Frida Kahlo

Writen by Mike McDougall

Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calder

How to Properly Deactivate a Bomb

Writen by Andy Alt

Movies have been made for decades — many of them involve a bomb being deactivated. When I see a scene in which a bomb is deactivated 1-3 seconds before it’s about to explode, I’m not impressed by the script writing. If I ever write a screenplay that includes a scene in which a bomb has to be deactivated, creativity will be my primary objective. In my story, the bomb will have one wire. That wire will be cut and the timer will stop. The timer’s digital display will read no less than sixteen hundred seconds remaining.

My idea lacks suspense, but it contains originality. I’m confident I’ll be able to write some intensity into the remaining 118 minutes of the film. I have ideas for other methods of building an original sequence of events into a script. For your reading enjoyment, I present you with an excerpt of thoughts from my head.

“Major Davenport, permission to speak freely?”

“Can it wait Lieutenant Jefferson? I’m trying to deactivate this bomb.”

“No sir, I don’t believe it can wait, Sir.”

“Very well, Lieutenant, go ahead.”

“Major, Sir, that’s not a bomb. That’s a turkey, Sir.”

“What did you say, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, that’s a turkey, Sir.”

“A turkey? Good Lord, Lieutenant, who would plant a bomb inside a turkey?”

“No, Major, I mean that’s only a turkey. The bomb is over there, next to the device that looks like an alarm clock.”

“Lieutenant, I swear if you’re wrong I’ll have you cleaning toilets until you’re so high from the fumes that you’ll need a parachute to get back down!”

“Sir, I’m quite sure, Major, Sir.”

“Lieutenant, look at this timer! There’s only 100 seconds before this bomb goes off!”

“Sir, that’s not a timer, Sir. That’s a meat thermometer. The internal core temperature is slowly dropping, but I can say with absolute certainty that the turkey won’t explode. With all due respect, Sir, I suggest we call in a bomb disposal unit.”

“I have a better idea, Lieutenant Jefferson. Fire up the Stargate.”

“Sir?”

“You have a hearing problem, Mister?”

“Sir, No, Sir!”

“Then why are you still standing here, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I’ll go start the dialing sequence immediately!” Within minutes, Lieutenant Jefferson has the Stargate online and a wormhole open. He calls down to Major Davenport, “Sir, I’ve established a stable connection with an uninhabited planet.”

“Good job, Lieutenant.” As the Lieutenant watches him, he realizes something has just gone horribly wrong. The Stargate shuts off automatically, and he races down to the Major.

“Major, that was the turkey.”

“What are you saying, Lieutenant?”

“You sent the turkey millions of lightyears from here, but the bomb is still here, and I think it’s about to explode.”

“May God have mercy on our souls.”

The Lieutenant walks over to the bomb, switching the alarm clock to the off position. The timer shuts off. The General suddenly enters the room. “Lieutenant, I was just about to eat the lunch I ordered. The cook says he had it delivered it here from the mess hall. Have you seen a turkey anywhere?”

The Major steps in, “General, the meat thermometer showed that it was undercooked. The Lieutenant and I agreed that sending it to another planet would be the best course of action to keep you safe, and we sent the turkey to where it couldn’t harm anyone.”

“Good work, Major! Lieutenant… Jefferson is it?”

“Sir, Yes, General Stevens!”

“Lieutenant Jefferson, I think I see a promotion coming your way.”

“Sir, thank you, Sir!”

“Lieutenant, why are you sweating?”

“Sir, I was in the immediate vicinity of the turkey, which was about 100 degrees Fahrenheit at the time when we disposed of it, General!”

“I see. Well, why don’t you hit the showers, then you and the Major report to my office in one hour for a debriefing.”

The General walks away, as Major Davenport turns to the Lieutenant, and with a smile on face says, “All’s well that ends well, eh, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, yes, Sir!”

–
Andy Alt
Mental Dimensions
http://mentaldimensions.blogspot.com/
A humor column for people who enjoy observational humor, political farce, comedy editorials, satire and spoof, along with an occasional dose of non humor.

Herm the Pickpocket

Writen by Matt Landau

TO MOST PEOPLE, A TOWN WITH PICKPOCKETS IS A BAD THING, but to me, there could be no better place to practice some stealing of my own. There is, in fact, a gaggle of thieves who’s hangout or headquarters (if you want to call it that) is right near my apartment. I know them pretty well, and more importantly they recognize me, so they don’t steal nearly as much from me as they do from the normal passerby.

