverty. So, take this cash and live in prosperity.”
Ramchand was overwhelmingly happy. He was joyful throughout the day. Night came. Ramchand went to bed as usual. But, to-day, he could not sleep. He went and closed the doors and windows. He still could not sleep. He began to keep on looking at the box of cash. The whole night he was disturbed.
As soon as day broke, Ramchand took the box of cash to Premchand. He gave away the box to Premchand saying, “Dear Friend, I am poor. But, your money took away peace from me. Please bear with me and take back your money.”
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
Money does not buy everything. The poor man at least has his peace of mind - good sleep.
Ramchand used to be very relaxed and happy. He never bothered to close the doors and windows of his house at night. He had deep sound sleeps. Although he had no money he was peaceful.
Premchand used to be very tense always. He was very keen to close the doors and windows of his house at night. He could not sleep well. He was always bothered that someone might break open his safes and steal away his money. He envied the peaceful Ramchand.
One day, Premchand call Ramchand and gave him a boxful of cash saying, “Look my dear friend. I am blessed with plenty of wealth. I find you in poverty. So, take this cash and live in prosperity.”
Ramchand was overwhelmingly happy. He was joyful throughout the day. Night came. Ramchand went to bed as usual. But, to-day, he could not sleep. He went and closed the doors and windows. He still could not sleep. He began to keep on looking at the box of cash. The whole night he was disturbed.
As soon as day broke, Ramchand took the box of cash to Premchand. He gave away the box to Premchand saying, “Dear Friend, I am poor. But, your money took away peace from me. Please bear with me and take back your money.”
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
Money does not buy everything. The poor man at least has his peace of mind - good sleep.
Human Resource Manager
Human Resources Manager was tragically hit by a bus and she died. Her soul arrived up in heaven where she was met at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter himself.
"Welcome to Heaven," said St. Peter. "Before you get settled in though, it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a Human Resources Manager make it this far and we're not really sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," said the woman.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind, I prefer to stay in Heaven", said the woman
"Sorry, we have rules..." and with that St. Peter put the executive in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell.
The doors opened and she found herself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of her were all her friends - fellow executives that she had worked with and they were well dressed in evening gowns and cheering for her. They ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where she enjoyed an excellent steak and lobster dinner.
She met the Devil who was actually a really nice guy (kind of cute) and she had a great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having such a good time that before she knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand and waved goodbye as she got on the elevator.
The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and found St. Peter waiting for her.
"Now it's time to spend a day in heaven," he said. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing. She had great time and before she knew it her 24 hours were up and St. Peter came and got her.
"So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent a day in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity,"
The woman paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in Hell."
So St. Peter escorted her to the elevator and again she went down-down-down back to Hell.
When the doors of the elevator opened she found herself standing in a desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. She saw her friends were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks.
The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"I don't understand," stammered the woman, "yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland of garbage and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at her smiled and told, "Yesterday we were recruiting you, today you're an Employee"
"Welcome to Heaven," said St. Peter. "Before you get settled in though, it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a Human Resources Manager make it this far and we're not really sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," said the woman.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind, I prefer to stay in Heaven", said the woman
"Sorry, we have rules..." and with that St. Peter put the executive in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell.
The doors opened and she found herself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of her were all her friends - fellow executives that she had worked with and they were well dressed in evening gowns and cheering for her. They ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where she enjoyed an excellent steak and lobster dinner.
She met the Devil who was actually a really nice guy (kind of cute) and she had a great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having such a good time that before she knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand and waved goodbye as she got on the elevator.
The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and found St. Peter waiting for her.
"Now it's time to spend a day in heaven," he said. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing. She had great time and before she knew it her 24 hours were up and St. Peter came and got her.
"So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent a day in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity,"
The woman paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in Hell."
So St. Peter escorted her to the elevator and again she went down-down-down back to Hell.
When the doors of the elevator opened she found herself standing in a desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. She saw her friends were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks.
The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"I don't understand," stammered the woman, "yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland of garbage and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at her smiled and told, "Yesterday we were recruiting you, today you're an Employee"
Friday, December 25, 2009
Polish's English
A Polish man moved to the USA and married an American girl. Although his English was far from perfect, they got along very well until one day he rushed to a lawyer's office and tells the lawyer to prepare a divorce.
Lawyer: Have you any grounds for divorce?
Polish man: Yes, an acre and half and nice little home.
