Because of that, he’s not particularly happy that I encouraged him to go outside of his comfort zone. He thinks I don’t understand his apprehension because I actually enjoy public speaking.

What he doesn’t understand is that I’m simply jealous of the opportunity, and I’m living vicariously through him.

It’s not the spotlight or the attention that make me wish I could stand in his shoes. It’s the privilege of encouraging young people as they take that final step out of childhood and into adulthood.

Ironically, I don’t even remember who spoke at my high school graduation other than it was a white, male politician. Despite that, I still believe that the right words can make a big difference.

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t write.

But since I do write, I’m going to use this space to share my own words with the Class of 2013.  What follows are highlights of the commencement speech I’ll never give:

1.  As you get older, you will discover that high school wasn’t just a finite period of your life. It was a series of good and bad relationships and events that served as a platform from which you chose to stand still, dive or climb. My advice is to climb. Take the stairs. Rise above the need to be defined by others or the simple accomplishments of youth and discover who you really are. You’ll probably surprise yourself and all the people with whom you once shared the platform.

2.  Don’t ever believe that your greatest moments are behind you. There are always opportunities to create more great moments, but they require moving on and doing something different. Many people are uncomfortable with change and will want to force the status quo on you. Don’t let them.

3. Never apologize for your opinions. Ever. Opinions aren’t facts, so you can never be wrong, and you can always change them as circumstances change. But opinions are valuable because they define the essence of who you are. Like any other valuable possession, people will try to take them from you by any means necessary. Don’t ever let them use religion or profits or cultural norms to buy your silence.

4. You’ve probably been told all of your life not to worry about what other people think about you, and in most circumstances, that’s true. But you should worry about what “the future you” will think about you. You are the only person who has to live with you your entire life. You can walk away from other people, but you will still be with yourself. Make sure you are a good companion. Treat yourself with the respect, care and love needed in any long-term relationship.

5. Before you get out of bed each day, think about the calendar. The day you are about to begin is absolutely unique, and in a few short hours it will simply be another day in history. Make sure that day counts in your own life history. Despite the obstacles you may be facing or the hurt you may be feeling, make sure you do something that makes that day memorable and meaningful. If you are stuck in a routine, break it just a little. Eat something unusual. Read something new. Talk to a stranger. Practice a random act of kindness. Your ultimate goal in life is to make every day count, but that sometimes requires a bit of work. Do the work anyway.

Copyright © Alexander Pseudonym

The best of part of self-criticism is the knowledge of the problem. The easiest part is to point fingers against everyone except one self. The most difficult part is to accept the truth and try to change for the better. The worst part is say nothing, do nothing and stay blind.

As they say there is always a silver lining in every gloomy story. Ours is no different.

We, Filipinos, in our own country is an enigma even to ourselves. Take for example, the simplest habit of littering. This has a multiplying effect when done daily by thousands of undisciplined citizens.

However, when some of us, undisciplined citizens, go abroad as tourists or workers, there is some kind of magical thing that happens. We become upright citizens, probably more law-abiding than the locals themselves.

This is observation is not only my own but shared by others. I am guilty at times of carelessly throwing candy wrappers anywhere. But if my memory serves me right, I never did the same thing when I was abroad. There’s that warning sign in my brain that I am not home.

We have a local face and a global face. We are a contradiction at home but straight-forward abroad. We can live anywhere outside the country and adapt.

Yet, we cannot live at home as if we are in another country. For many of us, some rules are made to be broken.

The original post I wanted to comment on is here and the post I commented on is here, and you may feel free to go check them out on your own, but I simply ask that if you go to her blog from mine, at least show dignity and restraint if you comment.  No need to live down to her expectations of us, is there?