Their ring leader is named Herm and he’s the only minority–a Peruvian–in the entire group of white dudes. He’s always eating, any time of day, and always the same thing: this slimy phallic-shaped piece of rubber disguised as a hotdog. His head is not really a normal head in that he only has one ear–lost the second in some sort of bike accident. He is pretty fat, and has stubby legs that are straight and have no curves. The funniest part about him though, is that he always carries a pet bird named Tonto who he keeps not in a cage, but on a leash, the way you might your bichon fries. Tonto sits on his shoulder and can supposedly speak though I’ve never heard a word.

“Speak Tonto! Speak!”

Herm is the sort of guy who, if you didn’t know he was involved in his own little ring of unorganized crime, you might figure him to be a desk man or a bell boy–something in the hotel industry. He is sort of charming to people who he doesn’t steal from and if he reaches to scratch his head when you’re around him, you’ll see that he wears a Smurf collector’s item watch. Really takes away from the whole bandit shtick. I’ve seen him with other members of his family, his mother most often, doing some of the most ordinary things: grocery shopping, eating dinner, walking to church. Herm’s a pretty normal dude, it’s just that when other people reach into desk drawers, Herm reaches into pockets.

“Tonto! Speak!”

Herm is also very interested in outer space and claims that after he eats lunch, he’s starting a new TV show called Pimp My Spaceship. While no one really believes him, it is in all our best interests to humor him with his stupid little idea the way you might your four year-old. (”Yes honey, you can become a Transformer when you grow up.”)

I would usually be weary of a criminal who says he collects things, but Herm’s collection is fun: he collects frisbees. He keeps them stacked all neatly, like pancakes, in this box that appears to once have belonged to a top hat. Being from Paraguay, he has trouble with English and often confuses words like cheesesteak and cheapskate. This problem with English has actually cemented our bond as friends.

One fun thing about being an American in a foreign country is that I am–by default–an ambassador to the English language: my expertise and wisdom highly sought after. Everywhere I go, without any background check or anything, people will rely on me to be their source for everything English. Herm is one of my students, if you want to call him that, and I enjoy teaching him not because I want him to learn, but because listening to Herm try to speak English is incredibly entertaining to me. Going along with the abnormal theme of our relationship, is the fact that Herm for the most part, has no interest in learning normal English. No, he is strictly into porn terminology and food. A funny combination, but I’m not about to ask.

“Herm, Speak!”

Apples in American Culture - Why, Apples are as Amercian as Apple Pie!

Writen by Anne Clarke

Here in the United States, though, we have many traditional fruits. Of course, perhaps the most popular and most traditional fruit that we grow is the apple. In fact, apples are such traditional fruits that they have become ingrained in our culture.

Take a look at some of the ways in which apples have moved off the tree and into our language, games, and stories:

It is a very common in our culture for someone to say, “That is like comparing apples and oranges,” Meaning that you are trying to compare two things that are incomparable.

Apples have even made it into our folklore: most kids know the story of Johnny Appleseed, the boy who traveled across the United States with an upside down pot on his head, dispersing apple seeds.

And everyone knows that “an apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Although this proverb has some merit, most still just pass it off as an old wive’s tale. An apple a day will not keep the doctor away if you do not also eat right, exercise, and refrain from excesses such as smoking and drinking a lot!

A phrase that really shows how apples have become a major part of our society is, “that is as American as apple pie!” Apples are completely ingrained in our culture, and apple pies are an American icon, reminiscent the “happy” years in the United States.

A rotten or bad apple is not just a piece of bad fruit. This idiom describes the one “bad” or “rotten” person in a group.

Other popular phrases that we often use in our culture are: “the apple of my eye” and “how do you like them apples!”

As you can see, there are many ways in which apples are fully ingrained into our culture. In fact, it is likely that no other fruit is nearly as important to our American culture as the apple is.

The apple is truly a traditional fruit in the United States, and it is a fruit that seems to have many traditions associated with it.

For instance, “bobbing for apples.” This is a game that is especially popular around the autumn months and Halloween. In this game, a large bucket or cauldron is filled with water, and apples are place in it to float. Participants must bob for the apples, trying to catch one in their teeth, without using their hands.