Lawyer: No. I mean, what is the foundation of this case?
Polish man.: It is made of concrete.
Lawyer: I don't think you understand. Does either of you have a real grudge?
Polish man: Garage? No, we have carport, and not need one.
Lawyer: I mean, what are your relations like?
Polish man: All my relations still in Poland.
Lawyer: Is there any infidelity in your marriage?
Polish man: We have hi-fidelity and good DVD player.
Lawyer: Does your wife beat you up?
Polish man: No, I always up before her.
Lawyer: Is your wife a nagger?
Polish man: No, she white.
Lawyer: Why do you want this divorce?
Polish man: She going to kill me!
Lawyer: What makes you think that?
Polish man: I got proof.
Lawyer: What kind of proof?
Polish man: She going to poison me. She buys a bottle at drugstore and put on shelf in bathroom. I can read, and it says: “Polish Remover”.
Lawyer: Have you any grounds for divorce?
Polish man: Yes, an acre and half and nice little home.
Lawyer: No. I mean, what is the foundation of this case?
Polish man.: It is made of concrete.
Lawyer: I don't think you understand. Does either of you have a real grudge?
Polish man: Garage? No, we have carport, and not need one.
Lawyer: I mean, what are your relations like?
Polish man: All my relations still in Poland.
Lawyer: Is there any infidelity in your marriage?
Polish man: We have hi-fidelity and good DVD player.
Lawyer: Does your wife beat you up?
Polish man: No, I always up before her.
Lawyer: Is your wife a nagger?
Polish man: No, she white.
Lawyer: Why do you want this divorce?
Polish man: She going to kill me!
Lawyer: What makes you think that?
Polish man: I got proof.
Lawyer: What kind of proof?
Polish man: She going to poison me. She buys a bottle at drugstore and put on shelf in bathroom. I can read, and it says: “Polish Remover”.
How many crows are there?
Emperor Akbar was in the habit of putting riddles and puzzles to his courtiers. He often asked questions which were strange and witty. It took much wisdom to answer these questions.
Once he asked a very strange question. The courtiers were dumb folded by his question.
Akbar glanced at his courtiers. As he looked, one by one the heads began to hang low in search of an answer. It was at this moment that Birbal entered the courtyard. Birbal who knew the nature of the emperor quickly grasped the situation and asked, "May I know the question so that I can try for an answer".
Akbar said, "How many crows are there in this city?"
Without even a moment's thought, Birbal replied "There are fifty thousand five hundred and eighty nine crows, my lord".
"How can you be so sure?” asked Akbar.
Birbal said, "Make you men count, My lord. If you find more crows it means some have come to visit their relatives here. If you find less number of crows it means some have gone to visit their relatives elsewhere".
Akbar was pleased very much by Birbal's wit.
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
Sometimes a witty answer will serve its purpose.
Once he asked a very strange question. The courtiers were dumb folded by his question.
Akbar glanced at his courtiers. As he looked, one by one the heads began to hang low in search of an answer. It was at this moment that Birbal entered the courtyard. Birbal who knew the nature of the emperor quickly grasped the situation and asked, "May I know the question so that I can try for an answer".
Akbar said, "How many crows are there in this city?"
Without even a moment's thought, Birbal replied "There are fifty thousand five hundred and eighty nine crows, my lord".
"How can you be so sure?” asked Akbar.
Birbal said, "Make you men count, My lord. If you find more crows it means some have come to visit their relatives here. If you find less number of crows it means some have gone to visit their relatives elsewhere".
Akbar was pleased very much by Birbal's wit.
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
Sometimes a witty answer will serve its purpose.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
RMAF Loss 50 Million F-5E Engine
The most recent breaking news in Malaysia - our air force (RMAF) lost two jet engine when the sent for maintenance. Two jet engine for F-5E that cost RM 50 million
Now it is reported by the Star on 24 December 2009
Wow! Argentina! Half a globe away. Those who steal it definitely have connection. Military engine not normal car engine been exported without notice.
In the New Straits Times on 22 December 2009
Attorney-General Tan Sri Abdul Gani Patail said the two engines were discovered stolen in May last year. RMAF had lodged a report with the police on Aug 4 last year.
Stolen last year, but is know by the Public this year. And it seems actions only start from now.
Report in the Star on 22 December 2009
There is no cover-up of the theft and sale of the RM50mil fighter jet engine last year, said Prime Minister Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak.
