I was chatting to an Australian on an internet forum site the other day, and I realised that we almost speak a different language. I know some of the Aussie slang, but not enough to impress the guy.

So OK, I lost out, but you don't have to! Let me give you a bunch of phrases so that you can understand a South African when you chat to him. Here goes:

Howzit. This is a greeting, short for How is it? It's used like the greeting Hi.

Braai. A Barbecue. Virtually anything edible goes on a braai, including beef, chicken, fish, potatoes, sandwiches, mushrooms, shark (really), crocodiles (not whole, and not often, but it happens!) and of course Boerewors.

Boerewors. A very long beef sausage that you cook on the braai. Often referred to as just wors. Usually rolled into a spiral shape so it can fit.

Biltong. Dried (raw) salted and spiced meat, like beef jerky. Made from various meats including beef, game, ostrich and even fish. Extremely tasty and popular

Isit. The 2 words 'is it' said as one, and meaning the same as 'really' or 'is that so.'

Kief. Really nice. Like 'That's a kief shirt dude.'

Eish. Exclamation of surprise or dismay, or even sympathy.

Bro or Bru. As in 'Howzit Bru' a greeting to a friend, short for brother in a loose sense.

Check. Look at. 'Check that Keif chick' = Look at that lovely woman.

Scaly. Not nice at all 'Check that scaly ouk' = look at that disreputable guy.

ouk or ou. A guy or man. Normally youngish. An old man is called 'an ou ballie.'

ekse. As in "Cool ekse" = Nice hey?

Gif and Durban Gif. Marijuana or dagga as it's known here. Literally 'Poison.' Can also mean Nice or potent, as in 'I had a gif date my Bru!'

Bliksem. Exclamation of surprise or pain. Lit. 'Lightning.' Some Afrikaans speaking people take offence at this word, for reasons unknown.

Jislaaik. An expression of amazement, like Gosh or Wow.

My China. My friend.

My stukkie. My girlfriend. A term not particularly liked by the ladies. Means literally 'My piece.'

Brak. Scruffy stray dog of indeterminate parentage.

Flatdog. Crocodile. Sometimes also referred to as speed bumps, from their habit of crossing national roads. However, these speed bumps tend to dislodge and remove both axles of your vehicle.

Vrot. Pronounced Frot. Rotten. Of bad quality.

Tune. Say. As in "Don't tune me grief" = don't say irritating things to me.

chuck. Go. 'I'm chucking to town my china.'

Pozzie. House or home. "Meet you at my possie"

Jawl. Party or night out, or a fishing trip, or whatever. As long as it's fun, it's a jawl.

So there you have a brief list to get you going. String a couple of those together and you should get by! If you say it wrong the locals will let you off because of your strange accent and funny clothes!

This is a series of amusing ?? articles about a mythical character called the Mad Operator. As they say at Ripleys's " Believe it or Not".

The Mad operator had a really hard night. His camels had kept him awake ( When you sleep with snoring camels it doesn't help with how you feel or smell in the morning even if it does keep you warm.) Those camels were warm but not as warm as he had been after another unhappy customer had put a bomb in his truck and left him in hospital for 3 months.

He found a tap to have a wash and give the camels a drink but was not impressed when the customer kept stepping away from him when he found them to ask them where he could run his camels. His hearing was pretty bad after the explosion and he couldn't hear the customers gasping reply from 10metres. He finally got an answer from the dumbfounded customer and saddled up the camels. Well he finally got the camels saddled up and he worked for about 3 hours of the 4 hour job when suddenly one of the camels keeled over and dropped dead. This was problem. What do you do with a dead camel in the middle of a school oval when you still have an hour to work
and you must finish the job.

It's not a problem when you have a solution sitting in your truck. Just cover the animal with a blanket and tell the kids he is having a little snooze. After all camels smell bad alive or dead and the flies swarming around the carcase weren't that bad. Well our operator had finished his 4 hours but the fete wasn't yet finished and he wanted to get paid and go home .He couldn't just leave a dead camel in the oval but with two other camels in the trailer he couldn't fit it in lying down. In fact it was too heavy to move. Not a problem at all when you just picked up a chainsaw at the white elephant stall. After a bit of fiddling around he finally got the chainsaw going and it made the Texas Chainsaw Massacre look like a tea party.