Since she moderates her comments and there were no other comments on any posts that I saw supporting BDSM, I assume mine will not make it through, so I decided to post my comment here because, well, I’m damn proud of it.

~~~~~

• 7. KraftedKhaos  |  May 18, 2013 at 11:28 am

  Your comment is awaiting moderation.

  I’ve read several of your posts regarding your vehement dislike of the BDSM culture. As a practitioner of the lifestyle, and a submissive to boot, I resent your implication that I, along with the majority of my fellow submissives, are too ‘mentally ill’ or too ‘in the midst of abuse’ to see it. I’m an intelligent, articulate, obstinate, headstrong individual, with the means, ability and intent to share my thoughts, wishes and desires not only to my Dominant, but to you and anyone else who thinks they not only know ME, but all others like me, well enough to know what is ‘morally right’ for me.

  In this particular post, you mention that you were not referring to the ‘submissive’ people that may like it a little rough, and in another that you didn’t mean people who liked ‘ropes and blindfolds’, but in yet *another* post, you mention how tying people up (rope) is restricting their ability to escape, thereby making it abuse. Which is it? Are ropes and blindfolds okay, or not?

  Let me try to explain it to you, (although I know it won’t do much good, because those determined to hate will hate, no matter how much evidence they are provided with to prove them wrong)

  What is the difference between a kidnapper handcuffing a woman to a bed, slapping her across the face, calling her a whore, then proceeding to have sexual intercourse with her, and a Dominant handcuffing his submissive to the bed, slapping her face, calling her a whore, then having sexual intercourse? Do you even know?

  The difference is that in the second scenario, the woman has the power to stop what is going on at any time she wishes.

  Let me repeat that for you so you really, REALLY understand what I’m saying….

  THE SUBMISSIVE HAS THE POWER TO STOP ANYTHING HAPPENING THAT SHE DOES NOT LIKE, WANT, OR FEELS UNCOMFORTABLE WITH, AT *ANY* TIME, WITH SIMPLY A WORD OR GESTURE.

  THAT is why BDSM is not abuse, THAT is why consent matters, and THAT is why anyone with any experience with people in a true BDSM lifestyle who reads your blog knows that you have no idea what you’re talking about and are laughing at you because you sound idiotic. They’re also angry, because you are spreading ignorance, when the community are trying their hardest to inform society about the true nature of the BDSM lifestyle, and PREVENT abuses like you’ve claimed we all suffer.

  I will take a moment to pause here and say that if the ‘Dominant’ does NOT stop the INSTANT a submissive calls a halt to WHATEVER is going on that they don’t like, that moment is the moment that what is happening turns from BDSM to abuse.

  You cannot expect for a group of such diversified individuals to come together, without one or some of them being an abuser. Of course there are abusers in the lifestyle. There are also abusers in your church congregation, in your neighborhood, and in your FAMILY. No group of human beings can exist without there being some bad apples. The BDSM community as a whole do their best to educate, inform and protect its members from abusers, but it happens there just like it does everywhere else in life. No one denies it, but none of us like to all be lumped into the ‘abuser’ or ‘too stupid to know they’re being abused’ category.

  You say (and I’m paraphrasing here) that submissives must have a screw loose to ‘consent’ to pain, they obviously suffer from some sort of low-self esteem and you liken dominants to drug dealers and submissives to drug addicts because they like to dispense or receive pain. That’s a wrong and unfair blanket statement about a community that you obviously know nothing about other than what you’ve READ. On-line.

  There are many different facets to those involved in the BDSM lifestyle. Are some abusers? Sure. Do some suffer from a mental imbalance that makes it unsafe for them to participate in the lifestyle? Yes. Do the abusers and the chronically abused sometimes wind up in a relationship together? Unfortunately, that too is a yes. But the same happens in every day life, outside of BDSM, as well.

  It is wrong and unfair of you to lump every single participant in the lifestyle into the categories and labels you have done. Instead of vilifying the entire community, why don’t you take the time to educate yourself about what’s really going on, and fight to help those that need it? Post about the DIFFERENCE between abusive/unhealthy BDSM and consensual/healthy BDSM?

  If you did that, I think you would find that not only would the community SUPPORT you, but they would openly and vocally assist you in THAT endeavor.

  We dislike and abhor ABUSE as much as you do, and we fight every day to prevent it. Instead of contributing to the murk and ignorance surrounding the lifestyle, commit yourself to education, awareness and prevention, like the rest of us do.

  ~A

  PS- oh, by the way, since you really don’t know what is what in the BDSM community, I feel compelled to inform you that, a lot of the ‘blogs’ where you find your ‘evidence’ of abuse in a BDSM relationship, well… it’s fake. The internet is full of fake blogs, written to look and sound real, that make it seem like the writer is suffering from abuse at the hands of a dominant. Some of us sickos, weirdos and freaks like to read fiction and KNOW it’s fiction, unlike the news, or didn’t you hear about the man who kidnapped three little girls, impregnated at least one, and held them captive for about a decade?

