J'lm Marathon Training #11

Sunday, 7 February 2010

I'm back!

Since my injury on 23 December 2009, I have been training extremely lightly. 3km here, 5km there. Low-pressure jogging to keep the body going, but nothing strenuous. In fact, that was all I could manage for a while. I would run a few kilometers and then my knee would start hurting, so I'd stop.

I saw an orthopedist who said my injury is a common one. Just a strain that will sort itself out in time. I don't have time! The marathon is on 18 March and I have to get into shape. But ill patience is what got me injured to begin with, so I forced myself to take it easy.

Today I did my first 10km since 23 December. I ran strongly for the first 6km. Heading up the hill where I originally hurt my knee, I started to feel a twang. It got steadily worse. I decided to ride out the pain for just a little bit. Perhaps it will settle down.

About 700m into the 1,200m climb, the knee started to steady. The pain was still there but didn't get any worse. I was jogging slowly, my time would suffer, but at least I'd finish. At the top of the hill the pain in my knee had almost disappeared. There was only a hint of pain, nothing I couldn't handle. I thought I'd go on - steady as she goes - slowly up Nachal Refaim.

I tried jogging unevenly, trying to sway the pain away from my left knee. I don't think it worked, but I gained another kilometer trying. I was going slowly, but the pain was not getting any worse at all.

In fact, by the time I got to Dolev, with only another 2km to go, I was taking full strides. There was no pain, although I could still sense that there was something lurking, waiting for me to push myself too hard.

With only 500m to go, and with a downhill to help, I picked up the pace. I wasn't going to beat my record time of 56:05, but I was well on my way to finishing the 10km, which was my goal for this run.

Sprinting to the finish line, I felt a rush of exhilaration course through my body. I lunged over the 10km mark at 63:00. Not bad for my first 10km run in about 1.5 months - with an injury and all. Oh, and I didn't have a stitch of any kind during the entire run.

Now, it's careful planning time - training hard without overdoing it, but pushing myself enough to make improvements. My original plan was to beat 45 minutes. With the time I took off from my training to nurse my injured knee, I doubt I'll achieve that now. But I'm back, and I will run in the race, and glory is within my grasp!

Future Man

I'm from the future. The problem is, I can't prove it. That's the most frustrating part. If I was going to travel through time, it would be handy to have at my disposal a ready way to prove to you that I am from the future. But I don't.

I'm only from two weeks in the future, so the technology is pretty much the same as today. There's no point in pulling out my new iPhone, e-book reader or some such other device because you could easily say that all I have is a prototype of a soon-to-be released version of the product. Besides, I didn't bring any of them back with me. I suppose I could give you tomorrow's winning lottery numbers if only I had taken note of them. Sorry.

I didn't mean to travel back in time, but here I am. I'm stuck in your timeline now and have to make the best of it. Truth be told, if I was going to purposely time travel, I don't think I would travel two weeks into the past. That's pretty boring. Perhaps I'd go back to some historical event, like the splitting of the sea or something like that. But to Ramat Beit Shemesh in January 2010?

How did I get here? Fascinating question. By chance? By luck? In fact, I don't remember. One minute I was in my own time, and the next I was here, wearing the same clothes, walking in the same direction. It is very disconcerting. I have no idea how it happened. Is this like a Groundhog Day experience? Am I simply reliving the same two weeks over and over and over again until I suddenly realize that I have been given a rare opportunity to achieve greatness in two weeks, where it would take others a lifetime?

But it can't be. I haven't any recollection of the past two weeks. Nothing. Not one bit of information travelled with me. Perhaps those who control time travel have imposed this rule on us so that we cannot take advantage of it. It is like my mind has gone blank - two weeks' worth of memories wiped clean out of my mind!

All I know is that I'm definitely from the future. I know this because I turned up to my doctor appointment and it says right here on the printout that my appointment is for Tuesday. But not this Tuesday - Tuesday in two weeks time. Yet here I am, standing outside the doctor's office at the clinic. Since I could not possibly make such a silly mistake, I must be a patient from the future.

Update: 26 January 2010 (added graphic) - thanks, CL!

The Truth

I urge you all to read Caroline Glick's article as it appears on Jerusalem Post:

Upon returning from Cairo on Tuesday, Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu proclaimed, "It's time to move the peace process forward."

The most sympathetic interpretation of Netanyahu's proclamation is that he was engaging in political theater. It was a low and dishonest statement uttered at the end of what has been, in the immortal words of W.H. Auden, "a low and dishonest decade."

Everyone with eyes in their heads knows that there is no chance of making peace with the Palestinians. First of all, the most Israel is willing to give is less than what the Palestinians are willing to accept.

Read More: http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?apage=1&cid=1261364564316&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull

J'lm Marathon Training #10

Thursday, 23 December 2009

Injury.

I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. Here's the story:

Delay after delay, I was unable to leave the house until 10pm, an hour after my scheduled start. This could not possibly be good. But despite that, I began well, getting into the rhythm, finding a good breathing pattern, and running at a good pace.

After exactly 11 minutes I reached the daunting incline of HaYarden Street. I sucked it in and pushed my way upwards. Reaching the top, I was surprised to realize that I was in very good shape - no stitch, no ache, plenty of energy. I decided that for the rest of the course I would go for it - If I tried, I was in a good position to smash my time and reach my medium-term goal of "10km in 55 minutes" sooner than expected.

Reaching just over the half-way mark, the clock rolled its digits to 29 minutes. I was going to have to put the pedal to the metal on this one. But I felt good. I was going to make it.

My body knew that the 1.22km HaYarkon Street was coming up and fought to reserve its strength, but I strode out and gained speed. A stitch began to creep up the side of my torso and I altered my breathing - short inhales and forceful exhales.

35 minutes into the run the stitch shrunk to near insignificance and I looked up. Before me lay a long upward challenge. I felt great and decided that since I had come this far, I may as well take it to the limit. 55 minutes was a real possibility.

Halfway up HaYarkon I began to slow down. My body said no but the stopwatch said yes. I fought harder. I stretched out longer. The muscles strained. And it was good.

Reaching the top of the 1.22km road I looked down at the watch. I had done HaYarkon in under five minutes. A brilliant effort after already running about 6km. And then, disaster.

My left knee sang out - like a broken-voiced teenager scraping his fingernails on a blackboard. Assessment: the coming 2.5+ km were mostly flat, with two short uphills. I could ride out the pain. In fact, on the flat parts, I hardly felt a thing, but up Refaim, the knee ached so much I began to limp. If only the pain would wait until after the 10km, I could break the 55, I knew I could. Alas, the Refaim hill caused pain that was too powerful and I slowed to a painful, agonizing, gimpish pace.

As soon as I hit a flat piece of road, I was on my way again, telling myself that I could still beat 55. Yet, even the slightest uphill was torturous. I was done for.

I thought back to one of my first blogs after I started training, where I wrote: Discipline also means knowing when to stop. Maybe I should heed my own advice? Balderdash! I'm less than 2km from the finish line and I refuse to give in! I shall not give up!

Dolev came none too soon. It's ever-so-slight downhill was refreshing and I picked up some pace, especially towards the end as the increasing severity of the downhill encouraged me to a more respectable speed. The knee refused. It argued. Loudly. But the watch said 52 minutes, better than my previous time. I had to finish strong.

Ignoring the searing pain, my left leg reluctantly followed my right at a more vigorous gait. Turning into Sorek, the slight uphill jabbed needles into my knee. I protected myself with a protracted wince, as if baring my teeth to the oncoming wind could extinguish the burning fire in my leg.

The finish line appeared surprisingly soon and as I watched its rapid approach with the detachment of a disinterested bureaucrat, my body lunged itself forward, breaking the imaginary tape at 56:05 - besting my previous time of 56:43.

I hobbled the 300m home, smiling inwardly at my manly disregard for pain, while outwardly cursing myself for my stupidity.

No more running until, at least, next Monday.

Channukah 2009: Karp-Style

Jl'm Marathon Training #9

This post includes 3 entries - the latest appears last.

Wednesday, 16 December 2009

During the course of the day I neglected to psych myself up for running, like I usually do. In fact, I almost forgot that I was to go for a jog in the evening. I didn't prepare by drinking water during the day, although I did keep to a light lunch and no snacking in the afternoon - but that's become the norm, rather than the exception.

At about 7pm I remembered that I was supposed to train that evening. I had that niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach that it really isn't a good idea. I should put it off. But I forced myself to go. Discipline must prevail.

Certain that I was not going to do well, I set off at about 9pm. I started off just fine, but a stitch had me in its evil clutches for approximately 4km. It was tough, but I kept working at altering my breathing patterns and doing the other breathing tricks I learned about on the wise Internet. The stitch eventually faded, but it had worn me out and I struggled to find rhythm.

Luckily for me, I self-motivate and I pushed myself at the end, increasing my speed until I built myself up to the pace of an energetic geriatric with a walking frame. Sprinting to the finish line was painful, but I still managed a personal best of 57:04 over 10km (not 10.3km)

Sunday, 20 December 2009

This time I was ready for the 10km. I did all of the mental and physical preparation I could during the day. I worked myself up to a state where I wouldn't be able to rest until I had completed the course.

Then I made a mistake.

During my warm-up stretches I parted from my normal routine and did some lunges, thinking they would stretch my thigh muscles. Being enthusiastic, I did quite a few, reasoning that the more I do, the better I'll feel schlepping myself up the hills. The only result I could see was that my thighs hurt from before I set out until the day after. I won't be doing lunges anymore before a run.

The self-inflicted handicap did not help as I really felt awful during the entire 10km. I fought off a stitch that came, went, extended up my arm, duplicated itself on the other side and then went around again for seconds. But once I had the finish line in my sights, I dug deep for the last reserves of strength hiding in the folds of my leg muscles. Sprinting home, I managed a personal best time of 56:43 over 10km. A great result considering it was an ugly run.

A Momentous Occasion

I did it. I signed up and paid my registration fee. I am now an official entrant in the Jerusalem Marathon 10km event. I was the fifth person to register. I have now put my money where my substantially sized mouth is. And I get a free T-Shirt (that I paid for with the fee.)

Now that there is real money on the table, this is serious.

Jl'm Marathon Training #8

I have been dieting really hard, sticking to my no-sweets, no-beer, no-junk food diet with the fervor of a religious fanatic who, very (very) occasionally sneaks a peanut butter sandwich.

I have not been training as hard as I should. On average, I do my 10.3km run twice a week, instead of my planned three-times a week. But I am improving. In fact, I completely slashed my time tonight, as you will read in the remainder of this post, which I call:

The Good. The Bad. The Ugly.

Monday, 14 December 2009

The Good
I completed my 10.3km run in a record 58:34. This puts me right on track to complete the Jerusalem marathon 10km event before the organizers finish packing up.

I felt absolutely fantastic the whole way (save for a stitch or two, which I worked through and overcame). I ran solidly, and I took on the tough uphills with gusto and determination (I would have taken on the uphills with zeal, as well, but he was too busy flirting with passion and spirit.)

How did I manage to finish the 10.3km in only 58:34?

• I discovered that registration for the Jerusalem half-marathon and 10km even has opened, and the details of the event are posted on the Internet: http://hmarathon.jerusalem.muni.il/
• I used an actual stopwatch, courtesy of my son, Zvi, who patiently showed me how to use the thing. The only problem is that I don't wear my glasses when I run, and so I can't see the time on the watch. I only know my result when I finish and have no idea of how I'm doing during the run.
  
• I worked really hard on not eating donuts, latkes and other oily foods (only 1 donut and 2 latkes, despite the heavy temptation) - "carrot sticks are yum, carrot sticks are yum"
• I have been drinking plenty of water (mixed with coffee, milk and sugar, but sometimes just by itself)
• I am a self-motivated, goal-oriented, success-driven, fanatical-fitness-freak (it helps)

Now I have a new record to beat. Bring it on, baby!

The Bad
My MP3 player stopped working. How is that possible? It's almost brand new. But it might not be so bad.

Perhaps the music was holding me back. Maybe the earphones were slowing me down? Could the beat of the songs have limited my stride?

The bad might not be so bad after all, although I still have no MP3 player.

The Ugly
My Brooks Adrenaline GT9s - comfy as heck, but as ugly as an inside-out monkey.