Our blood stained operator finally got the sawn up camel into the truck much to the distress of the remaining camels and anyone else in the vicinity but he had still not been paid even though he had been up to see the organiser 3 times during the day about getting the cash. He didn't like cheques because for some reason he hadn't figured out customers kept cancelling them.
Well, there on the stage was that stupid principal that had not paid him thanking all those stupid volunteers and ignoring the waving arms of our blood spattered hero and his shouting from the back that he wanted to be paid right now. The principal shouted back that he would see him in ten minutes but that wasn't good enough for our hero who wanted payment to be paid now. After large and upset father's threatened to knock his block off he managed to shut up till after the ceremony he retreated to the office to get paid.

The committee all came in and told him he was a disgrace, but they paid him in full and told him to never call back. And he still wonders what he did wrong and why he never seems to get jobs back the next year.

Fade In:

Int. Dentist's Office - Day

Sgt. Slaughter, dressed in surgical whites with army insignias on them, is standing next to his dentist's chair. In the chair is a male patient, about thirty.

Slaughter

Hi, folks, Sgt. Slaughter here. In case you haven't heard, Sgt. Slaughter is giving up the rough and tumble world of professional wrestling. I found a much more lucrative career - dentistry. No more will I be inflictin' pain by breaking bones, or gauging eyes. Now, I'll be inflicting pain by drilling gums and yanking teeth. Heh-heh. Sgt. Slaughter's the kind of dentist a real man can go to. Hey, ninety percent of the people who go to dentists don't want to go because they fear pain. The other ten percent go because they love it. That's the ten percent I want. Hey, I specialize in drilling. You know why? Because I used to be a drill sergeant. Heck, I drilled on one patient so long, I had to call OPEC. And, if you're one of them pansies that needs Novocain, no sweat. I just put the needle on the end of my bayonet and CHARGE!!! And don't talk to me about root canal. To me, a root canal is some street in Venice. In most cases I don't even administer Novocain. I got headphones so you can listen to music instead. It plays songs like: "Haven't Got Time For The Pain", "I'm So Hurt" and "King Of Pain." Heh. That's me. King of pain. Sgt Slaughter, D.D.S. So, the next time you're in need of dental care, call Sgt. Slaughter at 555-P-A-I-N. That's 555-PAIN.

He looks at his patient.

Slaughter

Okay, open your mouth.

The patient obeys.

Slaughter

I don't like this tooth.

Sgt. Slaughter grabs a pair of pliers, reaches in the patients mouth and the sound of a loud pop can be heard. He pulls back to show a tooth in the head of the pliers.

Slaughter

Next!

I had to fly into Newark tonight and I'm not the world's best air traveler. I'm not what you would call a white-knuckle flyer. I'm more of a white-torso flyer.

The reason I don't like to fly is because my manager usually books my flights and he is what is commonly referred to as a, oh, what's the phrase I'm looking for, a cheap bastard.

This man is tighter than an erection in a Speedo.

He was once arrested for shoplifting from a supermarket. His defense was the labels on the bottles of salad dressing said, "Kraft Free."

So, I arrive at the airport early and got my seat of choice. You know the seat I'm talking about. That's when you sit in the middle of a row of three seats right between the guy, who apparently did a gram of cocaine before boarding the flight and won't shut up, and the woman, in the window seat, with the bladder of a common housefly. I always ask for this seat, whenever I fly. I figure it saves the airline a lot of trouble having to shift a bunch of people around on the plane to make it happen.

And, yes, I was lucky to get the mother with the screaming baby to sit directly behind me. But I did have to pay a little extra to have him kick the back of my seat throughout the entire flight.

I'm ready to board the plane and that's when I meet our stewardess or, as they like to be called, "flight attendant". Right, like that's going to get me my bag of peanuts any faster. Anyway, she's a cross between Leona Helmsley and Nurse Ratchett. I ask her a simple question. "What kind of on-time arrival record do you have?" She snaps at me, "One hundred per cent." I said, "That's pretty good." She says, "Well all of our planes arrive somewhere...just maybe not their original destination. And, yes, it is true we are still looking for a few of them. But, we're pretty sure they've arrived somewhere by now."