If, though, you take a look at another culture, a culture in another region of the world, they will likely have far different traditional fruits. And along with their different traditional fruits, they will likely have different idioms, stories, and games based on those fruits, wound into their culture.

Anne Clarke writes numerous articles for websites on gardening, parenting, fashion, and home decor. Her background includes teaching and gardening. For more of her articles on fruit and/or culture, please visit Fresh Fruit Baskets.

The Wyrding Well of the Pines

Writen by Christopher Jon Luke Dowgin

When they had built the fit trail through the old Doc’s resort, they tore down the water tower. When I was little me and that ass next door would play in a pit behind the tower with Tonka trucks. My fire engine and his Army Jeep and Construction vehicles. But my truck shot water. So there!

So now it has been thirty years and I started thinking about it again. So off with shovel in hand. The town thinks I am strange digging all this stuff up. The foundations of his house. The Hotel. Not to mention the pump house and water wheel on Docspond.

But today I dug up the foundation around the water tower. Only one post is still standing. Which is enough to give me a marker of where to dig. The dirt came off like rolling up a carpet. The four post holes are uncovered. But wait. There was more!

To the North of the square concrete slab with the four post holes is more concrete. Another square. But it is not solid. There is only a square rim. Some of the side walks next to it turn out to be the cover. The cover that sat on the rim.

Now I always thought the Doc got his water from the electric pump within the pump house. I have been seeing the pipes poke out of the ground since I was a kid. Was it not enough to provide water on the third floor of the hotel? Ok that was what the Water Tower was for. But a well?

In the eighties, New York City was in negotiations with New Jersey to create a large pipeline from the Cohansey and Kirkwood aquifers to alleviate their draughts. When New Jersey refused, the mafia just sent illegal trucks from the city into our dump. Along with Garbage scows dumping hospital waste that settled upon our shores. If they could not use the water, they would be dammed if we could. Or least safely.

It could be said that Doc Ennea could of tipped his hat. He lived in Brooklyn and sold them spring water. He did own the United Spring Co. We already know about his other clients. Now are people from the city much different than Martians any way? Well lets just keep that too ourselves, the Doc has a bad enough rap already.

So I dug out the well. They had dropped piles of long foot high cement block lengthwise into the hole. Surrounded by clay to sure up the footing so kids would not fall in. In the Southwest corner, about two feet down the course of bricks, the suction pipe comes out on a forty five. A foot and a half off the corner behind the well rises the pipe to the tower. Cut off at two inches above the surface. This pipe is in line with a trowel in the first square with the post holes. The down spout piping from the barrel emptied there and went out under ground eighty yards to a valve that sat on top of a T that sent the water to the house to the east and the Hotel to the west.

Now that is just trivial matters. The beef of this story, is what was at the bottom of this well. No I did not find a small China man looking down at me offering me a bowl of rice and a Big Mac. Even stranger.

But why should I tell you? You would not believe me anyway.

So I took all that brick and built a retaining wall to hold all the dirt that I dug out of the hole. One slab I placed on the top even has the builder’s mark on it. A size twelve foot print.

Ok, I will tell you. Now listen all the way through before you make a decision. Yes it is incredible. But most inventions are, and they are sold to millions around the world. Do you think that the Creators of the Babington Machine ever thought there would be the day that their computer machine drawn behind a mule, would fit in your hand and accomplish things they never dreamed of. They would never believe you. But it was true. Or that we would ever put a man on the moon?

So believe me.

About a hundred feet down, still not finding water, I hit a thud. Toward the top thuds were common. But for the last fifty feet it has been all dirt. I had to set up an old block and tackle to that remaining post to carry buckets of dirt out. At the top I set up an ingenious tripping device to empty the bucket. Occasionally I would look up and find an eye full of dirt. But for the most part it worked fine.

The thud. The Thud was nearly the whole floor of the well. Well, it was the whole floor. But there was a square seem. I brushed away the surface in parts and filled the bucket with the rest. Until it was cleared. In the center I found an old iron hoop. A handle. But there was no where for me to stand out of the way in that hole to open it. So I climbed out on my ladder. Removed the bucket and sent the tackle down. At the bottom I tied the tackle to the hoop and climbed out. With great effort, I hauled up the cover.

I would not say I regret opening it, but if I was a wiser man. Not a wiser man, but less curious. Then and only then I would of been a safer man. Arguably wiser.