New Blood

Here is my latest short story. I entered it into a competition where the requirements were:

- No more than 1,500 words
- Any topic
- Must be bold, brilliant and brief

Here it is:

www.ploni.net/NewBlood-YossiKarp.pdf

Jl'm Marathon Training #7

Motzei Shabbat, 28 November 2009

As promised I went for a short run this evening. I wasn't going to go, though. I had decided that I wouldn't and was looking forward to settling down to some relaxing activities, like putting away the dishes.

Turns out that my son, Shimi, remembered that I told him he could come along with me on a run. He would bike and I would shlep myself behind him. How could I give up quality father/son time?

So we plotted out a route that didn't include so many hills and we set off at about 8.30pm. I pushed myself harder than usual and I did a bit of sprinting, which is something I don't do on a 10km run. I enjoyed the time and Shimi was great.

4.5km and 28 minutes later I put the pedal to the metal and powered on home. I don't think I've ever run as fast as that. It only took me about 20 minutes to recover. The time was a bit disappointing, but I put it down to cholent.

Oh, and when I finally recovered, I did put away the dishes ;-)

Jl'm Marathon Training #6

Wednesday, 25 November 2009

I must be a masochist. I decided that my previous route, which involved running a particular course and then backtracking, was too boring. If I was running on a treadmill, the scenery would be the same. But since I'm running out on the street, why see the same thing twice?

So on Wednesday evening, I sat down in front of Google Earth with my eldest son and we planned out a new course, according to these guidelines:

• At least 10km
• Avoid running through certain communities
• Not too many long downhills
• Include the killer Nahar HaYarden uphill
• Include the 1.22km Yarkon uphill
• Avoid backtracking as much as possible

The route we came up with is very complicated, but fulfills all criteria. It is actually 10.3km and involves only a few short backtracks. It is also about 80% uphill! OK, I exaggerate, but there are a lot more uphills than in my previous routes.

I completed the course in about 1 hour and 20 minutes, although I'm not entirely sure because I had a technical problem with the stopwatch along the way.

I was absolutely buggered after the run, although I did manage the 100m sprint to the finish line, which was extremely satisfying. All my muscles ached, but at least I didn't injure myself (go Brooks Adrenaline GT9s!)

I'm thinking of doing a quick 5k run on Motzei Shabbat, followed by this new course on Sunday. It is very challenging, but hopefully not too challenging.

If anyone has advice about training for a competitive running event (I know, 10km is not a marathon!) in hilly Jerusalem, please write them in the comments!

Here is a picture of my new route. Obviously, I start from the Home marker and end the run there. Follow the red arrow, but when the route brings you back almost to the beginning (the first turn), follow the blue arrow. As I said, there is some backtracking, but not a lot. Also, most of the backtracking is on the opposite side of the street, so the scenery is still a bit different.

The yellow writing is probably too difficult to read. The yellow writing at the top of the picture says "Massive HaYarkon Uphill" and the yellow writing at the bottom of the picture says "1.22km Yarkon Uphill". Those are my two most challenging uphills, although there are many more shorter uphills along this course.

Click on the image for a larger, clearer view.

Jl'm Marathon Training #5

Sunday, 22 November 2009

I went out for my first run in over a week. The flu kept me indoors, but I was itching to get out there again.

I did my first big 10k run, which included nearly 4k of hills, some of them pretty steep. I completed the route in 1:10:00.

I didn't start out well. I got a stitch in the first three minutes and my hamstrings decided to make themselves heard just as I headed off. Things settled down in short order, but the niggling pains at the beginning were a little disconcerting. I guess it was the body's way of waking up after a long vacation.

I thought that it was a relatively solid run, albeit a bit slow. So far I have been concentrating on distance. I think I've got that. Now I need to challenge the clock.

Despite the minor muscle complaints, one thing was for certain: my feet were well taken care of. This past week I purchased a pair of Brooks Adrenaline GTS 9s. They are by far the most comfortable running shoes I've ever worn - no chafing, no bleeding toes, no sore arches. It was like running on soft, fluffy cushions the whole way. Well, sort of.

The shoes really are great, although they are as ugly as a box of blowflies. Doesn't matter, I want to step in them, not frame them. Although, for the price, one would have thought Brooks could put a little more effort into the exterior design. The Adrenaline reminds me of 1980s Reeboks mixed with a bit of 1970s night-club-silver. Sort of makes me want to do the boogie instead of the 10k!

This photo was taken after the shoes' maiden voyage. I'm looking forward to taking them out for a spin again. They certainly beat the all-purpose Nikes I was using before. I think that with a proper pair of shoes I'll have a better chance of doing well in this event.

Jl'm Marathon Training #4

Really Early Morning, Friday, 13 November 2009

Set out on a jog in the wee hours of the morning at 12.20am. I decided to run a more challenging route than my usual 6 times around Dolev, AKA "The Peanut".

The route I took ended up being only approximately 7.66km, but it was very hard:
1. From my home to the corner of Ayalon and Kishon (about 0.83km - mostly downhill)
2. From Kishon/Yarkon to the corner of Yarden (approx 1.22km of solid incline)
3. From corner Yarkon/Yarden to the corner Kishon/Yarden (total approx 1.78km - lots of ups and downs plus one huge downhill)
Then turn around and do it in reverse (that huge downhill becomes one killer uphill).

I did it in just over an hour and five minutes. I'm pretty happy with that, given the difficulty of the terrain. It's a very challenging course, so I hope to improve next time.

But my biggest accomplishment so far is that I didn't get eaten by a jackal on the way.

Jl'm Marathon Training #3

Tuesday, 10 November 2009
I needed a day's break to recover from the 10km I did on Sunday. In retrospect, I should have gone cycling, which is a great cross-training activity. But I didn't.

Going out this evening was difficult. I started the run at 10.15pm. I had a stitch for the first 4kms - a minor one, but it niggled at me. I started grunting at around the 3km mark. That's not good. I usually don't start grunting until somewhere towards the end. My feet started to hurt at around 5km - turns out my two smallest toes on my left foot were bleeding. I guess that means its time to hunt for better shoes. I'm certain that all these factors caused me to slow down considerably. But I had to overcome these setbacks and finish the 10km no matter what. I managed my breathing, corrected my posture and rallied over the last few kms to make the run worthwhile.

I made sure that, no matter how tired I was feeling, I powered up the one hill on my route each time I reached it. Strange, but I sprinted up that hill faster each time, rather than slow down, as you would expect. I think that I was psyching myself up for it on every rotation. I was also fortunate that either the cars on the road forced me to quicken my pace at that particular spot, or the music playing in my headphones reached the inspirational points that spurred me on up that hill. I'm beginning to enjoy the hills - at least this one.

My final sprint home over the last 200 meters was blistering fast. I could feel every muscle straining as I powered through the fatigue. I felt like a thousand people were standing by cheering me as I crashed through the winners tape. Despite that the only spectator to my incredible finish was a cat who had its nose stuck inside a tuna can, it was an awesome end to my late-night run.

I completed the 10km course in 1:08:00 (approximately). I realize it is not much of an improvement on my original 10km - I'm sure I can go faster. I just have to try harder and push myself a bit more.

I am far from having conquered the Dolev circuit, but I'm not sure I can motivate myself to keep going around in circles. I'm already planning another 10km route that includes varied scenery and terrain. For the moment, though, I have to follow through with the current mini-challenge to do the Dolev circuit easily and in much better time.

Jl'm Marathon Training #2

Wednesday, 4 November 2009:
As previously blogged, I decided to ditch the treadmill and run out on the road. I was advised to go for distance to build stamina, rather than time, at this stage (thanks, especially to Chaim and Rafi of the Beit Shemesh Running Club - I still intend to join up, I would just prefer to wait until I have a chance of keeping up a little bit with you guys!)

I took a leisurely jog to Rechov Nachal Dolev (getting there and back cost me 1.7km). Dolev is a 1500m circular street in Ramat Beit Shemesh (well, it's actually peanut-shaped, but you know what I mean) and is relatively flat, with one hill that goes for about 30m-50m. I thought that I'd take it easy on my first time out. I completed my initial lap easily and was getting into the groove when I started my second. I debated with myself the whole third lap and decided to go for a fourth. Why not? I stumbled out of Dolev after four times around and jogged back to my apartment. The 7.7km ordeal took 50 minutes.

When I arrived home, I discovered that I couldn't speak properly. I had trouble remembering words, I couldn't put a sentence together and I had difficulty thinking of the street I jogged on, even after my wife repeated its name for me numerous times. Thankfully, this lasted only as long as it took me to collapse into bed. By the morning I was fine.

Here's what I learned:

• Hydrate properly before going on a run - sticking to a "hydration plan" throughout the day in preparation for a run is ideal
• Even if it is cold, don't run in track pants and three layers of t-shirts - I was unwell that week and was paranoid about exacerbating my cold
• Discipline includes knowing when to stop

I was too tired (read: scared of hurting myself) on Thursday and Friday to go for a run, but I went on a 45 minute walk (each way) to and from the boys' school on Motzei Shabbat for parent-teacher interviews. So at least that was something.

Sunday, 8 November 2009
Well, today was a milestone (literally). Record this date in your diaries and celebrate each year - today, for the first time in my life, I ran a full 10km. I prepared properly, I dressed appropriately and I jogged confidently. It took me 1hr and 10m to run approximately 10.7km (from my place to Dolev and back is about 1.7km + 6 times around Dolev, which is 9km.)

I initially aimed to do 4 laps and then see how I felt. When I went through my system check (legs, breathing, stitch status, etc) during lap 4, I was amazed to feel exactly as I did when I first headed out. That being the case, I decided to go for lap 5. Towards the end of lap 5, I could feel my legs starting to complain, but not enough to make me give up the big 10km.

And I feel good. I didn't get a stitch the whole time, but my calf muscles hurt. I stretched them a lot before setting off, and again when I cooled down, but I can still feel tightness. It isn't painful, so I am not worried.

Here are some observations:

• It is much more difficult to run on the road than on a treadmill - my feet feel heavier, for some reason, and my running style seems more ungainly (oh, and there are potholes...)
  
• Running on the road is more exhilarating than running on a treadmill, but shouting "Come on you lazy good-for-nothing!" in the middle of Dolev is not tolerated as much as doing so in the gym...
  
• Drivers are, surprisingly, very courteous to joggers
• Dogs are not very courteous to joggers
  
• One of the joys of a 10km run is the final sprint to the finish line
  

I think I'll try to replicate this run one or two more times, without focusing on improving my time. Then I'll choose a different route with more inclines - I can save Dolev for the days I do my "easy" 10km runs (never thought I'd hear myself say that!)

Looking at my times and distances now, I sometimes wonder if I will ever get to March doing 10km in a more respectable time, but I think I am on my way.

Jl'm Marathon Training #1

Jumblerant (good one, Mr. G.) challenged me to post about my progress with training for the Jerusalem Marathon 10k event in March 2010. So here we go:

Sunday, 1 November 2009:
Started training.

Knowing that I have never run 10k before, I decided to concentrate on distance rather than speed. My usual run is 4.5k and I wanted to start with something easy. I ran a comfortable 5k at a constant speed of 13km/h.

I got off the treadmill and felt really good. I figured that next time I'll go for 6k and build up from there. I also decided that 13km/h is a good pace so I'll try and maintain it, even as I increase the distance.

Tuesday, 3 November 2009:
I hit the treadmill at about 9.20pm. I was tired and fighting a cold. I read on a website today that to start seriously training for a 10k race you have to be able to run 30 minutes without stopping. I had previously promised myself to run 6k, so I decided not to alter my plan - I psyched myself up all day for the 6k and I didn't want a last-minute change to ruin my motivation.

The first 5k was relatively easy, but the last kilometer was hard. Breathing became difficult (I think because of my cold) and I struggled a bit through the last 500 meters.

I reached 6k in 28:08 and then slowed down to a fast walk. At first I was disappointed because I felt so exhausted after the run. After running 5k with absolute ease, I didn't think that 6k could be so difficult. Despite the voice in my head begging me to slow down, I kept to a steady speed of 13km/h (not including the short warm-up before the run). After thinking about it for a while, I realized that I had never run 6k before, that the time I did it in is quite good, and that 6k is only 4k off my target distance, and I'm over half-way there.