He said the Defence Ministry and Royal Malaysia Air Force reported the theft to the police immediately after it was discovered and co-operated fully with the authorities to ensure that the matter was thoroughly investigated.
“To the credit of RMAF and Mindef, there was no intention of covering up (the theft) at all. I was the minister in charge at the time and I decided it should be reported to the police.
“Mindef took the position that we have to address this and take the necessary action, even criminal action, against those involved,” he told reporters after a special meeting with the Malaysian Industry-Government Group for High Technology and chairing the Malaysian Aerospace Council meeting yesterday.
.....It was reported that a brigadier-general and 40 other armed forces personnel had been sacked over the incident.
.....On why the brigadier-general continued to receive his pension and other retirement benefits despite having been sacked, Najib said such decisions would depend on the wrong that was committed and that it would be up to the armed forces to decide.
Yet our PM said there is no cover up. He was the Defence Minister that time. What happens from August 4 2008 to recently? Either he was sleeping, or the Police and MINDEF was sleeping.
Report by Bernama on 21 December 2009
Why we need more than 16 jet where we need 7 for tactical mission? No wonder when it lost we cannot immediate know. The most 8 or 9 jets is sufficient.
Report by the Star on 22 December 2009
Earlier our Defence Minister said low-ranking officer do it. Next he what to take actions against those high rank officer. It seems our Defence Minister do not know about it. He must sleeping too.
I do not know what is going wrong but I definite think we will never get to the Truth
Now it is reported by the Star on 24 December 2009
It is learnt the General Electric J85-21A afterburner turbojet engines (the power plant for the single-seater F-5E Tiger 11 and RF-5E Tigereye) were shipped off from Port Klang to a third country before ending up in Argentina.
All documents on the sale and shipping of the parts are said to be originals.
It is believed that the engines are in the possession of an individual. A quick search over the Internet revealed that the Argentina military does not use the F-5E Tiger 11 and RF-5E Tigereye.
The missing jet engines have been “found” — they are in Argentina. All documents on the sale and shipping of the parts are said to be originals.
It is believed that the engines are in the possession of an individual. A quick search over the Internet revealed that the Argentina military does not use the F-5E Tiger 11 and RF-5E Tigereye.
Wow! Argentina! Half a globe away. Those who steal it definitely have connection. Military engine not normal car engine been exported without notice.
In the New Straits Times on 22 December 2009
Attorney-General Tan Sri Abdul Gani Patail said the two engines were discovered stolen in May last year. RMAF had lodged a report with the police on Aug 4 last year.
Report in the Star on 22 December 2009
There is no cover-up of the theft and sale of the RM50mil fighter jet engine last year, said Prime Minister Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak.
He said the Defence Ministry and Royal Malaysia Air Force reported the theft to the police immediately after it was discovered and co-operated fully with the authorities to ensure that the matter was thoroughly investigated.
“To the credit of RMAF and Mindef, there was no intention of covering up (the theft) at all. I was the minister in charge at the time and I decided it should be reported to the police.
“Mindef took the position that we have to address this and take the necessary action, even criminal action, against those involved,” he told reporters after a special meeting with the Malaysian Industry-Government Group for High Technology and chairing the Malaysian Aerospace Council meeting yesterday.
.....It was reported that a brigadier-general and 40 other armed forces personnel had been sacked over the incident.
.....On why the brigadier-general continued to receive his pension and other retirement benefits despite having been sacked, Najib said such decisions would depend on the wrong that was committed and that it would be up to the armed forces to decide.
Yet our PM said there is no cover up. He was the Defence Minister that time. What happens from August 4 2008 to recently? Either he was sleeping, or the Police and MINDEF was sleeping.
Report by Bernama on 21 December 2009
The Royal Malaysian Air Force (RMAF) 12th Squadron (Scorpion) at the Butterworth air base, where the F-5E jet fighters are based, is operating as usual despite being linked to the loss of one of the jet engine, Armed Forces chief Gen Tan Sri Azizan Ariffin said.
"The missing jet engine does not affect RMAF operations because we have more than 16 F-5E jets and only seven are used for tactical missions," he told reporters after the annual parade and prize giving at the Royal Military College here Monday.
"The missing jet engine does not affect RMAF operations because we have more than 16 F-5E jets and only seven are used for tactical missions," he told reporters after the annual parade and prize giving at the Royal Military College here Monday.
Why we need more than 16 jet where we need 7 for tactical mission? No wonder when it lost we cannot immediate know. The most 8 or 9 jets is sufficient.