Okay, so now my stomach starts churning, but I take my seat. And I'm sitting there watching people put the equivalent of a king-sized mattress into the overhead compartments.

I'm trying to listen to Nurse Ratchett as she's giving the safety instructions by following along on the plastic card they have in the seat pocket in front of me. But, apparently, they've all been replaced with Gideon Bibles.

And for some reason, they're all dog-eared on the 23rd psalm. And, like I said, she was suffering from some kind of personal problem or permanent PMS, or something. I don't know what was wrong, but she lacked tact. She's saying things like, "In case the cabin pressure should drop, these yellow masks will come down from above. You can put them over your face if you want to. You don't have to, it's just something for you to do while the plane plummets to your death!"

Okay, so now I'm starting to make out my will on the back of the barf bag. And I'm thinking that the only thing that could make me any more nervous is if I looked out the window and saw bin Laden waving to me from the terminal.

Later in the flight, the stewardess asks me if I would like to buy a pair of headphones to watch today's in-flight movie, which happens to be Harrison Ford in Air Force One. I realize on this flight that you can also listen to music or the conversation going on up in the cockpit. So, I buy a pair of these headphones. You know the ones I'm talking about. The tension on these things is so tight that the tips of the earpieces actually touch inside of your head.

So, I'm listening to the conversation going on up in the cockpit and I'm hearing things like, "Hey, Bill, what are all these dials for? Hey, Bill, when Beverly comes back with the beverage cart, see if she'll make me a kamikaze, will you? The five I had at the terminal didn't quite take the edge off. Hey, Bill, are you still having that recurring nightmare where you fly the plane directly into the mountain?"

Okay, this is all I need to hear. I whip these earphones off, removing wax that's been in there since fifth grade. And now I'm getting off this plane. This is when the stewardess announces that they forgot to load the meals on the plane and that all they have to eat is a loaf of bread and a bottle of red wine. I said, "What is this? Communion? And, pardon me, but wasn't that the menu for the Last Supper?"

So, I drink as much wine as I can hold. Apparently, it's a bit more than I can hold because, when I wake up, I'm going in circles on the luggage carousel.

I used to believe in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, a Just War, Righteous Politicians, Clean Non-steroidal Sports Heroes, True Love and the fact that Lemmings commit mass suicide by following each other off a cliff. So you can imagine my chagrin, my horror and my utter surprise to learn that the whole 'Lemmings metaphor' which I had heretofore always used as a reference for people who go along unquestioningly with popular opinion with potentially dangerous or fatal consequences is, yep, you guessed it folks, a myth, a fabrication, a lie of mammalian proportions.

It all started in a 1954 National Geographic article which showed massive numbers of lemmings jumping over Norwegian cliffs and then in 1955, when Disney illustrator Carl Barks drew an Uncle Scrooge adventure comic with the title: The Lemming with the Locket. This nascent suicide myth was further propagated by Walt Disney documentary White Wilderness in 1958 which includes footage of lemmings migrating and running head-long over a ledge. An investigation in 1983 by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's Brian 'the original mythbuster Vallee, showed that the Disney film makers faked the entire sequence using imported lemmings (bought on eBay I think), a snow covered turntable on which a few dozen lemmings were forced to run, and literally tossing the poor beasts into the sea to show the alleged suicides. This myth was also witnessed in a German film - The Little Polar Bear (think an evil Knute) - in which a group of despondent lemmings were frequently viewed jumping, swan diving and jack knifing off various ledges.

Now that the 'lemming myth' has been denuded I am devastated. Really. It is amazing how one domino in life invariably topples the next. And before you know it your entire world is crumbling around you. I mean, what's next? Politicians found to be taking steroids? A clean presidential election? Love and peace breaking out in Iraq? I mean, how the heck will we now communicate the notion of 'blindly following a crowd to an uncertain demise'.

I know! Not one to cry over spilt mammals milk, let's propagate another folk tale to replace the 'lemming myth'. Another more convoluted and realistic one perhaps. How about the 'Bush Fairy Tale': to describe by inference a whole nation following a sitting president into an unwise war and a mismanaged occupation which destroys the collective good will of the world while spending several trillion dollars driving the nation into recession. Or maybe the 'Clemmons Legend' or the corollary 'Bonds Fable' where good people follow the example of their sports heroes to shoot up with human growth hormone to gain that extra edge and lie about it unconscionably. Note: would recommend not lying to a grand jury as that kind of thing has a nasty way of coming back to bite you in the arse.