I also started working on my abs. I read on the Internet (so it must be true) that runners need to really work on their abs. So I did 2 sets of 15 stomach crunches, as advised by the gym supervisor. The crunches nearly killed me. So I plan to do this exercise every day. Hopefully they will become easier.

Tomorrow I think I'll do a short run on the road, maybe 20 minutes to half an hour of slow jogging on relatively flat terrain, depending on the weather. All the websites say to follow a hard run with an easy one. I'll let you know how I go.

60th Post Bonus

For my 60th Blog Post I thought I'd give you all a bonus.

Here is a story I submitted to a competition. The story is called "A Talented Man."

I won't know the result of the competition until March 2010.

http://www.ykarp.com/Fiction/ATalentedMan.pdf

Enjoy,

Yossi Karp

Quit While You're Ahead

Why don't people quit while they're ahead? When the late-great Michael Jackson was the King of Pop in the 80s, he should have hung up his glove and become an accountant or something. Look what happened to him. Not to mention Elvis Presley and Judy Garland, among others.

What makes people so ambitious that they feel it necessary to attempt to revive their glorious past? Unless you are Rocky Balboa, comebacks are rarely successful. Tastes change and the competition gets younger, more agile and more energetic. There comes a point where you have to say, "Look buddy, don't push your luck. You've had a good run, you've achieved fame and fortune, you've given it your all. Now go and do something else."

In an amazingly unprecedented feat of brilliance, last week I smashed my 4.5k record of 20:00, running the distance in 18:31. That's an average of 14.6km/h. About seven months ago I started out running 4.5k in 30 minutes, so reducing it to 18:31 is an amazing achievement.

You'd think I would be happy with that. But an athlete's ambition is an unquenchable thirst.

I'm not going to quit while I'm ahead. I'm not going to take my own advice and fade off quietly into the abyss of anonymity. I'm not going to rest upon my laurels. I'm not going to sit on a couch and watch others take the fame, fortune and glory.

I'm going to train for the 10k Jerusalem marathon. My new aim is to do 10k in 45 minutes. That's about an average of 13.3km/h. I'll pound the pavement and wear out the treadmill until I reach my goal. Then I'm going to find out what the times were for the top 100 people in last year's race and I'm going to aim to match it.

Then I'm going to enter the mid-March 10k race and give it all I've got, pushing myself to beat my personal best. It will hurt, the pain will yell at me to stop, my senses will shout at me to slow down. But I will not capitulate to imaginary voices. My muscles will burn, my legs will ache and my lungs will gasp, but I will settle for nothing less than magnificence.

And once the race is won, when the fans have returned to their homes to compose poetry of my greatness; when the chants of "Yossi! Yossi! Yossi!" have finally melted gently into the circling Jerusalem clouds, I'll sit on my balcony, drink ice-cold beers and dream of the next race in a year's time.

What I Know About Baseball

I had an email exchange with a co-worker today about Aussie Rules football. I have worked with him for over 5 years and so it wasn't a surprise when he replied to one of my jargon-filled emails "I even understood some of that".

He then asked me if I would like to learn about baseball. I replied with a list of all I know about the great American game:

1. Create a World Series competition and only invite North America.
2. Wear tight-fitting, striped, knee-length pants.
3. Eat peanuts and crackerjacks.
4. Sing the American anthem.
5. Cover yourself with padding, wear a vision-obscuring helmet, and signal rudely to the pitcher.
6. Shout "Strike One!", "Ball!" and "Safe!" at random moments during the game.
7. In a gravelly voice, saliva spitting from your mouth, yell the words "you're" and "out" so that it sounds like "YEROUT!" while pointing to any player.
8. Wear one oversized glove.
9. Chew gum, spit generously and swear at the umpires.
10. Hit a round ball with a round bat (something like a caveman's club).
11. Run around a diamond that covers only a small portion of the entire playing field.
12. Steal bases, but leave them behind afterwards.
13. Run home, which is the place you started from.

Not bad for an ex-pat Aussie, eh?

Placebo Buttons

A placebo button is a button that, when pushed, does nothing other than make the button pusher feel like he has effected change.

A famous example is the "close door" button in an elevator. Does pushing it actually close the doors, or do the doors close according to their programmed cycle, anyway? Certainly, pushing the button makes you feel like you have done something, but whether you actually have or not can only be determined by experimentation.

The Museum of Hoaxes blog busts the myth that all cross-walk buttons are placebos. Some are, some aren't, some never were but are now.

This whole thing got me thinking: What other things do we do that are really just placebos, dummy deeds we do to make ourselves feel in control? Just how much of our lives is rigged? Are we all being manipulated? Is there some great super-governmental force out there giving us the illusion that our opinions count?

Here's a few things that might really be placebos:

• Half the operations we do in MS Windows:
  Ever tried to force a "hanging" program to close using the task manager?
  
  
• Filing papers at any government office:
  It's a fun exercise, but do they do whatever they want, despite your requests?
  
  
• Voting in an election:
  Aren't they all rigged?
  
  
• Paying taxes:
  You pay a certain amount of tax. Your tax money doesn't go to schools and hospitals. Someone else's does. Your money goes to fitting that new executive bathroom in some fancy government building somewhere.
  
  
• Ordering a steak at a restaurant:
  You order rare, it comes out well-done, but you felt decisive and powerful telling the waitress exactly how you would like it.

So how much control do we have over our own decisions, and do they mean anything? To test this theory, I've spent the last month making random choices, spur-of-the-moment, sometimes illogical decisions about lots of different things. The idea was to see whether any decision I made would ultimately lead me to the same end, proving the theory that everything is placebo and your choices don't matter, or whether my decisions actually had an effect on things.

Without going into too many details, Hugo Chavez is still in power. I ate raw dog meat in a Chinese restaurant. I filed the requisite forms and am now receiving financial assistance from Aboriginal Business Canada. I know the names of prison guards in four different African countries. I owe money to an Atlantic City loan shark. I don't have any clothes aside from those I'm wearing, but I do have all of my fingers, some of which are in an ice-pack in my rucksack.

Witticisms

I've been spending my time collecting witty phrases to share with you. Some are from the Internet, others I made up. Enjoy:

• This device is cuter than a box of puppies
• The back seat is harder to get into than MIT
• Cheaper than pirated software
• If your tumor were any more minor it would need a hardhat with a light on it
• The engine guzzles more than a college student at spring break
• It's uglier than an Elton John outfit
• It's sexier than a 1973 Porche
• He's more washed out than a room full of Maytags
• He's as washed up as an oil-covered duck
• As useless as a chocolate kettle
• He's brighter than Hiroshima
• He's as dim as a 40 watt bulb
• The grinding noise it makes is louder than an American tourist
• More persistent than a tabloid journalist
• This perfume smells worse than a political cover-up
• This supermarket has more isles than the Hawaiian Archipelago
• More distracting than a teenager with a cell phone
• This thing has more wires than a coathanger factory
• A heater that beats cold weather like global warming
• Greener than Al Gore
• The sky is bluer than BB King
• The color is redder than China
• It's thinner than a Presidential excuse
• It's faster than a nightclub gigolo
• The price is steeper than the Andes
• It's hot enough to boil an entire monkey
• It's hotter than Satan's backside

Have you got more?

Eating While Driving

Wired's Autopia Magazine quotes a study by insurance.com that lists the top 10 most dangerous foods to eat while driving (I like no.9 the best!):

1. Coffee. It's hot. It can spill. That's bad. That said, we're guilty of this. So are you. Admit it.
2. Hot soup. It's hot. It can spill. That's bad.
3. Tacos. Very messy.
4. Chili. It's hot. It can spill. That's bad. And it's very messy.
5. Hamburgers. Greasy hands and a steering wheel do not mix.
6. Barbecued food. Um, that should go without saying.
7. Fried chicken. You think burgers are greasy?
8. Jelly or cream-filled donuts. Ever bitten into one and not had it squirt all over the place?
9. Soft drinks. Big threat of spillage, says Insurance.com, and unacceptable risk of "fizz up your nose." Huh?
10. Chocolate. It melts on your fingers, which makes a mess on the steering wheel.

A while ago I presented a list of foods most likely to make you flatulate.

Keep the roads safe. Don't combine the lists.

Bon Apetit!

Mid-Life Crisis

I just want to know when I am entitled to have a mid-life crisis. Is it possible to actually calculate how long I am going to live and then time my crises to occur exactly at middle age?

According to Wikipedia:

Middle age is the period of life beyond young adulthood but before the onset of old age. Various attempts have been made to define this age, which is around the third quarter of the average life span of human beings.

So I looked up the average life-expectancy of males and found that in Israel, that age is 76.46, at least according to the CIA World Factbook Estimates, 2008, as quoted in Wikipedia. So that schedules my mid-life crisis at between 38-57 years old.

I don't know if I can wait that long. I'm quite stressed out now and only 35. Actually, it's worse than that. Since I am from Australia, where the average life expectancy of males is supposed to be 77.8 years, I shouldn't have my mid-life crisis until I'm between 39-58 years old.

So this begs the question: what if I move countries? Do I take on the average life-span of males in that country, or am I stuck with the average life-span of my birth country? I'm guessing that since the average life span is a product of genes, environment and diet that it is a mixture of both. However, for the sake of argument, let's suppose that when you move to another country you adopt their average life-expectancy. It's only fair since you are also adopting their climate, health care system and crime-rate.

If I wanted to have my mid-life crisis earlier, I could move to any number of countries with lower life expectancies than Israel. New Zealand, UK, US, France and China all fit that criteria.

Swaziland has the lowest life expectancy, meaning that I could have had my mid-life crisis from when I was 15-23 years old. A bit early - I was married at 22 and hadn't even had the time to build up to it. I don't know how I would have managed to cope with a mid-life crisis at 15. That's just cruel. But according to the CIA, my next opportunity will be in Rwanda or Sudan, both of which will allow me to succumb to the pressures of life before my next birthday. Joy.

But what happens when you overshoot the average life expectancy of your country? By that stage you have already had your mid-life crisis, albeit too early. That could be a problem - what if you wanted another one? If you are still cranky between the ages of 47 and 71, does that automatically mean that you are going to live to be 95? Such questions should be left to the philosophers of the world. I undertook an extremely unscientific study of philosophers and found that the majority were German males who probably only have 75.96 years to figure this out.

But it really is comforting to know that I have the option to choose when I am going to break down under mountains of stress, and when I am not. Think about it, how much easier is it now that you know that you have a few years to save up for all of those expensive therapists? You don't need to spend time on the couch now, wait until you are close to the third quarter of the average life expectancy of people in your country and then pay a shrink to watch you go to pieces. Very economical.

But, of course, as long as you are at an age below the third quarter of your life expectancy there is nothing stopping you from practicing. Anything above that and, sorry, but I can't help you.

Things That Make You Go Boom

A non-exhaustive list of flatulence-causing foods. Add more in the comments! Looks like nothing is safe!
Source: The Internet

Apricots
Artichokes
Asparagus
Baked beans
Bananas
Bagels
Bean salads
Beer
Beets
Black-eyed peas
Bog beans
Bread
Broad beans
Broccoli
Brussel sprouts
Cabbage
Carrots
Cauliflower
Celery
Cereals
Cheese
Chickpeas
Chili
Corn
Cucumbers
Dressings
Eggplant
Field beans
Fruits
Garlic
Ice cream

You fall within the normal scale if you produce between 1 to 4 pints of gas per day.

Kohlrabi
Leeks
Lettuce
Onions
Parsley
Peppers, sweet
Seeds
Lentils
Lima beans
Mung beans
Peanut butter
Peanuts
Peas
Pinto beans
Most individuals release a little burst of air through the rear quarters approximately 14 to 23 times each and every day.

Potatoes
Pretzels
Prunes
Raisins
Red kidney beans
Sauerkraut
Sodas
Soybeans
Barley
Breakfast cereals
Granola
Oat bran
Oat flour
Pasta
Pistachios
Rice
Rice bran
Rye
Sesame flour

Cows actually burp and toot so frequently that they are responsible for about 15 percent of all the methane gas produced worldwide. This would mean that they are really not very environmentally friendly critters.