Report by the Star on 22 December 2009
Action will be taken against high-ranking officers overseeing the Royal Malaysian Air Force (RMAF) fighter jet at the time when its RM50mil engines were stolen, said Defence Minister Datuk Seri Dr Ahmad Zahid Hamidi.
He said the action to be taken will be decided during the next meeting of the Malaysian Armed Forces Council of which he was the chairman.
On 20 Dec 2009 from the StarHe said the action to be taken will be decided during the next meeting of the Malaysian Armed Forces Council of which he was the chairman.
Defence Minister Datuk Seri Dr Ahmad Zahid Hamidi said that a group of low-ranking officers were in cahoots with civilians in the well- planned theft and sale of the RM50mil engine.
Zahid said the thieves had sold the engine to an international company based in South America which was believed to have hired an agent to bring it out of the country.
“The international company was interested in buying the engine because it was cheap as it was categorised as faulty spare part and was to be under repairs.
Zahid said the thieves had sold the engine to an international company based in South America which was believed to have hired an agent to bring it out of the country.
“The international company was interested in buying the engine because it was cheap as it was categorised as faulty spare part and was to be under repairs.
Earlier our Defence Minister said low-ranking officer do it. Next he what to take actions against those high rank officer. It seems our Defence Minister do not know about it. He must sleeping too.
I do not know what is going wrong but I definite think we will never get to the Truth
Curtain for Window
A blonde goes into a store that sells curtains. She tells the salesman, "I would like to buy a pair of pink curtains." The salesman assured her that they had a large selection of pink curtains. He showed her several patterns,but the blonde seemed to be having a hard time choosing.
Finally, she selects a lovely pink floral print.
The salesman asked what size curtains she needed.
The blonde replies, "Fifteen inches."
"Fifteen inches??", asked the salesman, "that sounds very small. What room are they for?" The blonde says, "Oh, they are not for any room - they are for my computer monitor."
The surprised salesman replies, "But, Miss, computers do not have curtains."
The blonde says, " Hellooooooooo - I've got Windows."
Finally, she selects a lovely pink floral print.
The salesman asked what size curtains she needed.
The blonde replies, "Fifteen inches."
"Fifteen inches??", asked the salesman, "that sounds very small. What room are they for?" The blonde says, "Oh, they are not for any room - they are for my computer monitor."
The surprised salesman replies, "But, Miss, computers do not have curtains."
The blonde says, " Hellooooooooo - I've got Windows."
Hakim - the Beggar
Once upon a time there is a beggar named Hakim. He heard that the King was to pass by his place. The king was known for his generosity to part with expensive jewels and huge sums of money when moved by compassion tale of his subject.
He saw the king's chariot just as a kind young woman was filling his begging bowl with uncooked rice. Hakim quickly pushing the woman aside, he ran into the street, shouting praises of his king and the royal family.
The chariot stopped and the king beckoned to the beggar.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"One of the most unfortunate of your subjects," said the beggar. "Poverty sits on my doorstep and follows me about like a dog. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon!"
"Have you nothing for your king except a tale of woe?" said the ruler, putting out his hand. "Give me something."
The miserly beggar, astonished, carefully picked up 5 grains of rice from his bowl and laid them on the king's outstretched palm.
The king drove away. Hakim is disappoint as he raved, ranted and cursed the king again and again for his miserliness. Finally, his anger spent, he went on his rounds begging.
When he returned home in the evening he found a bag of rice on the floor.
"Some generous soul has been here," he thought and took out a handful of rice from the bag. To his astonishment there was a small piece of gold in it. He realized then that the bag had been sent by the king. He emptied the rice on the floor, feeling sure there would be more gold pieces in it, and he was right. He found 5, one for each grain of rice he had given the king.
"It is not the king who has been miserly," thought the man, sadly. "If I had been generous and given him the whole bowl of rice, I would have been a rich man today."
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
Sometimes we are like Hakim expected too much. Yet felt miserable for it. Do not feel bad until the end. There are fairy tale end it is up to you to realize it
He saw the king's chariot just as a kind young woman was filling his begging bowl with uncooked rice. Hakim quickly pushing the woman aside, he ran into the street, shouting praises of his king and the royal family.
The chariot stopped and the king beckoned to the beggar.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"One of the most unfortunate of your subjects," said the beggar. "Poverty sits on my doorstep and follows me about like a dog. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon!"