Well, I have yet to be stripped of all of my innocence. Thank god I still believe in True Love. The love of my life still instills incurable passion in my breast, a fire in my imagination and blows a veritable breath of vigor into my sheeted sails!

I just can't believe some of the ridiculous things you can find on product labels these days. For instance, I've got a 2 ton floor jack with an adjustment screw on the side that has a plastic cap clamped right on the top of the adjustment screw with the words "Do Not Adjust" printed on it.

Now, if I'm not supposed to adjust it, why does it come with an adjustment screw? Hmmm?

But wait! There are far worse labels than this. That was just a simple one to get you warmed up.

The other day I bought a bottle of generic "aspirin". Now, you know how generic brands always ask you to compare them to name brand products. This one was no different. On the label of the generic "aspirin" it said to "compare to the main active ingredient in 'Bayer Aspirin'". Ok, fine, I thought, I'll compare the main active ingredient in this bottle of generic "aspirin" to the main active ingredient in a bottle of "Bayer Aspirin". So, I flip over the bottle of my generic "aspirin" to discover that its main active ingredient is: "aspirin".

Now, I didn't run back to the store to find a bottle of "Bayer Aspirin" so I could complete the comparison, but I'm thinking I already have a pretty good idea of what it is anyway.

Here's another example. My wife recently purchased a bottle of "Foaming Bubble Bath". Do you know what it says on this bottle? "For Adult Use Only".

For adult use only? What, does it dissolve kids or something? It's bubble bath for goodness sake! Are they afraid they will be held responsible if a small child floats away in a bubble?

"Where's your other daughter, I thought you had four kids?"

"Oh we did, but she took a bubble bath the other night and floated off up into the exhaust fan. Yeah, we started throwing her dinner in the bubble bath every night hoping it would float up to her and keep her alive.

"We know she's OK now, though, because a bubble came floating back last night with a note on it asking for a CD player and a cell phone."

Just exactly what is this bubble bath stuff made out of that it has to be for adult use only? That's what I'd like to know. All of this is made even more suspicious by another statement found on the bubble bath's label. "Pour generously into running water of your bath".

Now hold on there. I don't know about this "pouring generously" idea. I mean, if this stuff can dissolve a whole kid it might at least take an appendage or two off an adult. I don't want to sit back and relax in a hot bubble bath with my wife only to watch parts of our bodies floating off into the atmosphere. That doesn't exactly sound romantic if you know what I mean.

Here's another stupid product label for you. Maybe not in the same sense as these others, but still stupid in its own way.

Have you ever had to go to the dentist with a terrible toothache?

You haven't been able to eat anything solid for 3 days because you're in so much pain. Finally, you get in to see the dentist and he drills out a nasty root canal. It's very painful. He tells you not to chew on that tooth for a while, as if you needed reminded, and then sends you on your way with some really potent pain medication to help you deal with it.

You get home, your tooth is still throbbing in pain from the dentist visit, even though your lip is still numb. You're slobbering out the side of your mouth, trying to figure out how you're going to swallow the pain pills in the first place, and then you look at the label on the pill bottle and what does it say?

"Take with food."

Yeah, good idea.

Here's another one.

On a box of matches it says: "Safe, non-toxic head". Well, that's actually a bit of useful information for once. In fact, next time my wife uses a match to light up her cigarette I think I'll just tell her, "Hey Honey, why don't you smoke the match instead. It's got a safe, non-toxic head."

Here's one of my favorites. This has got to be one of the worst product labels ever written.

It's on a bottle of flea spray that we got for our dogs. Check this out. There are two sections on this label, "Directions" and "Cautions". In the Directions it says, "Fluff the hair while spraying so that the spray will penetrate to the skin and thoroughly wet it." In the Cautions it says: "Hazards to humans and domestic animals: Harmful if absorbed through the skin."

Say what?

But wait, there's more! Back to the Directions: "...making sure the animal's entire body is treated." Then, again in the Cautions: "Do not spray near eyes or genitalia. Avoid contact with the skin." Last time I checked, eyes, genitalia, and skin were all part of the body. You know, the Cautions on this bottle sure make it hard to follow the Directions.