Sorghum, grain
Soy milk
Split-pea soup
Stir-fried vegetables
Stuffed cabbage
Sunflower flour
Tofu
Tuna
Wheat bran
Whole grain bread
Whole wheat flour

Hairdressers and Taxi Drivers

Everyone tries to be smart. Everyone wants to be clever. Everyone wants to get ahead. So you read newspapers, magazine articles and blogs to get to know what the pundits are saying about the latest economic data. You study the consumer reviews to make sure that you buy only the best value; and you work hard to obtain the right information to make the most informed decisions possible.

You just want to get that edge over the rest of the crowd.

So the name of the game is to keep all good ideas to yourself. Here's an example: Last time I went to vote I had to wait in line for a really long time. A friend of mine hobbled up next to me on his crutches. I was number 688 and he was number 734. Since they were only up to number 465, we both had a long wait ahead of us. Not so. Once they saw his crutches, Dave was given VIP Gold-Club, Presidential treatment. He was in and out of the voting booth in about five minutes. Next time they hold elections, I’m going in with a pair of crutches.

Look what I just did -I gave away my idea! At the next elections 300 people will turn up with crutches! Silly me. Now my brilliant scheme isn't worth the pixels it's written on.

Makes you wonder about all that information out there. Take the wall Street Journal, for instance. Here is a newspaper with a massive readership. Most of the world reads the Journal. So if the Wall Street Journal publishes an article in which they announce that investing in Brazilian offal exports is the next sure thing, you can bet your bottom dollar (and you just might) that they are misinforming you big time.

How so?

They say that those who can, do; those who can't, teach; those who can't teach, administrate (click here for the whole spiel). Like stockbrokers, if these supposed "experts" were any good at their jobs, they would be multi-millionaires. Why would they bother writing 2000 words about the latest financial Garden of Eden, when they could keep all that information for themselves and away from the hungry masses?

I'll tell you why: Hairdressers and taxi drivers.

Once Bob the taxi driver passes on the tip that stock in Paradise Ferrets is hot, it's too late. They don't mind telling you because once that info hits the papers, the opportunity is long gone. The financial analysts have already plundered that investment. There will be nothing left for you except the dregs. And the next time you let Pierre prune your mop, you'll find out that it's best to sell right now - everyone is doing it! By this time the price has dropped like polonium-filled potato and you've committed the ultimate sin of buying high and selling low.

So how do you get ahead of the game? What's the winning formula? I know the secret, but that would be telling, wouldn't it?

Relaxing, the Hard Way

In the movie "The Pursuit of Happyness" [sic] the protagonist describes a period of his life as "Riding the Bus", where he seems to constantly be going somewhere on the bus or chasing after it as it pulls away from the curb.

Right now I am writing this blog while on a bus. And I am also running up against a deadline - my battery is only at 17% and I have to finish this before the battery light flashes orange and the short, determined beeps signal an imminent shutdown.

But is forcing a shutdown so bad? Sometimes, during the hectic life I seem to lead, it is good to "shutdown" once in a while. By that I don't mean collapsing in a heap on the couch, unable to move because every bone in your body aches. Nor do I mean the type of shutdown that comes at the end of one's life. I'm talking about the type of shutdown that is followed by a "restart".

Thinking about it, it is probably a good idea to turn off, once in a while; to detach yourself from life for a short period of time - recharge your batteries, if you will.

13%

I do that sometimes by watching movies. Just sit back, relax and watch other people run around the screen, solving the problems of the world. But actually, that type of relaxation is not entirely beneficial. Heart-racing thrillers, intense drama, suspense-filled action - movies that leave you breathless until the last scene. It doesn't seem so relaxing now, does it?

10%

So how can you safely switch off from the world? How about renting a yacht and sailing into the deep blue? Extricate yourself from the world, disconnect from all forms of external stimulation. Sound idyllic? Not really. What happens when the ocean swells suddenly overtake the boat - or you run out of food and have to spend all day fishing with a broken line and a single Doritos for bait, just to stave off hunger? What if you are overrun by pirates who steal your compass and so you end up sailing to some unfriendly country where they strip you of your yacht and sell you to wealthy landowners who use you as a whipping boy for their recalcitrant child? How relaxing could that be?

7%

Here's an idea - stay home. You can spend your time sleeping, and hope you don't get a cramp from not moving enough. Or you could sit and play online games against strangers in another country who will ask no questions before violently slicing thorough your avatar with magical swords. Or you could just sit on your balcony and hope that you don't get skin cancer from the UV rays that apparently shine through the clouds, only to penetrate deep into your cells.

3%

So it seems that the only real way to relax without any negative consequences is to-

A Hairy Situation

As you can see from my profile picture, I used to have a beard. It was a good beard. A thick, solid, bushy thing. That beard and I spent many years together. It kept me warm and was an amusement for children. But now it is gone and I am beardless.

It was a snap decision that I mulled over for a number of weeks. One morning I decided to trim my beard and then I just couldn't help myself - I went too far and there was no going back. Everyone says that I now look 20 years younger. Someone mistook me for my younger brother. My daughter's friend didn't recognize me. It's like a new lease on life.

They may say that the clothes maketh the man, but I think it's the facial hair. In fact, it may be so fashionable to "mow the lawn" that some don't stop at the face. They keep going north.

According to Wikipedia, "Head shaving is much more common among men. It is often associated with religious practice, the armed forces and some competitive sports such as swimming, running and extreme sports". I thought the armed forces and competitive sports are religious practices...

But being clean-shaven isn't a sure-fire recipe for success.

Bruce Doule, an iconic Aussie Rules Football player used to sport a beard. Take a look at his picture and you will see why he was nicknamed the "flying doormat". Doulle was a half-back flanker for the Mighty Blues and, despite his scraggly appearance, was considered a very accomplished player.

Not a full beard, but Robert DiPierdomenico ("Dipper") has a trademark mustache that makes him instantly recognizable, on and off the field. Here's a great photo of Dipper, looking nice and unkempt. Dipper was also considered a champion Aussie Rules footballer in his day and was inducted into the Australian Football Hall of Fame in 2007.

According to The World of Beards, the greatest bearded sportsman of all time was Sergio Batista, "Sergio Batista is the only man to have held the [Soccer] World Cup aloft his facial furniture and therefore unrivaled as the World of Beards greatest sportsman". Yeah, but he wasn't an Aussie footy player.

And there are those to whom beards are sacred.

If you have a beard, you might want to make your way to Santa Barbara on 23 May 2009 for the Annual World Beard and Moustache Championships (not sponsored by Gillette). If you think your beard or Mo can stand up to the competition, you might want to sign up for Beard Team USA. Here's one member, Eric Brown from New York, NY, who will probably win, if they can find him under all that hair.



The World of Beards, which I must say seems more like a support group for hairy men, reports the following:

Each year King Williams College on the Isle of Man quizzes its pupils with possibly the hardest quiz ever devised by man. This Christmas the school has asked its pupils a number of questions about BEARDS! Clearly the future leaders of the country are being prepared for a life where a facial companion is a friend that will bring power and influence.

Perhaps beards are in and smooth faces are out. I should have done my research before putting shaver to face. I'm clearly out of whack with facial hair fashion. At least on the Isle of Man.

The Man from Down Under Goes Down Under

I went kayaking the other day. Although the circumstances around how the boat capsized may be entertaining, I will keep them aside in my dubious collection of heroic stories to tell my children and grandchildren.

But the truth of the matter is that the kayak overturning took me completely by surprise. One moment I was quite happily paddling along in a boat with a crew of four and the next moment I found myself under the water. Thinking back on that event, I realize that when accidents happen you really are quite unprepared for them.

Let's analyze my little dip in the river. Firstly, I remember very clearly that the boat was suddenly no longer underneath me, the place where it was supposed to be. In a few microseconds my brain processed the fact that I was under water and so my eyes shut automatically, like "shields up" on the Starship Enterprise. I held my breath and I kicked my legs, expecting to surface. I shot myself upwards, my head colliding with the upturned boat. That's when I started panicking - I was under the water, stuck under a boat. Looking back, I would have expected my life to flash before my eyes. Perhaps some last thoughts or images of family or a prayer or two would skim across my brain.

Not so.

In that moment of panic, a big red flashing sign lit up in the electric pathways that comprise my brain, which read, "Survival Mode!" All thoughts, subconscious processes and unessential activity instantly snapped closed like a safety switch to a short circuit. All energy was immediately routed to the parts of my mind and body dedicated to getting me out from under that boat.

Using the palms of my hands, I pushed up against the capsized boat, propelling myself further underwater. I scrambled to the left. My eyes were shut tight and I was aware of, but could barely hear, my fellow boaters flailing similarly beside me. In a matter of seconds I had cleared the obstruction above. My head broke through the surface of the water and my arms worked overtime to free me of the current that had seemingly wrapped itself around my legs, still trying to pull me down.

And then the flashing light stopped flashing. Power was restored to all parts of my brain, which was now functioning within normal parameters. The electrical signals resumed their usual course through the gray matter. Eyes open, I could finally take stock of my situation and once again use rational thinking and logic to plan my next move.

I almost want to do it again just to see if I would react differently the second time around. Life-jacket, anyone?

POSTSCRIPT: 6 May 2009
I just heard on the radio that Israel kayaking champion, Yasmin Feingold, is recovering after a serious accident on the Yarkon river. We all wish her well. See this Jerusalem Post article for more information.

The Soft Sell

I remember that when I was a kid we were honored by a visit from an encyclopedia salesman. One evening he came to our house and sat himself at our dining room table. I remember thinking that he was a young fellow, or at least he seemed so. Clean cut, jacket and tie, pearly white smile and shiny black brogue shoes. I also remember that he was a smooth talker.

He was a great salesman. Pitching the Encyclopedia Britannica couldn't be easy, but it was the 1980s and Wikipedia didn't yet exist. He spoke with great honesty about all the benefits of the 20-volume set to a family with teen and pre-teen kids. "And what would you use it for?" he asked me as I leaned awkwardly against the piano, fidgeting the way a 9-year-old does. "For school work, I guess". The salesman smiled and spread out his hands, palms open, gesturing at the children. He beamed.

I'm sure that my parents didn't hear the spiel. I'm positive that they were oblivious to the salesman's statistics of how many of his customers ended up as Nobel Laureates. I think their mind was on the price.

I don't remember the going rate for the set, but if you take the current price of $1,200 and convert it to Australian currency (which is where I am from), it would be approximately $1,675AU. According to McCrindle Research (pdf), the average wage in Australia in 2008 was, conveniently, $1,000AU per week. Rounding it off, that makes the cost of the encyclopedias about 1.675 weeks salary. According to the same study, the average weekly Australian salary in 1983 was $324AU, making the cost of the set approximately $543AU. So that would be my guess (see "Creative Journalism").

When the salesman left the house, I wondered why our bookshelf was not adorned by the 20 magnificent volumes of the famous Britannica. My parents most likely breathed a sigh of relief. The salesman was good, but not that good.

Today I answered a knock at the door. It was an encyclopedia salesman. I almost called the Israel Antiquities Authority to make sure this guy is put in a glass box on display in some museum. I just could not believe that they still existed.

My salesman was not as smooth as my parents' was. My guy was dressed in ill-fitting navy blue track-pants, a plaid shirt and a coat that, from its length, looked more like a bolero than anything else. Sporting a bushy moustache, he breathed out heavily through his nose after each sentence. And he never stopped talking. One sentence ran into the other and I couldn't understand what he was saying half the time.

All of a sudden the price dropped by 30 shekels, and I hadn't said a word. I decided to keep mum, maybe I could bargain him down some more. I just looked at him as he kept jabbering on. After he dropped the price by another ten shekels, I decided to put the guy out of his misery. "After all," he sputtered, "I'm selling this at a loss".

Unlike my previous experience, this time when the salesman walked away, I didn't have to eye the empty space on the shelf. We bought a ten-volume set of the childrens' encyclopedia. They are actually very good and come with nice glossy pictures. Just my style.

Encyclopedia salesmen are a rare species. How could I refuse a bushy moustache and a jovial, albeit, unshaven face? The swanky suit and tie, smooth-talking thing was unnecessary. All through the sale I had no idea what he was talking about, but I smiled respectfully, looked concerned as appropriate, and laughed heartily when he laughed as I handed over my credit card.