"Have you nothing for your king except a tale of woe?" said the ruler, putting out his hand. "Give me something."
The miserly beggar, astonished, carefully picked up 5 grains of rice from his bowl and laid them on the king's outstretched palm.
The king drove away. Hakim is disappoint as he raved, ranted and cursed the king again and again for his miserliness. Finally, his anger spent, he went on his rounds begging.
When he returned home in the evening he found a bag of rice on the floor.
"Some generous soul has been here," he thought and took out a handful of rice from the bag. To his astonishment there was a small piece of gold in it. He realized then that the bag had been sent by the king. He emptied the rice on the floor, feeling sure there would be more gold pieces in it, and he was right. He found 5, one for each grain of rice he had given the king.
"It is not the king who has been miserly," thought the man, sadly. "If I had been generous and given him the whole bowl of rice, I would have been a rich man today."
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
Sometimes we are like Hakim expected too much. Yet felt miserable for it. Do not feel bad until the end. There are fairy tale end it is up to you to realize it
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Furuncular Myiasis
Published on 29 February 2004 in Pub Med Center by Charles Adeyinka Adisa1 and Augustus Mbanaso1, a very unique case a infestation on the breast of a 70 year old Nigerian lady in Aba. The larva of Tumbu fly (Cordylobia anthropophaga) infested her right breast. Below photos
This Nigerian lady is believe to hang her cloth at a cloth line near the bush and does not iron them before wearing them. Her village is known area of Tumbu fly endemic.
Here is the video when the larvae are been removed
Source
This Nigerian lady is believe to hang her cloth at a cloth line near the bush and does not iron them before wearing them. Her village is known area of Tumbu fly endemic.
Here is the video when the larvae are been removed
Source
The Last Cab Ride
A true story by Kent Nerburn
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
“Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice.
I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”
“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”
“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”
I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
“I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You have to make a living,” she answered.
“There are other passengers.”
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
“Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice.
I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”
“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”
“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”
I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
“I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You have to make a living,” she answered.
“There are other passengers.”
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
Depressed Man's Drink
There's a man sitting at a bar just looking at his drink. He sat there for more than half an hour, very depressed. Then, a big bully truck driver steps next to him, takes the drink from the guy, and just drinks it all down.
The poor man starts crying. The truck driver says, "Come on man, I was just joking. Here, I'll buy you another drink. I just can't stand seeing a man crying."
"No, it's not that. This day is the worst of my life. First, I fall asleep, and I'm late to my office. My boss, in an outrage, fires me. When I leave the building to my car, I found out it was stolen. The police say they can do nothing. I get a cab to return home and when I leave it, I remember I left my wallet and credit cards there. The cab driver just drives away. I go home and when I get there, I find my wife sleeping with the gardener. I leave home and come to this bar. And when I was thinking about putting an end to my life, you show up and drink my poison."
The poor man starts crying. The truck driver says, "Come on man, I was just joking. Here, I'll buy you another drink. I just can't stand seeing a man crying."
"No, it's not that. This day is the worst of my life. First, I fall asleep, and I'm late to my office. My boss, in an outrage, fires me. When I leave the building to my car, I found out it was stolen. The police say they can do nothing. I get a cab to return home and when I leave it, I remember I left my wallet and credit cards there. The cab driver just drives away. I go home and when I get there, I find my wife sleeping with the gardener. I leave home and come to this bar. And when I was thinking about putting an end to my life, you show up and drink my poison."
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
150m-long skylight comes crashing down at new bus terminal
150m-long skylight comes crashing down at new bus terminal
By R.S.N. MURALI and M. AZHAR ARIFF
Terminal gone bust: Shattered glass are strewn all over the soon-to-be-opened bus terminal after the 150m-long roof came crashing down. — M. AZHAR ARIF / The Star
Unsafe zone: What’s left of the collapsed skylight reflector of the bus terminal in Kuala Berang.
KUALA BERANG: Another roof of a public building has collapsed in Terengganu, just six months after the roof of the state’s main stadium gave way.
Yesterday, the 150m-long glass roof of the soon-to-be-opened express bus and taxi terminal here collapsed, sending hundreds of sheets of glass crashing down. Read More
Yesterday, the 150m-long glass roof of the soon-to-be-opened express bus and taxi terminal here collapsed, sending hundreds of sheets of glass crashing down. Read More
Sultan Mizan Zainal Abidin Stadium
Related
Four workers injured in collapse
Odd Excuses
The General went out to find that none of his G.I.s were there. One finally ran up, panting heavily.