  Remember, not everything you read on the interwebz is true.

  And the Easter Bunny doesn’t exist.

  Or Santa.

  Sorry.
  

  Reply

• 8. KraftedKhaos  |  May 18, 2013 at 11:42 am

  Your comment is awaiting moderation.

  Oh, by the way, since I doubt my comment will make it past your moderation, I’ve already copied and pasted it to the blog from which I found out about the prejudice you’re spewing here.

  I’m sure you’ll be offended by my comment, but please understand that not only was I as cordial and polite as I could possibly be to someone who was, for all intents and purposes calling me stupid or mentally ill, but I was much more polite than many others would have been.

  While I’m sure you have to delete many nasty, hateful comments from your blog, mine was truly not intended to be either, and I even edited it to remove some of the more ‘anger inspired’ lines.

  I’m sure you’re a nice person, but you’re bigoted and ignorant, and that makes me sad.

  Please enjoy your life. I won’t be returning to your blog, because I can’t support the falsehoods you’re spreading, not even to argue against them, HOWEVER, should you decided that you would like to have a Q&A with someone in the lifestyle, or simply ask a question instead of picking and choosing what you will take from some random blog and putting it into your own context, you are surely more than welcome to come to MY blog and comment, or to e-mail me (krafted.khaos.at.gmail.dot.com, no periods).

  I have no problem sharing with someone who honestly just wants to know the facts. But you should be ashamed of the things you have said about such a generally kind and good-hearted group of people.

  Did you know, most long-term real-life BDSM relationships, on average, last longer than the average non-kinky marriage in the USA?

  I sincerely hope that my words (most of them, anyway) have given you some serious food for thought.

  Adios and adieu,

  ~A

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  As always, your thoughts and comments are welcome and encouraged.  I’d love to hear your thoughts!

  ~A

I think it’s time we list out the real threats we face as a species… and take actions to mitigate them.

Interestingly enough, most people who are out there trying to ‘save the world’ have inverted priorities. Let’s see what we should REALLY be thinking about…

Food and Water Shortages

We’re over fishing the oceans and losing top soil at an alarming rate, but could this really result in complete extinction? It’s unlikely. If the plant diseases affecting the top five global food crops were to wipe our staples out completely, it’s true that the majority of the world would starve and civilization as we know it would collapse, but there would be survivors. Worst case scenario? We dump enough toxins into the environment to create a new dark age, but some arable land will remain.

Pandemics

Like food and water shortages, it is unlikely that any virus could evolve quickly enough to outsmart all 7 billion of our immune systems. We may very well have a global ‘culling of the herd,’ but it’s highly unlikely that it could kill everyone off in one go. Quarantines would be our most effective strategy for containing a global pandemic, and they would work.

Global Climate Change

Here’s where it starts to get interesting. A “Day After Tomorrow” style ice age, the magnetic reversal of the poles, or the mass thawing of methane-laden Siberian permafrost could create a climate so inhospitable to human life that no one survives. In these instances, we have to admit that the only way to avoid extinction is to develop our extraterrestrial capabilities. In other words, creating sustainable habitats on the moon or Mars would allow us to survive any such cataclysmic events on Earth.

Nuclear War

Being that well over 50,000 nuclear warheads exist (more than enough to destroy every major city on the planet), and being that US nuclear submarines are standing at the ready to fire them, we ought to be concerned about nuclear winter creating an uninhabitable planet.

Mutually Assured Destruction (aptly deemed M.A.D.) has kept us from blowing ourselves up so far. However, it seems to me that it’s only a matter of time before the crazies in Iran and North Korea develop a functional warhead, and it may not be at all necessary that they use rocketry to deploy them. As the joke goes, “How do you get a nuclear warhead into the United States? …Smuggle it inside a bail of marijuana.” If we don’t dissolve that potential before it’s realized, it’s likely that nuclear terrorism will run rampant in the 21st century.

We’ve taken one crucial step toward surviving our nuclear capabilities – the nuclear test ban treaty. Otherwise, we may well have continued blowing Nevada and Pacific Islands to smithereens. 

Asteroid Impacts

Well here’s an unpopular idea –> The blockbuster “Armageddon” comes true. Just ONE of the thousands of asteroids now circling the sun gets set on a collision course for Earth, and without the proper human response, the only living organism left will be cockroaches and other hardy insects.

Solar Events

Sunspots and solar flares affect life on Earth. Doing nothing to alter the effects of a solar incident means that at some point in time – perhaps the not too distant future – our dreams of creating intelligent machines will be crushed by a solar event that destroys all electronic activity on Earth. What would you do without the Internet for a day? A week? 3 months? Good luck.