I climbed back down the ladder. At the bottom of my ladder, I found a wrought Iron set of steep stairs that went way beyond the pale.

In Lynn Ma, I once entered a Pirates cave that was excavated in the 1800’s by a spiritualist Father and Son team looking for his gold. In the dark with my hand remaining firm on the wall I proceeded down two flights eight hundred yards under this massive Glacial disturbance. So I did not think twice as I entered this dark that out weighed any Country dark with no moon. Foot preceding foot.

An hour into my ascent, just as I was discovering other senses common to grubs, light started illuminate my shoes. I was as surprised as the Nephew with the Mad Uncle as he followed the Icelandic Duck hunter into Mount Sneffels. I am not going to tell you I had found dinosaurs as Wells claimed in his story, Just a mule faced, cloven hoof, serpent tail, dodo with odd bat wings. Its legs looked like two drumsticks straight out of a KFC bucket. Smoking a cigar.

Out of all of it, the question that stuck with me the most was. Where did he get the cigar? As he inhaled it smoldered smoothly. Far different than Danny Devito’s glass case cigarette he smoked after an a failed attempt of seduction by Kathlene Turner. He spoke like a truck driver?

“May I go first” asked this little thing. I fell into believing this may have been the Devil. Not Satan, but Jersey’s own mysterious imp. The Jersey Devil.

The Last Jersey Devil sighting was in 1983 that ran from Tuckerton to Philadelphia in one night. A whole string of reports where followed. About 1983 Joe Portash, who robbed the town blind, did a rush job building a fitness trail to explain a variance on a State Bond he accepted. Was there more to this story then the removal of my tower and Tonka toy pit? Hmm..

“After you, um , yah, yah you see” He went on.

So I started climbing up the stairs. As the light eclipsed under us, he took one last audible drag on his cigar. The chamber lit up once more from the tip of his Havana. Cuban Cigars, no less.

Thousands of people struggle to get these into our country against the embargo with little results. This little imp dragged a box of them over his shoulder as he climbed. Occasionally it clunked on the wrought iron steps.

“How did you keep them moist?” I asked

“What.”

“The Cigars. The Havana Cigars.”

With a smirk he answered,” Yah, the well is a natural Humidor.”

We kept on climbing for another hour before I asked ” Why don’t you fly out?”

“Well, I, share the curse of the Ostrich, Penguin, and Emu. We even had a coalition to persuade, to entice, the Bumbles to tell us their secrets. Failed each time. Those little bastards.” He answered as he moved his cigar about jabbing in the air as he was pretending to singe bees.

I asked him about Mother Leeds and her thirteen children, which I supposed he was the last of. He knew little of them. But he remembered a strange lad who wondered alone around Tuckerton in the woods. ” Awful face he had. Well, I , would guess it was a face not even a mother could love. But hell of a fellow, but no devil. I shared a nip many of times with him. Yep.”

As we stepped over the rim as we exited the well, he paused and looked both ways and then straight up for some considerable time.

“I do not know what is worse. Those men in the bad black suits or those inky black eyes.” He staggered.

I asked what inky black eyes. “Those nudist from Mars, Yep. They loved their Havanas. I um gave them some lip one day. Yep! And they swam down that well and tossed me into their humidor. It was chock full, all 5,00 feet. Little bastards only left me this box that fell out of their net. Twenty God Den it years and no oxygen to light a match to smoke any of it. Till you crack the top and I lit up. Yep. That I did.”

After he made sure the coast was clear, he thanked me and went on his way.

Sometimes I catch sight of him. But he never stops. But if you have a nip to share, he might stop for you to talk for a space of a moon shadow. But I swore off alcohol, I sware I did!

Christopher Jon Luke Dowgin is proprietor of Docspond Life Coach Services providing Individual Counseling, Group facilitation, and key note addresses that speak to the heart of the mission while delivering the bottom line finacial growth. Helping millions find their bliss and return meaning to success! Guaranteed 20% improvement in your quality of life after the first meeting!

Also is the propietor and designer at Norgeforge Illumination Studios that will SEO illuminated design giving Aesthetics to traffic driven sales. So get out of the cold and get Norgeforged!

A Silent Night - Not At My House

Writen by James Snyder

People say, as they get older their hearing is not what it used to be. I have found this to be true for myself. The older I get, and I plan to get as old as I can, the more I hear noises in the middle of the night. Noises, I might add, that I have never heard before.