"Sorry, sir! I can explain, you see I had a date and it ran a little late. I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but it broke down, found a farm, bought a horse but it dropped dead, ran 10 miles, and now I'm here."
The General was very skeptical about this explanation but at least he was here so he let the G.I. go. Moments later, eight more G.I.s came up to the general panting, he asked them why they were late.
"Sorry, sir! I had a date and it ran a little late, I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but it broke down, found a farm, bought a horse but it dropped dead, ran 10 miles, and now I'm here."
The General eyed them, feeling very skeptical but since he let the first guy go, he let them go, too. A ninth G.I. jogged up to the General, panting heavily.
"Sorry, sir! I had a date and it ran a little late, I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but..."
"Let me guess," the General interrupted, "it broke down."
"No," said the G.I., "there were so many dead horses in the road, it took forever to get around them."
"Sorry, sir! I can explain, you see I had a date and it ran a little late. I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but it broke down, found a farm, bought a horse but it dropped dead, ran 10 miles, and now I'm here."
The General was very skeptical about this explanation but at least he was here so he let the G.I. go. Moments later, eight more G.I.s came up to the general panting, he asked them why they were late.
"Sorry, sir! I had a date and it ran a little late, I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but it broke down, found a farm, bought a horse but it dropped dead, ran 10 miles, and now I'm here."
The General eyed them, feeling very skeptical but since he let the first guy go, he let them go, too. A ninth G.I. jogged up to the General, panting heavily.
"Sorry, sir! I had a date and it ran a little late, I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but..."
"Let me guess," the General interrupted, "it broke down."
"No," said the G.I., "there were so many dead horses in the road, it took forever to get around them."
Don't hope - decide
While waiting to pick up a friend at the airport in Portland, Oregon, I had one of those life-changing experiences that you hear other people talk about — the kind that sneaks up on you unexpectedly. This one occurred a mere two feet away from me.
Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the jet way, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.
First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other’s face, I heard the father say, “It’s so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!” His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, “Me, too, Dad!”
Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten) and while cupping his son’s face in his hands said, “You’re already quite the young man. I love you very much, Zach!” They too hugged a most loving, tender hug.
While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was squirming excitedly in her mother’s arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, “Hi, baby girl!” as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.
After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared, “I’ve saved the best for last!” and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed. “I love you so much!” They stared at each other’s eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands.
For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn’t possibly be. I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm’s length away from me.
I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, “Wow! How long have you two been married?
“Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those.” he replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife’s face.
“Well then, how long have you been away?” I asked. The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile. “Two whole days!”
Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he’d been gone for at least several weeks – if not months. I know my expression betrayed me. I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), “I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!”
The man suddenly stopped smiling. He looked me straight in the eye, and with forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a different person.
He told me, “Don’t hope, friend… decide!” Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, “God bless!”
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
To leave happily and passionately with your family is shouldn't be a hope. It is you that decide it. Spend more time and you will notice that you miss them even for a day.
Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the jet way, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.
First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other’s face, I heard the father say, “It’s so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!” His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, “Me, too, Dad!”
Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten) and while cupping his son’s face in his hands said, “You’re already quite the young man. I love you very much, Zach!” They too hugged a most loving, tender hug.
While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was squirming excitedly in her mother’s arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, “Hi, baby girl!” as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.
After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared, “I’ve saved the best for last!” and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed. “I love you so much!” They stared at each other’s eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands.
For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn’t possibly be. I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm’s length away from me.
I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, “Wow! How long have you two been married?
“Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those.” he replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife’s face.
“Well then, how long have you been away?” I asked. The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile. “Two whole days!”
Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he’d been gone for at least several weeks – if not months. I know my expression betrayed me. I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), “I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!”
The man suddenly stopped smiling. He looked me straight in the eye, and with forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a different person.
He told me, “Don’t hope, friend… decide!” Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, “God bless!”
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Moral of the Story
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To leave happily and passionately with your family is shouldn't be a hope. It is you that decide it. Spend more time and you will notice that you miss them even for a day.
Monday, December 21, 2009
World's Smallest Snowman
In a bid to create festive cheer, scientists at the National Physical Laboratory have created the world's smallest snowman and other micro-delights.