Galactic Collisions

We can also classify threats to our species by the time spans they’re likely to occur within.

In the near term, on a planetary scale, we’ve got food and water shortages to worry about, or the threat of a pandemic…

But realistically, these won’t result in the complete extinction of humanity.

While it’s true that we may be dumping too many toxins into our environment, on a grand timescale, the Earth will not only be consumed in the fire of our expanding sun, it will collide with other celestial bodies from the incoming Andromeda Galaxy, which just so happens to be on a direct collision course with the Milky Way.

In conclusion…

We have MUCH bigger fish to fry than the extinction of any one species, and if we really put things in perspective, we must admit that the most good will be done by planning for a future for humanity among the stars, and not on this pretty blue-green orb we call home.

Think about that when you’re buying your next grande latte. If you aren’t contributing to the solution to these problems you are almost certainly contributing to the problems themselves.

An epidemic of football retirements has broken out in the north-west. Mr Ferguson has abdicated as supreme emperor of Manchester United. He has sensibly passed his inheritance and the impossible weight of expectation to his adopted son David, rather than his natural son Darren (who has just taken his own team down to League One).  In a related incident across the city, S. Mancini has been encouraged into a premature retirement for failing to win the league at the same time as Mr Ferguson. On which mathematical basis alone, 20 others must follow.

Some younger men have taken exceptionally early retirement. Mr. Carragher will have played 737 games for Liverpool without a league title, but is still only 35. Mr. Beckham will have clocked up almost as many hairstyles as he kicks his final golden ball, takes his final curtain and leaves the stage for lesser mortals. I only wish my pension arrangements were as favourable.

I won’t miss any of these characters – any more than I missed Top Cat, Desperate Dan or Lord Snooty when I grew out of reading the Beano. But I will miss is the shy and finally-retiring Mr Scholes.

Paul Scholes. A veritable Billy Wizz of activity and movement on the pitch. A Dennis the Menace of a tackler. The man with the football brain operated by the very best of the Numskulls.

I once watched him from high up in the stands play in the first Cup Final at the new Wembley Stadium. Pick your own cliché. He conducted, orchestrated and played the first violin at the same time as being chess grandmaster, with the combined perfect movement of the knight, bishop and queen masquerading as a humble pawn. I am sure people lower down in the stadium didn’t even notice him. he was like some invisible assassin going about his business with lethal effect. 

Yes, like a humble pawn. Going about his craft without flamboyance, petulance or attention-seeking. Or as we used to call them at school – a humble prawn.  Whichever you like – he is small, muscular, has panoramic vision and is red.

Red haired and red-shirted. And therein lies my dilemma, my paradox, my quandary. I admire the man but I hate his shirt.

Football is a game of complete prejudice. People who don’t understand this, will never be able to appreciate or enjoy it. They will tut-tut and sigh whilst watching Match of the Day and become increasingly miserable as they attempt to apply the normal standards of human behaviour to the players, managers and fans. “Why can’t they all play fairly and get on together?” is an utterly meaningless and irrelevant question. Why would they?

So for example, the assessment of a referee is absolutely nothing to do with his fitness, accuracy, control or impartiality. In fact I would challenge anyone to find an operational football fan who understands that last word.

No, the quality of a referee’s performance is entirely a factor of how many marginal, dubious or even straight-forward decisions he has given for or against your team. If he gives you a penalty he is a right. if he gives them a penalty he is wrong. It is as black and white as that. Or as red and blue, depending on your colours.

Like a driver climbing into their car, a perfectly sensible and reasonable human sitting down in front of a game of football suspends all their normal faculties of judgement and behaviour and becomes opinionated, critical and always right. And anyone who disagrees is, frankly, a blind idiot.

And so it is, at the age of about 11, I chose to love Oldham Athletic and to hate Manchester United. Had I weighed up the evidence before me objectively (Best, Law and Charlton versus Bryceland, Bebbington and Fryatt) and forecasted the prospects of future enjoyment (umpteen league titles and cups versus 30 seasons mainly languishing in the lower divisions), I might have come to a different conclusion.

But all of that was and remains irrelevant. The football club chose me. I was born in Boundary Park hospital, lived on Boundary Park Road and they play at Boundary Park. The planets were aligned even before I was conceived. Indeed, if the story is true, I was poking my head out between my mothers knees to check out the ticket prices as we rattled up the cobbled streets on the way to the Maternity Unit.