I’m not against noise. Personally, I try to make as much noise as possible. I’m just against noise not orchestrated with my sleeping habits.

And at this juncture of my career, sleeping has become a habit. In fact, I might describe it as an addiction. I tried breaking this addiction once but my wife complained I was just becoming crotchety.

When I was younger, I didn’t need as much sleep as today. Some experts opine that as a person gets older they don’t need as much sleep as they used to. I find this absolutely, positively untrue. I need more sleep today than I have ever needed in my entire life.

Actually, what I really need is to be able to sleep all night without disturbance. My definition of disturbance is anything I hear when I am trying to go to sleep and I demand everything to be quiet. I will not mention any names, but this also includes persons who have the annoying habit of trying to talk while I’m trying to sleep.

It is not that I’m not interested in what this unnamed person has to say; it’s just that I don’t want to hear it when I’m trying to go to sleep. People have all day to get whatever is on their mind all talked out. That is why God gave us daylight hours.

It seems of late that no matter when I go to bed or how long I have actually slept, in the morning I always need just one more minute of sleep. That one minute more of sleep is the most crucial aspect of my nightly siesta.

Personally, I do not believe in alarm clocks. I think they have evolved over the years from some Neanderthal idea that it is important to get up at a certain time in the morning.

I’m of the opinion that getting up is a relative thing. One man’s wake-up time is another man’s “please, don’t disturb me yet.”

If God wanted me to get up at a certain time every morning he would have made it a little more appealing. As far as I’m concerned, I know I have slept enough when my wife is standing at the bedroom doorway, both hands on her hips and saying to me, in that wonderful voice of hers, “Are you ever going to get out of that bed today?”

I suppose I would be more willing to get up earlier if wasn’t for all the noises in the night. I believe in silent night, and not only at Christmas.

It is amazing to me how intelligent these nighttime noises can be. They are absolutely quiet until I’m just about ready to drift off into La-la-land, then there is a medley of screeching and yelling and screaming right outside my window.

It is not that I hate cats; it is rather I abhor cats making noise when I’m trying to catnap. Cats are wonderful creatures. For the most part, these cats mill around throughout the day and refuse to pierce the daytime with any fracas.

They stay out of my way and I reciprocate by staying out of their way. They keep quiet all day long but when I’m just about ready to drift off to sleep ,they start a Hullabaloo concert right out my window.

Show me a cat that is silent all night long and I will show you one that has been run over by a truck. Cats do not know how to be silent at night. This confuses me because all day long you don’t hear one little whimper from these creatures.

It does not matter what time I go to bed, all of the cats within a 10-mile radius of my bedroom are alerted to this pertinent information. All I can figure is there must be some sort of a feline union, or maybe it is tabby-telepathy for all I know. Just two nights ago, I counted 2,972 cats outside my bedroom window, all fighting each other at the same time.

Perhaps, and this is pure conjecture on my part, these cats are working in shifts, which is why the entire night can be thoroughly covered with screeches, squawks and meows that grate on my fragile nerves.

When the neighborhood cats finish their nocturnal routine and settle down for the night, quietness settles over my backyard, which is conducive to sleep. At this point, the only bird the neighborhood cats have not successfully chased out of my backyard awakens to serenade a new day.

If it is not the night noises keeping me awake it is worrying about something n anything.

But a verse in the Bible gives me some encouragement. “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain. It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.” (Psalms 127:1-2 KJV.)

Not all the cats in the neighborhood can take from me what God delights to give me.

James L. Snyder is an award winning author and popular columnist living with his wife, Martha, in Ocala, Florida and can be contacted at jamessnyder2@att.net.

Russian Czar Nicholas II: Interesting Person

Writen by Richard Monk

Czar Nicholas II was the last in a long line of royalty in Russia. As with the end of any era, his story is a fascinating and sad one.

Russia is a country with a long and arduous history. From military coups to royal fights and cultural differences, this country has gone through more transformations than any other Asian country. At one point, this country was expanded far into Europe, with many current European countries under its rule. The monarchs of Russia were often responsible for large areas of land with a big population, and their histories were as varied as that of the country itself. The last of these monarchs lasted into the 20th century, Czar Nicholas II.