This colourful snowman would be dwarfed by a human hair – at 0.01 millimetres or 10 micron across it is only a fifth the width of a typical strand. It is made from two tin beads, which are normally used to calibrate electron microscopes, welded together with platinum.
The original is less colourful but no less impressive. A focused beam of platinum ions was used to deposit metal and create the figure's nose. An ion beam was also used to gouge out the eyes and mouth.
Source
This colourful snowman would be dwarfed by a human hair – at 0.01 millimetres or 10 micron across it is only a fifth the width of a typical strand. It is made from two tin beads, which are normally used to calibrate electron microscopes, welded together with platinum.
The original is less colourful but no less impressive. A focused beam of platinum ions was used to deposit metal and create the figure's nose. An ion beam was also used to gouge out the eyes and mouth.
To create this sculpture, a slab of silicon, like that used to make computer chips, was carved into shape using an ion beam.
The Wooden Bowl
Once upon a time, there is a frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and a four-year old grandson. The old man’s hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.
The family ate together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather’s shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass often milk spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. “We must do something about grandfather,” said the son. I’ve had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor. So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl. Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather’s direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four-year-old watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, “What are you making?” Just as sweetly, the boy responded, “Oh, I am making the bowl for you and mama to eat.” The four-year-old smiled and went back to work. The words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took grandfather’s hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.
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Moral of the Story
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Children are remarkably perceptive. Their eyes ever observe, their ears ever listen, and their minds ever process the messages they absorb. If they see us patiently provide a happy home atmosphere for family members, they will imitate that attitude for the rest of their lives. The wise parent realizes that every day that building blocks are being laid for the child’s future.Let us all be wise builders and role models.
The family ate together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather’s shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass often milk spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. “We must do something about grandfather,” said the son. I’ve had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor. So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl. Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather’s direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four-year-old watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, “What are you making?” Just as sweetly, the boy responded, “Oh, I am making the bowl for you and mama to eat.” The four-year-old smiled and went back to work. The words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took grandfather’s hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.
------------------
Moral of the Story
------------------
Children are remarkably perceptive. Their eyes ever observe, their ears ever listen, and their minds ever process the messages they absorb. If they see us patiently provide a happy home atmosphere for family members, they will imitate that attitude for the rest of their lives. The wise parent realizes that every day that building blocks are being laid for the child’s future.Let us all be wise builders and role models.
Bridge to Luxury
Once upon a time an Malaysian Indian minister was on a tour to France and his French counterpart invited him for a dinner. When the Malaysian minister arrived at the latter's residence, he was astonished to see that the latter was living in a very grand and luxurious bungalow and they had dinner in silver spoons and plates and all his bungalow were filled of precious antiques and other articles. He can not hold himself back and asked the French minister the reason for him living in such a grand style. On asking the French minister took him to a window.
French Minister : Do you see the river over there ?
Malaysian Minister : Yes.
French Minister : Do you see the bridge over it ?
Malaysian Minister : Yes.
French Minister : 10%.
Two years later the French minister was invited to visit Malaysia and now it was the turn of the Malaysian minister to invite him for a dinner. When the French minister arrived at the Malaysian minister's residence, he was stunned to see that the latter was living in a palace like house and they had dinner in golden spoons and plates and he had hundreds of servants and all his bungalow were filled of jewelries and costliest furniture, antiques and other articles. Now it was his turn to ask, "Dear friend how could you afford to live such a grand style?"
The Malaysian minister took him to a window.
Malaysian Minister : Do you see the river over there ?
French Minister : Yes.
Malaysian Minister : Do you see the bridge over it ?
French Minister : No.
Malaysian Minister : 100 %.
French Minister : Do you see the river over there ?
Malaysian Minister : Yes.
French Minister : Do you see the bridge over it ?
Malaysian Minister : Yes.
French Minister : 10%.
Two years later the French minister was invited to visit Malaysia and now it was the turn of the Malaysian minister to invite him for a dinner. When the French minister arrived at the Malaysian minister's residence, he was stunned to see that the latter was living in a palace like house and they had dinner in golden spoons and plates and he had hundreds of servants and all his bungalow were filled of jewelries and costliest furniture, antiques and other articles. Now it was his turn to ask, "Dear friend how could you afford to live such a grand style?"
The Malaysian minister took him to a window.
Malaysian Minister : Do you see the river over there ?
French Minister : Yes.
Malaysian Minister : Do you see the bridge over it ?
French Minister : No.
Malaysian Minister : 100 %.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
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