The Name Game

Let's say that you wanted to open a new business. Whatever name you choose for your business will have to say a lot about it in only one or two words. For example, choosing a name like "Nik's Cakes" does tell consumers that you sell cakes, but why is "Nik's Cakes" better or worse than "Bob's Cakes"? It's boring, unimaginative and not very sexy.

Go to http://www.biztrek.com/articles/Naming%20your%20business.htm and you will get lots of good advice about choosing a business name:

Curl Up and Dye may sound cute now, but after six months, you and your customers will become very weary of the joke.

Yeah, especially if you sell cakes.

If choosing a name for your business is hard, how difficult it must be to choose a name for yourself. Imagine that you had just ratted on a mafia boss and were taken into the witness protection program. You get to live in a new location with a new job, new life and, of course, a new name. What are you going to call yourself? Bob Smith? I think not. How about something more interesting, like "Alfonzo de la Cruz" - perhaps that's a little over the top, especially if you are a Hassidic Jew. It's hard. Your name is your identity. How much does it say about you?

Actually, not much.

Do you really think that Bobby Blacksmith is really a blacksmith, or that June Tailor is really a tailor? She isn't, her father wasn't and her Grandfather doesn't know suede from silk. It's just the name she was born with. Nothing more and nothing less. Anyway, it's probably easier to inherit a name than have to choose your own.

But if you have to choose a name, why not go with the most popular? If everyone is doing it, why not you, too?

According to the 1990 US census, the following is a list of the top four most common surnames:

1. Smith 2,772,200
2. Johnson 2,232,100
3. Williams 1,926,200
4. Jones 1,711,200

It seems the Jones' couldn't keep up with the Johnsons'.

If you have to choose your own name, settling for one of the classics could just be tiresome. However, if you wanted to disappear into the sea of Smiths or Johnsons or Williams, well, it's probably not so hard. And blending in with the crowd could be just what you need when dodging the mafia. It's got to be harder to find a "John Williams" than an "Alfonzo de la Cruz".

Then again, if you have ever watched a movie where someone joins the witness protection program, you will know that inevitably the mafia sniffs them out. The witness invariably takes a bullet in the head while executing a hairpin net shot in badminton, or when about to perform a Zwischenzug (look it up) in a pool-side game of chess. So you may as well give yourself an interesting name. Spice up the headline news a little for the readers:

Last night, Alfonzo de la Cruz, the Jewish Hassidic owner of the famous "Curl Up and Dye" bakery, was gunned down by an unidentified mafia hitman. "Mr. de la Cruz played it bravely and valiantly, despite being in a difficult position," said his protector, Detective Bob Johnson. "Our investigations so far have found that he would have been check-mate in two moves, anyway".

Creative Journalism

I am the first to admit that my level of mathematics is not top notch. Numbers make me dizzy. I once had to be quietly escorted out of a 67th floor elevator. The night-janitor found me curled up in the corner in the fetal position, softly calling for Mamma. All those buttons. All those numbers.

So when I posted my last blog, I didn't really look too carefully into my sources. In fact, as soon as I saw numbers and formulae, my eyes began to glaze over. Digits danced before me in a hazy cloud of fog. If the author says there is a 2.5 billion to one chance of winning the lottery, then that is good enough for me.

Subsequent to that post, I was made aware that I should have done the math myself. It seems I could have increased my chances of winning by 720 times. I was told that if I had read my source's entire article, not just the one paragraph, I would have come to a different conclusion.

I didn't have the patience or the inclination to delve into the intricacies of the matter. Face-value was good enough for me. You see, it's not whether or not the facts are correct, it's whether they are plausible enough to seem correct. Standard journalistic practice.

"Never let the facts get in the way of a good story" is more than a motto; it's journalism's guiding principle. This quote, attributed to either Frank Dobie or Delbert Trew (according to this article, at least) has sold more newspapers than I'd care to count*. Just ask any Fleet Street executive.

The University of Toronto actually has a course called "Creative Journalism":

Creative Journalism uses new and provocative forms of style and content to challenge and change the contemporary media.

In other words, they learn how to mix creative writing with real journalism to make the news more pallatable, exciting and entertaining than it actually is. To do so, they study high-quality publications such as "Rolling Stone, Pitchfork Media, and alternative weeklies". A passing grade is only achieved if your articles begin with "Once upon a time..."

So forgive me for not reading through my source's entire article. Forgive me for not searching for corroborative evidence. Forgive me for not checking that 1+1 does, in fact, equal 2. When it comes to informing the public, 1+1 can equal whatever you want. And why not? If it weren't for creative journalism, we'd be forced to find entertainment in the rivetting fiction of the the stock market results.

*No. I did not obtain any source for this statement. Just believe me, it's easier.

Playing With My Mind

G-d is playing with my mind.

A few months ago my wife and I decided to buy a lottery ticket. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. What irked me was knowing, not so very deep in my heart, that I was flushing money down the drain. I mean, what are the odds?

According to this site on Lottery Math,

The odds of a "Lotto" style lottery can be found with the formula: n! / (n - r)! r! where n is the highest numbered ball and r is the number of balls chosen. This is called in math a combination. An easier way to think about it is if there are 40 balls and 6 are chosen, there are 40 possible numbers that can come up first, leaving 39 that can come up second, then 38, 37, 36, and finally 35 on the final number. To find out how many numbers that is you multiply 40 ×39 ×38 ×37 ×36 × 35 = 2,763,633,600 making the odds 2 and a half billion to one.

Two and a half billion to one?! The money spent on the ticket could easily have gone to purchasing at least one bottle of beer with a 100% chance of satisfaction, assuming sufficient saltiness of the pretzels, sunflower seeds or peanuts.

But we hadn't yet read this site that says there is a better chance of dying from flesh-eating bacteria (1 million:1) than there is of winning the lottery (2.5 billion:1). So we played.

We won...

..our money back.

"Alright", said G-d, "I'll let you get away with it this time. Next time buy the beer".

Not too long ago I experienced another weak moment. I bought a lottery ticket, letting the machine pick the numbers so I could have someone to blame. I put the ticket in a drawer at home and forgot about it.

Yesterday, while searching for something else, I came across the lottery ticket. The vain hope of fortunes beyond my wildest imagination coaxed me into putting it in my pocket. Later on I found an excuse to wander down to the shops. I did a few errands, purposely eying the lottery store from across the way. Eventually, I found the wherewithal to actually enter the store, knowing that in a few moments a teenage service rep would shatter my dreams with a dismissive shake of his head.

He scanned the ticket.

We won...

...our money back.

G-d is playing with my mind.

The Only Thing In My Life That Isn't Hard Is My Abdomen

Life wasn't meant to be easy. It really wasn't. Well, not for most people. There are those people (who don't really exist, because you don't know any and you don't know anyone who knows any) who have charmed lives. The concept of a charmed life is just that, a concept. Like winning the lottery and paying off your mortgage are concepts.

If one seems to have a charmed life, they should be living in fear of the inevitable difficulty or tragedy which will uncharm their charmed life. It happens all the time in books and movies, which are reflections of real life. The princess lives a happy, care-free existence in the glittering palace. The attendants take care of her every need. Even the elephants in the nearby forest seem to trumpet in tune with each other. Birds, butterflies, sunshine and all that. Then, while she is taking tea on the north balcony, the monster sneaks up behind her and devours her alive. It's going to happen. No surprises there.

If its going well, fear the worst.

You are having the perfect day. Work is flowing smoothly and everything is falling into place. All your private phone calls have been for good things and you had very few work-related conversations. You got out of attending 3 meetings and the cafeteria even served your favorite dessert. Can't you see that you are heading inexorably towards a homeward-bound car crash? Isn't it obvious that something is going to go wrong? Why didn't you prevent the accident by giving yourself a paper-cut on the way out of the office? While uncomfortable, it is much less painful than rolling your car down an embankment. Face it, life wasn't meant to be easy.

Still don't believe me? Here's a real-life case in point. "I thought it was a dumb way to die", was Jeff Bezos' recollection of his could-have-been-last-thoughts when he was the passenger in a near-fatal helicopter crash. Money.cnn.com views the helicopter crash as a metaphor to Bezos' "charmed life" - oh yeah, "But then came the dot com crash" they write. If everything is going perfectly then expect that dot com crash because, baby, life wasn't meant to be easy.

Then you have it going the other way, too. You are down in the dumps and, suddenly, you make it big. Rags to Riches. According to a Forbes.com article in 2007, "Almost two-thirds of the world's 946 billionaires made their fortunes from scratch, relying on grit and determination, and not good genes" So most of the wealthiest people in the world started off poor and then made it into the big-time. Not so charmed before; plenty charmed after, but still doesn't qualify as a "charmed life"because of the first bit. Points earned only later in the game don't make a perfect score.

But my strongest argument that a "charmed life" is nothing more than a popularized quote from Shakespeare is that people are human. That means they die. So even if the person's entire life is going great and they make it to 100 years old with nothing but good luck, success and happiness under their belts, they will still inevitably die. "He was doing great until a sudden heart attack killed him dead in a stalled elevator between the 14th and 15th floors during an electrical outage when an errant cigarette-lighter delivery van collided with a petrol tanker, which rolled into the lobby of his building, setting it on fire." Just one small incident can ruin such a perfect record. How charmed can that be?

So if things seem to be difficult and if life seems to throw you punches that you have trouble avoiding or absorbing, then just remember that those troubles are a blessing in disguise. Imagine if you had a "charmed life", you would do nothing but live in agonizing fear until something bad happened, petrified of the inevitable upsetting of the apple cart. Who wants that? Which is why I'm not so worried when sometimes it seems that the only thing in my life that isn't hard is my abdomen.


This post in in response to a challenge to write about "the only thing in my life that isn't hard is my abdomen".

Something From Nothing

I do not recall in which of the Superman movies it was, but one of the characters took a special pen, drew a butterfly on the floor and watched as it instantly came to life, took off and flew away. In Star trek one would simply instruct the computer to provide a cup of "Early Grey. Hot", and the beverage would instantly materialize for your drinking pleasure.

I once saw an ingenious invention where the user would input a diagram or digital image of a mechanism into the machine and it would build a 3D representation of it using sand and glue. For example, you could feed the machine a diagram of a ball and socket. The machine would start whizzing away and build a working 3D model of it for you. Naturally, it took a really long time to produce such a thing, layer by layer. Also, the accuracy was not perfect and it was limited in its complexity. The 3D model was also not particularly sturdy, given the materials it was made from, but the idea that you can draw a two-dimensional picture and turn it into a physical reality so quickly is amazing.

Now, you might say that this is not so fantastic. After all, take any carpenter, for example, who would sketch a table on a piece of paper and turn that design into a real piece of furniture. An architect does the same sort of thing. However, the difference here is that anyone, without any skills to create something with his own hands, can actually partake of both the design and creation process. It is an exciting concept.

One of the oldest toy companies in America, FAO Schwartz (est. 1862), provides a similar activity for elementary school kids They have a service called “Imagine it”, where the child sits down at a kindergarten-sized table and, using nothing more than a Crayola Crayon, scrap paper and the world perception of a six-year-old, designs their own clothes. The drawing is then passed on to an eagerly awaiting staff of expert tailors who then proceed to create a life-size real version of the child’s drawing. Nifty.

The problem with this is that kids have wonderful imaginations. A third-grader would never design an outfit comprising blue-jeans and a T-shirt. Boring. They are more likely to draw a gaudy, glittering, colorful outfit which, if brought to life, would render them the school’s laughing stock. Come to think of it, that’s probably how fashion was designed in the 1980s.

I had to check this out, so I took a look at the FAO Schwartz website and came to the following conclusion: normally you would sit your kids down to draw pictures as a way of passing time, entertaining them and releasing their creative juices. Drawing can be a wonderful learning experience and fantastic for a child’s development in many ways. But for $900 a dress, you might want to consider reading them a story, instead.

Practical Jokes

There is nothing funnier than a good practical joke. I'm talking about a really well thought out, convincing set up. As long as you are not the victim, practical jokes are usually very funny. Take this oldie-but-goodie as an example (Link to YouTube):




Now that is just a classic.

I've played a few practical jokes in my time. Like when my colleagues went out to lunch and I replaced their computer monitors with cardboard boxes on which I had drawn a "screen" and a knob. One guy returned to his desk and sat there laughing for about five minutes. The other fellow didn't bat an eyelid. He sat down to work, typed a few letters and then called me on the phone to say, "Hey, Yossi, something's wrong with my computer".