What's worse, you know what else it says on this bottle? "It is a violation of federal law to use this product in a manner inconsistent with it's labeling." Ha! Ha! Ha! Inconsistent with it's labeling? The whole label is as inconsistent as you can get! Also in the Cautions on this flea spray it says: "Do not use this product in or on electrical equipment."

Darn, and my table saw is just crawling with fleas, too.

Here's a couple more.

My wife's shampoo says it comes with "Active Fruit Concentrates". So, these are not the kind of fruits that are retired, sitting in easy chairs, reading the newspaper, constantly muttering about when the grandkids are going to come for a visit. No, these are "active" fruits, the kind that buy RVs, drive down to Florida, do the limbo, and whoop it up drinking margaritas at parties down on the beach.

Isn't it nice to know that using this shampoo will put active fruit concentrates in your hair that will be doing the "cha-cha-cha" all the way across your head?

Now get this. On the bottle of dish soap we have in the kitchen it says "Keep out of reach of children". What? Are they suggesting that I should have to do the dishes instead of the kids?! That's not only stupid, that's wrong!

Then, there's all those food products that have the following statement at the end of the microwave heating directions: "caution: contents may be hot." Duh? It's been in a microwave. Of course it's going to be hot!

Of course, the whole reason we have stupid product labels like this is because we have stupid people. For instance, you may have heard about the woman who made use of a vaginal contraceptive jelly by eating it on a piece of toast. I'm not making this up! This was real. She attempted to sue the manufacturer of the vaginal contraceptive jelly after she became pregnant claiming that not only was the product ineffective at preventing pregnancy but it gave her an upset stomach and tasted terrible!

So, I guess the manufacturer of this vaginal contraceptive jelly is supposed to include, "Do NOT eat product on toast" on it's label from now on?

What is the world coming to? I mean, do we really have to be warned about the obvious?

You buy a package of beef jerky from the store and written in big bold letters on the little package of desiccant thrown in with the jerky to keep the moisture down are the words, "DO NOT EAT!" So does that mean at some time some idiot reached into his bag of beef jerky, pulled out the desiccant package and said, "That's a funny looking piece of jerky" --- and then proceeded to eat it anyway!

It's beyond ridiculous what some product labels say these days, I'm telling you. They either state the obvious, warn against utter stupidity, or fly right in the face of common logic. But then, that pretty much sums up human nature, doesn't it? State the obvious, warn ourselves against how stupid an action is, and then proceed to do it anyway.

Reminds me of a lot of my college experiences actually.

So, I guess we'll have to continue to live with stupid product labels. Oh well, it could be worse. I mean, at least this way buying a bottle of flea spray will not only kill the fleas on your dog, it will provide you with a little entertainment as well. What could be better?

Other than intelligently written product labels, I mean.

Just in time for Valentine's Day, in a theatre review, I had a meet cute with "meet cute," that ubiquitous jargon term of screenwriters pitching their wares to producers.

Actually, I'm lying...I first encountered the term about ten years ago when producing a play called "Who's Hot, Who's Not," by Sherwood Kiraly, adapted from his book by the same name.

"Meet cute" is discussed by two of the characters in the play who, as I vaguely recall, have just met cute. This play, by the way, is about the editor of a gossip magazine by the same title, whose only joy on the job is having secured his publisher's permission to write a last page column called "Where Are They Now?" about people who once were hot, like his own personal favorite, Clu Gulager. His boss can't stand the column, because who in the hell cares about "has beens" in his business? One of the highlights of the play takes place when the publisher challenges the editor to a rush-hour race to get to work in L.A. from the town they both live in, Laguna Beach, and even spots him half an hour. The publisher wins by picking up a homeless person, enabling him to drive in the car pool lanes past the rest of the traffic.

Wikipedia has an entire entry devoted to "meet cute" and I picked up the title of this post from another blogger's entry on the subject--now, I'll never be able to think of "romantic comedies" as anything but "rom-coms," I'm afraid.

Interestingly, Roger Ebert is known to have popularized the term and, perhaps, even coined it.

I suppose that, in honor of Valentine's Day, it's also entirely appropriate for me to mention that my wife and I met cute--and we've have a long, happy marriage.