Czar Nicholas II was born in 1868, and he was the last Emperor of Russia, King of Poland and Grand Duke of Finland. He assumed power in the year 1894, and ruled over Russia and its territories until he was forced to abdicate the throne in 1917. He died a year later, when Bolsheviks executed him and his family in June 1918. His execution gave him the name “Nicholas the Martyr”, but he was also known as “Bloody Nicholas” and had the full title of Nicholas II, Emperor and Autocrat of all the Russians.

Nicholas II was not well loved by his parents, and even his marriage was a struggle, as his father had hoped he’d marry a French princess to cement the Franco-Russian alliance. He instead married Princess Alix of the Hesse, a union that was only granted on his father’s deathbed. Czar Nicholas II was not groomed for his eventual assumption of the throne, perhaps because his father died so unexpectedly at the early age of 49. He was unprepared and nervous, wondering how he would manage to rule Russia, and decided to keep his father’s policies in places.

In 1905, the Russian Revolution led to issues between the Czar and his Duma, a party or cabinet that helped rule over the country, as well as the prime minister. At the same time, Nicholas II’s son, Alexei, was born with hemophilia, which almost always proved fatal at this time. The Czar hired Rasputin, a mystic, to help his son with the pain and ease his suffering, but this resulted in another problem, as it turned more people against Nicholas II. Within 10 years, the start of World War I forced a revolution among the ill prepared Russians, who were being attacked mercilessly by the Germans.

The year 1917 saw the “February Revolution”, in which Czar Nicholas II was forced to abdicate his throne, ending the Romanov dynasty as well as the imperial system of rule. In the year 1918, Nicholas II was killed by execution, along with his family. The bodies of the Romanovs were not discovered until the 1990’s.

The DMPA Street Theater Project

Writen by Diepiriye S. Kuku-Siemons

The Banglanatak troupe marched through the neighborhood searching for an ideal space to attract an audience. Their loud rhythmic drumming drove people out of their shops and homes onto the streets to witness the ‘disturbance’. Many joined the excitement and procession, prodding the troupe for hints as to what was about to happen.

On the whole, audiences ranged from twenty to eighty, averaging fifty onlookers per show. In some places, people were clambering to see the street theater show, educating the population about the contraceptive Depot Medroxyprogesterone Acetate (DMPA). The DIMPA network project is implemented by PSP-One across nine towns and cities is shortly expanding to cover an additional ten towns in UP and Uttaranchal. The program objective is to promote the use of DMPA by enhancing consumer awareness of this method as a part of the basket of contraceptive choices and to ensure high quality of service provision by private clinics.

The role that women often fulfill in the management of the household, children and elders restricts her mobility and her ability to partake in the animated street theater spectacles. Discussions with the troupe leader revealed that their experience has been that more women attend if the group situates itself deep inside the residential sections of each colony. Earlier performances took place in markets- areas primarily populated by males. Market areas see a great deal of people in transit who are unlikely to assemble for more than two minutes, making it difficult to maintain a captive audience. Crowds in less commercial/more residential areas tend to stick around for the entire duration of the plays, which are brief- at most 15 minutes long. This is especially important in conveying social messages, beyond merely spreading the word that some strangers have appeared in the local area to make a vague public exhibition.

Use of local language or dialect is usually a better way to engage the community. However, in the case of Aligarh, while the troupe spoke in a different accent, this difference did not prove problematic to the objective of the activity. An overwhelmingly positive response after each performance implies that this is not a barrier. The troupe reports similar encouraging and inquisitive responses from males and females of ALL ages, notably including adolescents, youth and the elderly. There were a plethora of questions following the performance, and many were interested in the DMPA information leaflets distributed by the performers. Further, there were several inquiries directed towards the group regarding details of DMPA as well as the location of providers.

Surprisingly, youth and adolescents were equally engaged in not only the animated performance and drumming but also the plot of the skits. Elderly women notably paid close attention to the contraceptive method messages. One lady approached the troupe with numerous questions, asserting that her daughter-in-law was not present yet would benefit from knowledge of DMPA. She was so excited about the production that she disappeared, quickly returning with her son’s wife at her side. Mothers-in-law have a great deal of influence within the household regarding her daughter-in-law, hence their involvement is key.

At the end of the short production, a moderator from the troupe pleases the crowd with a lively “Question/Answer” recap of the topics carefully covered in the skit. “Three months,” one lady hesitantly blurted out, before quickly readjusting her head cover, lifting one length of her shawl to cover her smile. The ladies hovering in the doorways and corners nearby were happily vociferous after of her correct response to DMPA’s duration of efficacy.