Problem with that joke was that I had to schlep the monitors back to the workstations from the meeting room where I had hidden them. But it was worth the trouble.

Then there are other types of practical jokes, like those played on poor, unsuspecting people by Candid Camera or copy-cat programs. Like the time they got a delivery man to pull up outside a house on the side of a hill. When he opened the double-doors at the back of the truck thousands of unstoppable balls of all sizes rolled out of the truck. Funny, harmless, messy.

Jeremy Beadle was one practical jokester who had a show called "Beadles About" where he would play all sorts of practical jokes on people, like destroying their house and then showing up laughing "Ha! Gotcha!". Of course, he wouldn't do that every week. Sometimes he would go lower-scale and blow up their car or have their boss fire them, just for the gag.

According to this Wikipedia article, at the peak of its popularity, Beadle's About had 15 million viewers. It got so popular that, according to the Wikipedia article, in 1993 a man was arrested for pulling a policeman's beard thinking that he was Jeremy Beadle in disguise. Yeah, right. Twenty five heavily armed and highly trained SWAT policemen come bursting into a cocaine refinery in a grotty warehouse at the back of a strip club, shattering glass windows all around the illegal Chinese workers. The chief crook drops his weapon, doubles over in laughter and pulls on the policeman's beard and goes, "Ho! Ha! Very funny! We've been pranked by Beadle!" Likely story.

Take a look at this example of "Beadle's About" from Funny-Videos.co.uk

Funny thing is, they never told the victim that it wasn't his van!

What happens if one day an elderly gentleman comes home to find the house his family has lived in for seven generations completely leveled to the ground? While writhing on the floor in the agony of a heart attack, Beadle pops his head out and goes "Surprise!" Then the victim looks up at the grinning Beadle and scratches into the microphone "I hid my life-savings in the walls of the dining room that you just burned to the ground". Better call two paramedics.

When Jeremy Beadle died on 25 January 2008 at the age of 59, nobody believed him. They still don't.

It's a Violent World and It's Your Fault!

I suppose that the majority of parents want their children to live full and happy lives, free of violence, murder, death, pain and suffering.

According to this article about school violence:

"The fact is, violence of one sort or another is part of many schools today. Fortunately, this usually involves a small group of people fighting amongst themselves...Since the 1992-3 school year, 270 violent deaths have occurred at schools across the nation."

So, in other words, it's fine for kids to shoot each other, as long as they only do it among themselves. Sounds like a plan.

The article goes on to report staggering statistics about how many schools across the United States reported violent crimes on school premises each year, stating that the rate of violence has decreased. They warn:

"We must fight against this complacency without overreacting. We must fight to make our schools safe."

Isn't that akin to "KILL ALL EXTREMISTS!"

But it is our own fault. We have taught our kids to be violent.

How? Language.

Case in point: what did I learn in English class in high-school? To Kill a Mockingbird, Macbeth, Julius Caesar (among others) - all wonderful and highly acclaimed works of literature about rape, lying, murder, assassination, treachery and death. Just the sorts of things you would want your teenage children to study in depth. And we say that movies and computer games are responsible for youth violence! Harumph!

That's not to mention the fact that the English language itself is rife with oft used violent expressions:

• break a leg
• give my eye tooth
• give my left arm
• cut off his nose to spite his face
• kill time
• roll with the punches
• beat a dead horse
• to step on his toes
• to force one's hand
• to bite the hand that feeds you
• a dead ringer
• she cried blue murder
  
• stick out like a sore thumb
• ankle biter
• it's a slap in the face
• you beat me to the punch
• like banging your head against a brick wall
• hit me with your best shot
• keep your eye on the target
• hit the target
• He's such a riot
  
• to tackle a problem
• better than a kick in the pants
• when push comes to shove
• he's a real lady killer
• keep your nose to the grindstone
• to gang up on someone
  
• won the battle but lost the war
• on the warpath
• blinded by the light
• straw that broke the camel's back
• to put your nose out of joint

By educating these children we are turning them into thugs. By teaching them language skills, we are helping them to destroy society. Literacy is dangerous. Plain and simple. Keep the kids in the dark. Better to be stupid and alive than educated and dead, I say. Drugs and alcohol don't cause gang wars, Mrs Miller's 8th Grade Book Club does!

It's Good I'm Not A...

I'm scared of heights, so it's good I'm not a professional hang-glider. That knocks out one profession. Given that there are possibly hundreds and thousands of different professions, and variations thereof, I suppose it isn't really practical to decide your future career by process of elimination. There are other ways to choose the direction of your career.

I like straight lines, so it's good I don't design modern office buildings.

I guess the easiest way to decide what career you want to have is to create categories of professions and strike out the categories that don't suit your personality or abilities. This way you can eliminate entire blocks of careers. For example: outdoor jobs, indoor jobs, computer jobs, scientific jobs, jobs involving animals, community jobs, finance jobs and so on.

I faint at the sight of blood, so it's good I'm not a professional hit-man.

So once you have knocked out the categories of jobs you don't like, you can then focus on the careers that seem appropriate. Try to think of things you like doing and see what professions fit. While doing this, it is important to keep in mind that some hobbies don't translate so well into real paying jobs. For example, just because you beat the heck out of your opponent on your PC kick boxing game, it doesn't mean that you will be any good inside a ring. You have to be realistic.

I like my tongue moist, so it's good I'm not a philatelist.

Also, think of the special skills you might have that will come in handy in your chosen profession. For example, if you are good with numbers, an accounting or finance job might be interesting for you. If you get on well with animals, taming lions might be your cup of tea. Or not. It all depends on you, your personality, your skills and whether or not you have a death wish.

I have a memory like a sieve, so it's good I'm not a doctor.

So you really have to take into consideration all of the factors, make informed choices, research, ask questions, talk to people and decide carefully. Once you have done that you will finally realize that nothing you choose will be exactly what you want, you don't know yourself as well as you thought, circumstances are limiting and so you will probably end up wherever life takes you.

According to this article:

"The statistics show that workers between the ages of 18 and 38 change jobs an average of 10 times"

That doesn't necessarily mean that the 18 to 38 year olds change careers, they just change employers, but sometimes they change careers, too. So, you see, no matter how hard you try to plan, you are almost guaranteed not to get it right.

...and it's good I'm not a career counselor.

Do We Eat Too Much?

I have been mulling over the question of whether or not we eat too much. Do we really need three meals a day, or will one or two suffice? Even if we eat healthily, are we being wasteful by eating too frequently? And is there too much emphasis on food in our lives?

Do a quick Google search for "eat too much" and you will find all sorts of sites about eating too much meat, not eating enough meat, eating too much salt, and not eating enough salt. It seems like every few years something on the "do not eat" list becomes healthy and vice versa. So don't despair, in ten years scientists will announce that gorging oneself on salty, oily, sugary, snacks is good for you - only, gorge in moderation.

A rather long article in Time magazine boils it all down to society and culture: "We eat together when we celebrate, and we eat together when we grieve; we eat together when a loved one is preparing to leave, and we eat together when the loved one returns. We solve our problems over the family dinner table, conduct our business over the executive lunch table, entertain guests over cake and cookies at the coffee table."

We have moved food from being merely a means for survival into a social ritual. But, nutrition and parties aside, food has unquestionably infiltrated itself into other aspects of our lives. So much so that even our lexicon is overflowing with gastronomically related expressions:

- to chew the fat
- too much to stomach
- spews forth information
- hunger for knowledge
- thirst for the truth
- bit off more than he could chew
- bite sized pieces of information
- eating her words
- have his cake and eat it, too
- to eat humble pie

...and so on and so forth. No wonder we are all so food-focused.

As interesting a picture as this may paint for you, whether you like it or not, food is on your mind.

My Life Ambition

I have to confess that although I don’t mind working, the thought of going on a really, really long vacation is very appealing. I’m talking about taking at least a year off to travel the world and just enjoy life. Sounds idyllic? Read on.

My dream is to buy a luxury bus, outfitted like a first-class hotel suite: plush carpets, mahogany trim, marble bathroom, leather seats, comfy couches and all that. Then I’d drive the bus around the world, never needing to worry about packing, unpacking, checking in or checking out. I’d go where I wanted and enjoy hot showers, home-cooked meals and top-rate comfort in the middle of the city, desert, rainforest or mountain peak.

For that I’d need a bus license, a whole bunch of free time and a lazy $250,000 to purchase the vehicle. It is not a dream out of range, assuming I sold my house, quit my job, took a loan and sent my kids to live with an elderly wart-ridden aunt in a dilapidated mansion on the top of a dark, distant hill in a wooded forest. Okay, the last part is not essential. It doesn’t have to be a wooded forest.

Then I’d have to buy a beaver.

That’s one sentence that you weren’t expecting. "I’d have to buy a beaver". Actually, that would be a “Beaver”, which is the name of one of the companies that sells luxury motor homes. “Beaver”, as in www.beavermotorcoaches.com.

“Get into a Beaver” is their catch-phrase, which, taken literally, conjures up images of large, brown rodents holding their buck-toothed mouths wide open and pointing with their free paw down their gullets as they garble, “Get in, already!”

But I like that slogan, “Get into a Beaver”. Think of the newly retired couple stopping off at a gas-station in the remotest part of an Arizona desert. The husband goes to the cashier to pay for the diesel, feels his back pocket, turns to his wife and says, “Dear, I think I left my wallet in the Beaver. Would you mind getting it for me?”

“Get out of the fish!” is another sentence you didn’t expect to read here, but then again, you just did. It’s also a sentence that I never thought I’d utter, but I managed to say it often, making perfect sense each time. “The fish” referred to an inflatable swimming-pool toy in the shape of a fish and that the “get out” was directed to various children so that the other children could have a turn.

My life ambition is to sit in a fish inside a Beaver – and the scary thing is that you now understand exactly what I mean.

The Volunteer Conspiracy

Recently at a restaurant I overheard a group of people talking about their ages. They were all about 18 years old. That's when it hit me that I am a full 15 years older than them. When I was 18, they were 3. That means that when I got my driver's license, they were still wetting their beds. When I was at university, they couldn't even spell university. It was a revelation because on some level I still identify with them, sort of. In my mind I am still 18.

Would I want to be 18 again and go through all of the stuff that 18 year olds go through? Hell, yeah! 18 year olds have the most fun. Most of them live at home with their parents (for some this is bad, for me it was bliss); most are studying; and socializing responsibilities come before all else. What more could you want out of life?

Ah, but I am wrong - fulfillment doesn't come out of "living it up", at least not in 2006. According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, "In 2006, 5,227,000 people aged 18 years and more had undertaken some form of voluntary work in the previous 12 months" That's quite a nice number of fulfilled people.

Hang on, what are we saying here? Help others so that you can feel good about yourself? So is it about them or is it about you? Here are some extracts from the official blog of the Florida Public Relations Association (FPRA):

"On a purely selfish level, volunteering makes you feel good about yourself"
"From a professional standpoint, volunteering is a great way to add to your portfolio"
"There is no greater way to expand or add to your skill set than by volunteering"
On networking: "The more people you know, the more opportunities there are out there for you"

I was expecting the last paragraph to say something like: "Despite all of the benefits to you, volunteer work is about giving to others and helping the less fortunate in your community". However, no such luck. It seems that volunteering is about you!

Wait a moment. Let's not be rash. That's only one source, right? How about this survey conducted by "Imagine Canada" (www.givingandvolunteering.ca) in 1997 which produced the following results:

Three-quarters of volunteers (76%) reported gaining interpersonal skills such as understanding people better, motivating others, and dealing with difficult situations.

Two-thirds of volunteers (66%) said they developed communication skills in public speaking, writing, conducting meetings, and public relations.

Sixty-four percent reported an increase in their knowledge about such issues as health, women, politics, criminal justice, or the environment.

More than half of unemployed volunteers (54%) believed that volunteering would increase their chances of finding a job.

I could go on, but that's enough. I proved my point. Volunteers are single-mindedly hell-bent on squeezing the most out of the less fortunate. Let's face it, the underprivileged are being used as stepping stones for some self-important volunteer's career prospects. Soup kitchens are evil dens of self-centeredness, thinly veiled in a facade of "helping" people - yeah, volunteers helping themselves, that is.