If that ain't a "rom-com," what is?

I learned to read at a younger than usual age (for that time, at least), and when I was still a child we moved for a couple of years to Morocco, where I learned to speak French (how fluently at age 7 is questionable).

Instantly, my mother declared that I was a whiz at languages.

I then learned enough Hebrew for my bar mitzvah. A year later I took German for one year from a stunning German blonde emigre I fell in love with. Then we moved to a place where the schools didn't offer German--and I was told I had already fulfilled my entire language requirement for graduation so I stopped learning a foreign language.

Before entering college, I spent several weeks in a Hebrew "ulpan" (intensive language course) and continued studying that language for a couple of years, never becoming fluent but achieving slightly more proficiency with it than my supposed fluency in French (tell that to the French people I tried speaking with last time I was there).

Of course, I've had the chance to visit a number of foreign countries and to familiarize myself with the basic tourist phrases you should say prior to lapsing into English and expecting them to understand you. Hello, please, thank you, goodbye, toilet, etc. Never more than a handful of words, of course (though it's always practical but depressing to discover how many English words are used in other tongues these days).

Twenty years ago, the International Theatre Institute of the U.S. sent me to Seoul, Korea for some research and exchange purposes. One night, I was taken out on the town by some Korean theatre artists, and by the end of the night (and after a few drinks, I'll admit), I insisted that they teach me a dirty word in Korean--but that it should be only one word, the worst possible word, since it was unlikely I could remember several. After great deliberation, they taught me that word.

Upon my return, I was talking with a Korean-American playwright I knew and telling her this story. "There are no dirty words in Korean," she said. I then spoke the word I had learned. "Except that one," she replied, as her face reddened with embarrassment

As a result, one of my great ambitions became to learn one dirty word in every language I encounter.

I don't exactly apply myself diligently to this endeavor, so I haven't amassed a voluminous collection of foul language. But there's no denying that knowing one can be as essential a tool to the foreign visitor as any of the other phrasebook words we memorize before our trips.

I would like to thank TiredOfYourWeight@WhosTheNextIdiot.com for the email you just sent reminding me that I'm overweight. How did you find me? Were you there when I used emergency money to buy girl scout cookies? When I dove between the sofa cushions because I thought I saw a French fry? When I ran past you in my bathing suit at the pool and took out three toddlers? How do you people know that I want to lose weight, need money transferred from Nigerian royalty, and have been looking everywhere for a fake Rolodex? Baffling.

So, Mister TiredOfYourWeight, I appreciate that you took time in the middle of the night to send me this urgent email to share your weight loss secret that is sure to revolutionize the world and to give me the opportunity to buy into it before anyone else. I am flattered that you spend so much time and energy caring about strangers. I wish you would spend the same amount of time learning to spell and removing the strands of gibberish in your heartfelt message which, until I speak in tongues, I am unable to translate. I'm sure you mean well, but I don't need the revolutionary answer to instant weight loss. You see, I already know the answer, and have known it for years. In fact, it really hasn't been much of a secret since 4th grade biology. Eat less than you are, exercise more than you are, and you will lose weight. Shocking I know. Knowing what to do isn't the secret. It's doing it.

You see, I would rather drink lumpy shakes made out of goat's urine, strap thirty pounds of spandex to my body, and spend thousands on hairdos, clothes, and accessories guaranteed to make me look a size smaller. I would rather have my colon flushed and take diet pills that cause hair loss, fainting spells, and the unavoidable explosive diarrhea. But don't make me eat vegetables - that's just gross. I want those programs where you actually pay more to eat less. I would rather spend hours reading manuals from experts claiming it's not the quantity but the combinations of foods- just don't mix the brown Snickers with the tan French fries and you're fine.

I want to sit around perplexed saying, "But I don't eat that much" and convince myself that I must have some rare thyroid condition and that everybody's order contains the word Supersize. I want to buy exercise tapes that I'm too lazy to open and fancy treadmills to hold my plants, rather than park at the back of the parking lot and take the stairs. I am not interested in the kind of exercise where I am involved. I don't even want to get up to change the TV. I once watched a twenty-four hour Valerie Bertinelli marathon because I couldn't find the remote. I would rather sit around with a group of other overweight people and have them tell me size doesn't matter and look at skinny people in disgust and hope they're miserable.