The real benefit of street theater lies in one fact: It is a spectacle. Spectacles are out-of-the-ordinary events which present an abstraction of life. A plethora of evidence based studies suggest significant unmet needs for a variety of methods of contraception, yet contraception is absent in everyday conversation. The variety reflects the diversity of health, lifestyle and social circumstances in which women find themselves, with varying degrees of personal agency regarding their own fertility. Introducing an external ’spectacle’ of sorts, to raise the issue of birth spacing, contraception and women’s ability to determine her fertility are subjects that many simply lack facilities to address. Street theater is an effective means by which to introduce topics into public discourse and eventually, raise public awareness.

There were a few service providers from the DIMPA Network present at one staging of the performance. Abt Program Manager Sashwati Banerjee gave the feedback that their presence lent a greater sense of legitimacy to the message of the street theater play. Additionally, this easily serves to advertise the services of the providers and is an excellent way to link the traveling group of performers directly to the local context. Providers like Dr. Rakhi Mehotra recognized the potential synergy in the collaboration between providers and street theater, particularly among low income groups who may have limited exposure to mass media. One provider even suggested street theater productions near the provider’s clinic in efforts to build local awareness.

The presence of local service providers at the performances may well alleviate any concerns about social differences/distances in language and class between the performers and the communities in which they work. Service providers should be encouraged to attend the street theater performances and field questions from audience members at the end of the performance. This synergetic relationship would allow both service providers and the local population to engage each other in a non-clinical setting, breaking barriers and diminishing reticence to discuss taboo subject matter in order to build a positive community dialogue about health.

Exploiting Insect Swarm Weakness to Stop Them

Writen by Lance Winslow

When looking at a killer bee swarm or locust swarm it is interesting indeed the level of sophistication they have, when you start getting up close and personal. In fact what appears to be a chaotic mess and in the case of a locust plague literally a problem of biblical proportions may actually be quite well refined. One online think tank recently considered this issue.

Warren States; “If you did discover that single swarm related weakness and exploited it, think of the leverage we, as a species would enjoy over these nasty little creatures, think of the plague locusts are in African countries.”

Indeed and I personally had considered a way to steer them, previously from most writings prior to your contacting me. I believe we can steer them and even use them to serve our will in battle against an enemy or to make energy, create methane or cut the grass. So, I see a cooperative possibility using steering techniques. But for those plagues, which devastate the land, surely we need to stop that forthwith.

Warren states; “Think of the tone in the voices of those UN folks who film the onslaught, the narrator on the Discovery Channel as they view the oncoming destruction and mention that of course there is nothing any of us humans can do about it.”

In the Discovery Channel Feature on Locust Plagues, I found some interesting information as they followed them by air and when I watched this I thought, hmm? Well we could stop them. But not with little crop dusters, no way. We need massive fire-power and of course it goes without saying that we need to exploit their weakness if we are to stop them. No doubt about it. Consider this in 2006.

Lance Winslow

Cease Fire in Middle East Could Bring New Era in Peace?

Writen by Lance Winslow

Many believe that if this cease-fire could be brought to the Hezbollah-Israel war in Lebanon that there is a good chance they could bring a new and everlasting peace to the Middle East. However some wonder if this would ever be possible. After all there have been peace periods previously and some as long as a decade and yet fighting always disrupts again.

There appears to just be too much hatred between Arabs and Jews and apparently their religious hatred goes back thousands of years. Under that situation how can you ever have peace? Is the United Nations thinking correctly when asking for a cease-fire? Is it really in the Israeli’s best interests to have a cease-fire and allow Hezbollah to bring in more munitions, weapons and volunteer international terrorists to help them continue the attack on Israel?

Is a cease-fire in the best interest of Hezbolla? Would this destroy their credibility and make them look weak and how can you trust an international terrorist organization, which agrees to a cease-fire? Even have the Lebanese government and the Israelis agreed upon a cease-fire it would be in valid because Israel is really fighting the Hezbolla international terrorist organization and not the Lebanese army.

Despite all this many people are calling for a cease-fire at least temporarily to get humanitarian aid and even actively to civilians and generally let things cool back down. But will this really bring a new era of peace? Few believe it would, what do you think?