My research has conclusively proven that "volunteers" are out there, everywhere, masquerading as a positive force, when they are actually a devilish cult. So next time someone does something "nice" for you, think twice. They may offer you soup, but they are really in it for themselves. Trust me.

Getting Domestic

Here I am, getting into the whole "keeping house" thing while my wife is away. Enjoy.



Also available on Google Video here:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8142718001152119067

The Modern Dwarf

Imagine if your entire life you were someone else’s curiosity, a pet, a zoo animal, an object over which people “ooh” and “ahh”. I can’t imagine that it would be a pleasant experience. Think midget, circa 1600 CE.

Now imagine that your entire life you were someone else’s curiosity, as before, but this time you are paid millions to be gawked at. The more people who point their fingers, the more prestige, fame and fortune come your way. You are invited to meet the President of the United States, your wedding to a fellow little person is front-page news and your name lives on in history. Think Tom Thumb, late 19th Century.

The modern dwarf can thank people like Tom Thumb. The modern dwarf can now exploit his diminutive stature by acting in diverse roles such as Snow White or Star Wars. Alternatively, he can carry a copy of the equal opportunity act and sue the large-size pants off anyone who can even spell the word “discrimination”.

The modern dwarf has career opportunities open to him that are far more diverse and interesting than those of regular sized people. They can be teachers, computer programmers or circus performers. They can be accountants, doctors or human cannonballs. They can be actuaries, bus drivers or garden gnomes. The possibilities are endless.

The modern dwarf can be the star of professional sports that you and I cannot, such as Dwarf Tossing, which has an international professional league. All you need is a helmet, a landing mat, a dwarf and a six-foot drunk. Place a few bets, hold the little guy by his shorts (pun), swing him back and forth and then throw that dwarf in the general direction of the mat. It’s a team sport.

Make no mistake, the modern dwarf has it good. Oh, and they are also great at small talk…was that a little unfair? Perhaps a tiny bit.

(This blog is in response to a challenge to write about 'The Modern Dwarf').

The Perfect Business

One of the oldest and well-tested truisms of business is to be the first in the market. If you are first on the scene with a new product or service not offered by anyone else, you are more likely to succeed.

I was trying to think of a business I could start that would fit this requirement. Then, out of the blue, it came to me during a conversation with one of my colleagues. He said that if he was to start a terrorist organization, he wouldn’t call it something boring (think Al Jihad), he would name it something exciting, like a sports team (think Tamil Tigers).

He is right. Your name means everything – how people perceive your organization is vital to your success. Do you think your terrorist organization would be respected if you called it “Belligerent Bunny Rabbits”?

We live in a world of terrorism, where, like McDonalds, there’s a new group in the industry springing up on every street corner (see the US State Department’s list of terror organizations). Now is the opportune time to offer terrorist organization marketing services. Why not? Joe Average doesn’t really know the difference between Al Qa’ida, Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade, Hamas or Fatah. To him, they are all just the same. If your organization is responsible for an incident and it is mistakenly attributed to some other organization, who will know and who will care? You have to stand up and get yourself noticed. A good marketing campaign is the way to go.

Logos, slogans, full-page advertisements in broadsheet newspapers, a visual media campaign, an interactive website and radio slots – that’s the way to get your message out there. We will get you on Oprah, if that’s what it takes to ensure that your terrorist organization gets the credit and reputation you work so hard to build.

The more I think about it the more I realize that terrorist organization marketing services really is the perfect business. Now, all I need is to employ someone to collect on bad debts. You interested?

Low-Risk Strategies for Buying a Used Car

Someone challenged me to write about how to buy a used car. The simple answer to that is to find a car you are interested in, approach the seller, give him money and drive the car home. But that would be cheating my challenger.

The topic should really be “low-risk strategies for buying a used car”. Although that title sounds more like a management text-book than it does a blog post, I think it more accurately describes the essence of my challenger’s challenge.

So what are the low-risk strategies you can use when buying a used car? The answer is that there aren’t any. You just have to take your best shot. Sometimes you will be lucky and find a good car, and other times you will end up buying a vacuum cleaner that sucks your money right out of your pocket. But there are things that you can do to minimize the risk of buying a four-wheeled-dud.

The first thing to do is to really ask yourself if you want to buy a used car or not. The high risk of wasting thousands on a lemon might be enough to push you to buy a new car instead. But new-car salesmen are just as bad as used-car salesmen. Certainly, the car itself will probably go okay, but new-car dealers will relentlessly push the buyer into buying all the extras. This often leaves the buyer with less in the bank account but some nice, fancy gadgets in the car that won’t ever be used (passenger-side airbags? Feh!). So when you are weighing the pros and cons of buying a used car versus buying a new car, just figure that you are going to get royally worked over no matter what you do. It’s easier when you learn to accept that fact at face value.

Never buy a car from a friend. That is my next piece of advice. You may have ridden in the car many times, or you may even have driven it from time to time. Over the years your friend may have described to you his dealings with car mechanics. He may have spun adventurous tales of danger and excitement, like the time when his car broke down on a busy six-lane highway and he had to cross to the other side to get to a phone booth, but was attacked by an angry chicken. You may think you know this car. But you don’t. For in the deep recesses of your friend’s mind is the thought that one day he might sell the car to you. So, whether he realizes it or not, he won’t tell you the full story behind the breakdown (he didn’t get a flat tire, the rear axle sheared itself off the chassis). He may not do it consciously, but your friend is holding back. I would believe the part about the chicken, but a flat tire? Come on.

Know to ask the right questions and then doubt every answer you get. “Has this car ever been involved in an accident” is a great question. Assume that the answer is “yes”, but you are more likely to hear, “I was once driving south on a vacation with my family, when the car in front of us spun out of control. Thankfully this car has great brakes so I managed to stop on time. The driver of the other car was okay, but his car had to be towed to the next town. Luckily my car is very powerful, so I attached the tow-rope and hauled it 100 miles down the road, in the snow, barefoot”.

Another classic question is, “When was the car last serviced?” The true answer is probably that Cousin Angelo came down last weekend and helped to get the car going by repeatedly whacking the starter-motor with a monkey-wrench. However, the answer that you will probably get is, “I service the car regularly. Unfortunately the service log-book was destroyed when I drove my car at high-speed through the collapsing wall of a burning building to save a trapped fireman, a small child and her teddy bear. I managed to save them and the car emerged unscathed, but on the way out of the burning building the fireman flipped through the log book, commenting on how I only used authorized mechanics, when a huge bird of prey swooped down, grabbed the log book and then dropped it into the fiery depths of the second floor, never to be seen again”.

So buying a car is a tricky sort of a business, new or used. If I were you, I’d just take the bus.

The Ultimate Vacation

Where did you go for your last vacation? Disneyland? Hawaii? Europe? Colin went to Mongolia. He wrote about it in his most fascinating blog, creatively titled "Colin's Mongolian Adventure". Let's not knock Colin. He went to a different destination - to a place where he could see something new and exciting, to challenge himself and come back with engaging stories and lasting memories. I hope Colin doesn't mind if I reproduce a small section of his blog:

To summarize, everything in Mongolia can accurately be explained by merely adding the words "Crazy Mongolian" at the beginning of the name. (E.g. Crazy Mongolian bus drivers; Crazy Mongolian jungle birds; Crazy Mongolian construction workers; and Crazy Mongolian liver diseases.)

This is truly the best I can explain the country.

After all the planning, effort and expense he put into his adventure-trip to Mongolia, the best way he can summarize the place is to call the people "crazy"? Whatever would Gengis Kahn think of Mongolia's hard-earned reputation? "Crazy", indeed! He would be rolling in his grave if he read that. But I thought we weren't going to knock Colin. Let's face it, at lest he left his comfort zone and did something interesting, even if his summary of the whole experience is a little short on adjectives.

It seems to me, though, that the reason most people want to go away on a vacation is either for: luxury (think 6 star Hawaiian resort hotel), fun (think Disneyland), quiet (picture deserted tropical beaches, fine, white sand and exquisite solitude) or adventure (backpacking in Europe, a ride down the Amazon, or an African safari). I think the last category of people get the most out of their vacation. Adventurers get to meet interesting people, enjoy fascinating experiences and contract exotic diseases.

I bet that the ultimate adventure holiday would be a trip to space. According to this short piece on www.space.com, "on April 28, 2001, Dennis Tito, a California-based multi-millionaire, became the first ever space tourist". Mr Tito boarded a Russian spacecraft and then spent two weeks on the International Space Station.

Now that has to be the ultimate vacation.

Firstly, you have the excitement of the buildup. You are sent to a secret Russian camp to learn how to survive lack of gravity, oxygen deprivation and G-forces that push your face through to the back of your head. Then you pay millions of dollars and trust your life to a spacecraft made by a country that can't even produce a decent automobile. You then leave your spacecraft and live in an isolated metal box called a space station, which is basically a fragile pod equivalent to a tiny, vulnerable Lego construction, delicately floating in a great ocean of nothingness. You then spend two weeks getting in the way of a bunch of nervous scientists, hoping that the oxygen doesn't run out, that equipment doesn't malfunction, that asteroids don't crush you while you sleep, that food rations don't get accidentally shot out of an airlock, that aliens don't attack, or that the pilot for your return trip doesn't lose the keys to the spaceship. I can think of nothing more fun than that.

Tito's 2-week jaunt on the International Space Station in 2001 hasn't yet spawned a space-hotel industry. Despite the predictions (or fantasies) of futurists, techies and trekies alike, space-station hotels are still a long way off. A less-than-thrilling article by Leonard David entitled, "The Future of Travel: Aquatic to Cosmic Destinations" quotes an "expert" who says, "You can't have a successful hotel if you don't have the means of getting people there." How cleverly insightful.

Fortunately or unfortunately, at least for now, the majority of us are limited to searching for more Earthly adventures. So next time you feel like a break from the drudgery of life, either borrow a couple of million, learn Russian and bunk down with the Cosmonauts, or do what Colin did and find something different, like climbing Mount Everest using only a ball of string and a toothpick.

Send me a postcard.

How to Open a Coconut

I was surfing the web and came across a very informative site called www.howtoopencoconuts.com. It shouldn't surprise me that such a site exists, but I found it amusing that there is an entire website dedicated to showing you how to open a coconut.

The way this website advises you to open the coconut is by delicately tapping holes in the end of the coconut and then draining the liquid (coconut water). Once the coconut water has been extracted, gently wrap the coconut in a towel and then sledge the thing with a hammer until pulverized. You may wish to bare your teeth, yell and think of something that makes you angry. I call that a bonus.

The funny thing about this method is that at the top of the website are the following words, "but we humans can't just sit around and let monkeys show us up, right?" - yeah, right. Monkeys can crack open a coconut with their bare hands, a banana peel and a pebble, but we use rusty nails and hammers. Sure, we are much smarter than them.

This got me thinking about the most efficient method for opening coconuts.

I went to About.com, which is a great resource for advice on almost anything. They suggest that after draining the coconut of its juices (by using a corkscrew to poke it in the eyes), you whack the coconut with the blunt edge of a knife. If that doesn't work, bake the coconut in the oven for 15 minutes and then whack it with the blunt edge of a knife. I think they like whacking things with blunt edges of knives.

WikiHow suggests that you hold the coconut in the palm of your hand and have a go at it with the blunt edge of a machete. "Hey, can you hold this coconut for a minute while I go crazy over it with a machete? Don't worry, I'm only using the blunt edge". Ah, no. Live-Food.com shows you a video in which the person demonstrating how to open the coconut wields a meat cleaver the size of Greenland and then tells you not to cut your fingers off. Thanks for the advice.

Jeremy and Michael, whose coconut-opening video is featured on lonelyplanettv.com, demonstrate their somewhat unique method. According to these two outdoorsey types, all you need is a swiss-army-knife, a coconut, a car jack and a heavy off-road vehicle. Simply puncture the eyes of the coconut with the swiss-army-knife and prop the coconut between the car jack and the underside of the heaviest part of the car. Pump the jack until the coconut explodes under the pressure.