So I do know the secret to weight loss, Mr. TiredOfYourWeight. Perhaps if you could come up with a revolutionary way to do the things we don't want to do. Now that I would read. So thanks but no thanks. I would, however, be interested in a way to earn a million in a week without ever having to get dressed or leave my house. Do you have a cousin who does that?

With the recent World economic downturn which has had an impact on the housing market it has come to light that Roger Federer has been inspecting his property portfolio.

The business empire that has been built up over the past 6 or 7 years with many properties dotted around the globe is now under scrutiny.

Looking back, it quickly becomes obvious that the fortunes of this company was built around the now substantial Hotel he bought from the Swedish Borg organization in Wimbledon, the apartment block in New York, the lovely house in Melbourne and the apartment in Paris

Apparently the apartment he has in Paris is up for sale as it doesn't look as though he will be spending a lot of time there in the future and the shadow cast over it by the ever expanding Spanish hotel that stands opposite is keeping the light out. In fact on Sunday after the French Open the apartment had no electricity and in fact needed candles in most rooms to see what was happening.

There is now speculation about the large hotel he has at Wimbledon as there are apparently buyouts on the close horizon from a Serbian company as well as a very serious bid from the Spanish company who own the big Hotel in Paris.

The nice house in Melbourne and the Apartment block in New York are ok for the moment but could well be affected by recent events in Paris and upcoming events in Wimbledon.

All in all it's a worrying time for the Federer group as the boom times of the past few years have slowed down and it's only the casino win in Estoril that is of note this calendar year and if things don't change it is conceivable that they will not be the number 1 real estate company by the end of the year as they have been for the last 4 years.

Also there is now real doubt over whether they can overturn the record figures posted by the American company Sampras a few years back, when it seemed a formality this time last year.

But a year is a long time in this business and a slide in fortune by one company that coincides with the upturn in fortune by one or two others quickly closes any gaps that existed and shifts the momentum and tide in a completely different direction.

Unfortunately for Federer, the tide that carried them to record after record in recent years seems to have shifted, bringing others players into the game whilst slowing them down at the same time.

One could say they were now beginning to swim against this tide!

I hope they just don't swallow too much water along the way and can find a nice island to relax on before they go under!

Maybe it's the weather, or maybe it's just a good day to be a little off. Some of it has to do no doubt with the fact that I work in mental health and these people fascinate me rather than worry me. Whatever it is, only here in Portland do I get to ride the bus downtown, and while waiting for the streetcar get to have a smoke with some guy who is homeless and schizophrenic tell me all about how he is planning on getting his middle finger cut off because a cat bit him.

I saw the finger, it was obviously swollen, but I doubt he needed to have it amputated. Then he tells me what a "bi***" this will be because he plays bass guitar. Not any bass guitar either but a bass guitar that he personally bought off of Lemmy from the band Motorhead. "Agent B, is sure I will lose it," he tells me. Naturally I have no idea who "Agent B" is, but after a while in mental health you learn sometimes it's better not to ask. Anyway, after a fist pound (see Deals or No Deals Howie Mandell for what this is) and a thanks for the smoke we both got on the streetcar.

Upon arriving on the Portland State University campus, and getting off the streetcar I notice a well dressed man standing on one of the stone risers in the park blocks screaming the gospel at all in range. "This is too good to miss," I am thinking. So I went to grab a dark chocolate M&Ms from the school store, and headed out to sit down to watch from a bench nearby. The guy is obviously addressing the masses (all 8 or so of us), more than he is just rambling.

He was on quite a roll, well rehearsed, and did I mention in a shirt and tie underneath a smart looking overcoat. Anyway to sum up the gist of it we all have until Jan, 11, 2011, and then Jesus is coming back. So look busy! Just kidding, I added that last bit. What is it with doomsayers having a particular day in mind anyway. Wouldn't it be more effective to say "pretty soon" so people won't act like it is one big "Fat Tuesday" right up until the day. And January 11th, 2011, I have plans, this just won't work for me. Lets just hope I don't end up with egg on my face.

Anyway, just wanted to brighten your day with a little bit of life here in the Northwest. Take care, have a good weekend, and don't forget to mark your calendars.