So there you have it. If you are planning on getting yourself stranded on a deserted tropical island, all you need to take with you is a hammer, a nail, a towel, an oven, a corkscrew, a large, meat cleaver, a swiss-army-knife, a car jack and a heavy 4x4. I don't know about you, but to me it seems easier just to bring along a monkey.

Who's fault is it, anyway?

According to this article in USA Today, the Dolphins' Cam Cameron, was fired from his position as coach. Why? The team finished with one win and fifteen losses. They fired the coach? Don't you think they should have fired the players? Let's see, was it the coach who zigged when he should have zagged? Was it the coach who dropped the ball? Was it the coach who tripped over his shoelaces at a critical moment?

Certainly, the coach has overall responsibility for the players. He directs them where to run and what plays to make. He is the decider. He tells you when to play and when to sit on the bench. He sure does have a measure of responsibility. But if the players stink, they will lose the game matter how good the coach is.

Think of sports as a war. You have the General sitting safely in a tent on friendly territory (the coach). A superior officer (the team captain) directs his men (the players) to carry out the General's orders. If the on-field officer doesn't do a good job of directing his soldiers in the heat of the fight, or if the soldiers are incompetent, they will lose the battle despite that the General shouts orders through the radio. So who is to blame? The General? I think not.

Now, I know that it is the coach's job to properly train his team, motivate them and get them to perform the best they can. If he doesn't do that then he didn't do a good job. I get it. But there is a limit to how much blame you can lump on the coach. If the players lack talent, they should be held accountable.

Hang on, though. If you fire the coach because of bad decision making, then what about the decision to hire the coach? The coach was hired by management, right? Therefore, shouldn't the guy who hired him also get fired? After all, he didn't do a good job of recruiting, either. And who hired him? The President of the club? I mean, didn't he have something to do with this as well? Isn't he ultimately responsible for the entire team? He should go, too. But you know what? I think that we should take it all the way and fire club members, the fans themselves, because if it wasn't for their support of the club, financially and emotionally, then the club wouldn't exist. They are the shareholders of the club. If the fans would shout as one voice and protest the CEO's bad decision to hire someone who made a bad decision to hire someone who makes bad decisions, then maybe the club would win a game or two.

So it stands to reason that if you are a Dolphins fan, you should be ashamed of yourself.

News: Entertain Me!

To me, there is nothing like sitting on the couch with a nice big, hot cup of coffee and a newspaper. It's a mystery to me, but for some reason it can be very relaxing to be able to sip a steaming cuppa and read the news: usually morbid stuff like how many people died in what tragedy in which part of the world.

I remember that when I used to have a TV at home I would watch the news as a form of entertainment. Sure, I rationalized that I was "informing myself" about world events. But, get real, it was enjoyable to sit and munch on a cheese-topped cracker and listen to the newscasters report on things that only happen to other people.

It is for this reason, I also used to like listening to the news on the radio. Talk-back radio was especially fun because you got to hear regular people air their opinions on how leaders of foreign countries should shape their policies towards other foreign countries. When it comes to foreign affairs (especially someone else's), everyone is an expert.

The Internet has brought a whole new dimension to the news. If the regular news isn't entertaining enough, you can now amuse yourself with made-up news (ala The Onion) or with news of people doing stupid things (News of the Wierd).

One of my favorite books "Chronicle of the 20th Century", is a compendium of newspaper-like articles spanning the 20th Century. The articles in the book include happenings from around the world, but have a focus on Australia and its involvement in world affairs. A marvelous gift from my parents-in-law.

There are serious articles about world wars, political upheavals, tragedies and famine. Then there are nostalgic pieces covering social, cultural and sporting issues (like the fact that Kaarlo Makinen of Finland won the gold medal for wrestling in the Bantamweight division in the 1928 Amsterdam Olympic Games). The inside front cover of the book is a map of the world as it stood in 1900. The inside back cover shows a map of the world as it stood in 1999. It's really quite interesting to see how events moved those lines around.

The great thing about this book is that you can pick it up at any point in the 20th Century and then just go with it and follow the articles through time. The articles themselves are not original newspaper articles. Each piece is written using the style and terminology of the day, with the knowledge of the time. It is absolutely fascinating. Break out the beer and sunflower seeds and I can sit for hours, and relive Israel's miraculous birth and survival or immerse myself in the Great Depression of the 1930s.

Whichever way you look at it, it's funny how news, no matter how stupid, inspiring or horrible, keeps us entertained. So next time there's an earthquake, tsunami, economic crisis or upset in international one-day cricket, boil the kettle, make yourself comfortable and enjoy yourself.

Center of Attention

Why is it that some people seek to be the center of attention? There are some situations where being the focus is expected (as the bride at your wedding, for example) and there are times when one should stay out of the limelight (for instance, when you are being investigated for fraud).

As a kid, the best way to seek attention was to either win an award or throw a tantrum. Both tactics worked for me. As an adult, I have noticed that it becomes more and more difficult to be the center of attention. Winning awards is harder to do and throwing tantrums is not nearly as effective as I would have hoped, so I have discovered.

In my opinion, the more successful attention seekers in a social scene are those with a really good sense of humor. Witty people tend to attract others. Everyone likes a good laugh, especially if the person telling the joke or the story tells it well. On the other hand, it is a bit dangerous because you can lose your audience just as easily as you got them. A few bad jokes, botched punch-lines, mistimings or even a heckler or two can be devastating to your reputation. Remember, you don’t want to be a stand-up-comic. You want to be a people magnet.

Below you will find hints and tips that I compiled to assist those who would like to try to use humor to become the center of attention. Keep in mind that there are no free steak knives and no guarantees…

Firstly, you have to make sure that you have a good balance between how much you speak and how much someone else in the crowd speaks. You don’t want some guy telling a long and involved story about an accounting problem he solved, “…and then I realized that I’d put the wrong amount in the debit column! Can you believe it?!" Hilarious. You will lose your admirers in less than a second. On the other hand, you need to create the illusion of a conversation. People need to feel wanted.

When and how much to laugh is also a tricky thing. On one hand, you want to encourage people to gather around you. Laughing is a great pull-in for passers by. But laughing too much at your own jokes can make you look foolish. Especially if they can tell that you are faking it. Practice faking being genuine. It helps a lot.

Hold a drink. A glass in your hand is a great tool for helping you to limit your arm movements so you don’t look like a monkey on drugs when you tell your stories. It is also useful for when you pause for special effect. Whether to look contemplatively into your glass, to take a long slurp or a short sip is a matter of judgment. It all depends on the effect you want to create. Whatever you do, make sure the glass is only one-third full – and don’t gesticulate wildly or you will spill the contents on one of your audience.

Eye contact. This is very important. Nobody likes a person who tells jokes while looking at their shoes unless, of course, you are an actuary. On the other hand, don’t hold anyone’s gaze for too long. You will lose the rest of your audience. Make a point of looking at everyone in your audience, except for the person about whom you are telling the joke. That would be a bad idea.

Be cool. Wear clothes that make you look sophisticated yet comfortable. Half-sitting on a stool while half-leaning at the bar is a perfect pose. You seem cool and relaxed, especially with a drink in one hand. Think James Bond, but funnier.

If people start to leave, and you are down to five people, excuse yourself and walk right up to another group of people. Fake knowing someone in the new crowd, if you must. You don’t want to be left surrounded by only a small group of people and you want to be seen to know others, too. If you are in the unfortunate situation where you are left with only one person and that person leaves, definitely do not shout across the room, “Hey, did I ever tell you the one about the…” It is doubtful that the person will turn around and say, “Oh, no, you didn’t! Please, you must tell it to me now!” You will instantly destroy the reputation you worked hard to build up.

If you have a bad night, don’t despair. As they say in showbiz: “no publicity is bad publicity” Take that any way you want.

Semi-Intelligent Gifts

It is that time of year again when all good little children write down their wish lists and hope for the best: firetrucks, footballs, fluffy bunnies. However, parents' shopping lists this year featured a $300 robotic dinosaur called Pleo, who, incidentally, is the most popular toy of 2007 (at least according to some website or other, which probably makes it true).

According to the blurb:

"This techno dino is equipped with sensors (35 in total) throughout his tiny body, allowing Pleo to react instantly to sight, sound and touch. They also make Pleo capable of expressions and reactions. They also make each Pleo unique. As Pleos learn, Ugobe says, they begin to form their own distinct behaviors and personalities developed from their environment".

From the sounds of it, Pleo is better than a real pet because you can go away for a vacation and not have to worry about it. You can just leave it sitting on the shelf, scowling for two weeks. Imagine its joy when you return. Either that or it will greet you with a lop-sided smile, enticing you to come close so that it can open its cute little mouth and bite your head off.

The sentence "As Pleos learn, Ugobe says, they begin to form their own distinct behaviors and personalities developed from their environment" is very interesting. The sadist in me would like to see if one can give Pleo a multi-personality disorder. In fact, I wonder if we can use Pleo for social and psychological experiments. Instead of forming groups of willing human subjects to undergo psychological tests, we can simply have piles of Pleos, ready to risk irreversible psychological damage for the greater good.

Learn from his environment? I can't think of anything more dangerous than leaving the poor, cute little robot alone with five-year-old children. What will he learn from his environment? To throw tantrums, hit siblings and pull hair? Great. That's all any parent needs, a toy that thinks he is a child. Now, where have I seen this before?

Pleo isn't the only semi-intelligent robot on the market, although he might be one of the cutest.

How about the WowWee Alive Elvis Animatronic Robot: ""...a lifelike singing and talking bust of the best selling solo artist in U.S. history." - just the King's head and shoulders? No stepping on his blue-suede shoes.

Then you have Robo Robbie: "Robo Robbie is a simple toy by any means, and you can tell by its price ($18.89) and design. In essence, Robo Robbie is a walking, talking, and dancing robot that shoots harmless foam discs from its mouth as well." A foam-spewing toy? I don't get it.

For those futurists out there who think that today we are building the technology that will eventually take over the world, I suggest you sit back, relax and wait another fifty years. I don't think Pleo, a singing head and Robo Robbie are quite up to world domination. Well, at least it doesn't mention it on the box...

Biodegradeable

I'm all for saving the environment. We have spent thousands of years messing up this planet. It's time to right the wrongs, stop plundering the planet get the place back in order. It's time we cleaned house.

There are things that one can do to facilitate this: drive eco-friendly cars (or ride a bike), recycle glass, plastics and paper, and buy environmentally friendly toothpicks (see: Spirit of Nature).

But there are some environmentally "friendly" products out there that make no sense at all. Take, for example, scented plastic bags used for disposing dirty diapers. Living in a household with small kids, I understand the whole nappy sack thing: you want to keep the smell in the bag. I relate to that. So why would you want to buy biodegradeable nappy sacks? Your Huggies won't biodegrade for a thousand years, yet the nappy sacks take only 60 days to turn to dust. What a great invention! I suppose that 60 days is long enough to get the sack out of your house and into landfill. That might be okay for you, but think of future generations!

In a thousand years archaeologists will excavate our current rubbish dumps to determine what sort of society we lived in. And what will they find? Dirty, bagless nappies! Their conclusion will be that we were an unhygenic society that disposed of dirty nappies without enclosing them in a scented bag first, like any normal futuristic parent would. Of course they wouldn't know that we first wrapped the nappy in a bag because it degraded 1,000 years ago (less 60 days).

So by using this product, you are actually destroying the reputation of an entire generation of people. We will be viewed in the same light as those from the middle ages who thought it was physically dangerous to wash yourself.

In fact, the whole biodegradeable business is a disservice to our society. If you buy all the biodegradeable stuff out there on the market, in 60 days there will be no evidence that any of that stuff actually existed! Let's say that we all go pro-biodegradeable to "save the environment" - there will be nothing left for future archaeologists to find.

Now that I think about it, how do we know that what we dug up from 1,000 years ago is really indicative of that society? What if they were really an advanced culture? What if they actually used only biodegradeable products and all the evidence of their society disappeared 60 days after use? What if the fragments of clay utensils that we found are really museum pieces that they found in their excavations of societies that existed 1,000 years before them?

It is therefore irresponsible to use cutlery made from corn or disposable plates made from sugarcane. It would be a travesty of history to buy biodegradeable pencil sharpeners or biodegradeable refridgerators.

Give future historians a chance to learn the truth - and keep those 1,000 year old nappies away from me!