Mother had a large garden and worked very hard to prepare the vegetables for eating during summer and prepare the rest for winter. Seemed like Dad spent his time working on the other crops; turning over the small hunting duties to me. Yep - 10 years old and putting meat on the table.

I was the proud owner of a small Stevens 22, single shot, used only short 22 cartridges. Often Mother would give me three shells to hunt for food: cotton tail rabbits or squirrels. Seems like bragging now, but I regularly returned with something for Mother skin and cook.

Squirrel was my favorite! Mother floured and fried everything except the tail. The head was always given to my Dad to crack open and dig the brains out for me to eat. Yeah, I know most of you are saying 'Yuck', but eating those brains put me in hog heaven. (Bet I would say Yuck these days.)

Mother never let the grease and frying residue go to waste, always making gravy. Every meal had home made bread, biscuits or cornbread, sure was good to sop up gravy leavings.

Dad and I would take corn to the mill, giving about half to pay the owner for grinding it up, the rest going to us.

This was in the thirties, some may recall the 'Great Depression' days.

One day Dad and I loaded the old Model T half truck with water melons to sell in Mineral Wells. They were all ripe, both red and yellow meated melons, about 20-30 pounds each. Wonderful tasting and quite delicious, can only describe that taste about half as good as they really tasted.

Dad drove to the 'trade ground' in town, any watermelon could be bought for only five (.05) cents a piece, not per pound, per each! NOT ONE WAS SOLD! After 5-6 hours we took them back home to feed to the hogs.

Reading has long been a major passion of mine, starting at about four to five years of age. It didn't matter what I read, only that I read something. The Bible, labels on cans of food, Burma Shave signs, just anything.

About a mile down a lane from our home on a Texas farm lived a lady who subscribed to Ranch Romances. Mrs. Wallace would give me her read and re-read copies and I would pore over them during the day and in the evening by the light of the fireplace and coal oil lamps.

I had a little pedal car given me when we lived in Jacksboro, Texas. Riding it in town on pavement was very different than trying to ride in the country, but I kept struggling anyway.

What else did I have to play with? A very dull knife for mumble peg, top and string to spin on the baked Texas earth and my Ranch Romance magazines to read. Mother was too proud of her Bible to let me go outside with it to read.

We had an old paint mare that I rode over to Mrs. Wallace's ranch house to get the reading material and an occasional letter which was sometimes delivered to a rural mail box on the road. We didn't have a saddle, bareback was the only way to go and a stump was the way to climb on her back.

Part of my work was to pull and feed what Dad called 'careless weeds' for the hogs. When they grew too big to pull out of that hard ground, my dull pocket knife was used to saw them enough to break off most of the plant.

What is life without a sense of humor? Man would be nothing but a reasoning animal without it. Many a life has been inspired by the ability to laugh in a tough situation and smile at the miseries of life. The drudgery of life is often relieved by these little glorious moments of humor. The capacity to see the flip side of life in the day to day situations and to come out of the bottlenecks of life , with a smile is indeed a great blessing, a great gift of the Gods. Charlie Chaplin had often said that he would not have survived the greatest battles of his life with out the great sense of humour he had. He could come out smililing in the hardest moments of his life. He laughed at the ironies of life, the very bitter sarcasm that life is.

Oscar Wilde, P.G.Wodehouse, and many great authors, great humor writers- all of them did suffer greatly in life but their sense of humor saved the day for them. Life and the drugeries of everyday living cannot be changed by crying or crimping about it. What next is the big question. In this question for solutions, if one can keep a cool head by being sensible and light-hearted about the situation, definitely the chances are that solutions would emerge on its own. Gloominess, depression and melancholy can only add miseries to life. But humor can brighten life, inspire the mind and spark the brain to look for way outs.

That is why sense of humor is a must for a healthy living.

Look at all the successul personalities. They were never fazed by the vagaries of life. They overcame the vicissitudes of life through hardwork and the ability to see the lighter side.
Progress in life can be achieved through these qualities only. The depressed man, never did go very far. Robert Bruce would have given up long back if he had no will to succeed and the ability to look beyond the seemingly gloomy and murky impasse.

Cultivate Humor, thou shall then not perish in the gloom of life.Rise, Shine and Smile.