And after forty years of hurt and riveting mediocrity, a couple of cup semi-final defeats to the arch enemy and some flirtations with relegation, I wouldn’t and couldn’t change a thing. We are looking forwards to facing Mr Ferguson (jnr) in League One again next season.

Singing: Oldham till I die, I’m Oldham till I die. I know I am, I’m sure I am, I’m Oldham till I die.

So the thing about Paul Scholes is this. He has been a wonderful player. He is a humble, self-effacing family man. He spurns publicity and attention. He is the complete opposite of your tabloid cartoon petulant, self-serving, philandering modern-day premiership footballer. He is a throwback to a former age of honest, loyal, hard-working, team-playing but highly talented footballers, in the mould of a Colin Bell, a Peter Beardsley a Stuart Pearce, a Kevin Keegan or (dare I say it) a Bryan Robson. Players who took baths after a game and went out for a beer. I hate Manchester United, but yes, I love Paul Scholes.

There is one fact which might just be my mental salvation. One thing which enables me to hold these two entirely contradictory and opposing beliefs in the same head. Here it is. Paul Scholes is a committed, staunch and enthusiastic Oldham Athletic supporter.

For this final reason, and for this reason alone, I will maintain my sanity. And I wish him a long and happy retirement. Or even better – just one season playing for the team he really loves, but was never quite good enough to be chosen by.

Tribalism on the Terraces

As ever – do let me know if you enjoyed this !

1. I haven’t written in a while. Wait, no. I’ve been writing. I haven’t journaled in a while. All my pieces are so scattered, waise. Typewritten notes, sribbles on my way here and there, notebooks and phone texts and whatsapp conversations, but I haven’t talked to me in while using written word.

2. How am I doing? Terrible.

3, This dream last night, the sense of being alone and how people don’t get it. Nobody gets it. You are here all alone and probably always will be. I woke up with this really strong urge to cry last night. Or morning. It was five thirty ish on the clock. The room was lit, not brightly but yeah. I was really, really tired last night. My mouth had a really bitter taste when I woke and the tears didn’t help at all. It felt like eternity, those few minutes, that I failed to pull myself together. I reached out, opened the blanket even though it wasn’t cold at all, in a desperate attempt to feel some warmth. The generator was on, and I assumed Ammi would be awake. I contemplated getting out of bed, going downstairs and just cry in her lap. I missed her. I missed everything that we had. I missed the time before I was working and before I became too busy for anything in life. I called him, he was asleep. Texted him. No reply.

Reached out to him, then. No reply. Sleep eventually came back. Comforting.

Later this morning when she came to my room to wake me up for work, I held her hand and asked her to sit down beside me.

3. “Mujhe ghar yaad araha hai. Boht, boht zyada.” One sentence I can’t say without getting teary eyed.

4. We met yesterday, and she said M had been annoying her to meet me but I’m always busy.

5. I called S the other day and told her I missed her but she didn’t believe me. Said I must have some favor to ask for.

6. *cliche alert*

On my way back home yesterday, the sidemirror of the cab in was adjusted in a way where rather than my chest, I could see my face from the angle I was looking from. And soon enough, background music started playing and I looked at myself, my reflection and tried so desperately hard to understand who I had become. I couldn’t recognize myself. The facial features seemed familiar and I noticed I need to get a haircut and a trim on my facial hair, but the eyes, they seemed so distant.

It was like an out of body experience, only the kind which freaks you out rather than comforts you or releases your pain.

7. I had a fairly exciting day yesterday but none of my friends were excited about it. Like I tried telling the stories of greatest triumphs and for them it was just like .. Meh.

You don’t get it, nobody gets it.

8. My heart, I feel, is really really cold. The blood is failing to do its job. Lifelessness, lifelessness every day. Delusions, confusions, fear and regret. Hopeless attempts to be happy, but that doesn’t make you a good writer, does it?

9. Why are our best stories our sad stories? Again. Someone please just fucking help me understand this so it would stop bothering me.

10. His basic compulsion to get inside my head is weird. I don’t know if I have an opinion about that (yet). Also, I should thank him about last night. Also, for leaving hundreds of thousands of thoughts for me to chew on after every time I see him. He wanted to leave early and I wouldn’t let him and he just sat there, acknowledging the fact that I needed him in front of me, even though she was sitting next to me and she was the only one I wanted to talk to. I glanced at him every now and then. And that was that.

11. B thinks I’m really likely to develop feelings for her but I don’t know if any of these likenesses matter. What we have in our minds, how things will be and how things are supposed to be vs. The reality and what ends up happening is a battle that will always be. We don’t give up on planning and building our houses of cards, and reality keeps on blowing in -not just breeze- but thunderstorms.

12. “Do you guys talk?” “ّYeah all the time. But not like talk-talk. But like, talking. Aalu gosht conversations, you know? Kia haal hain type.”

13. “Are you doing the practice.”
“No, but I am waiting for it to come to me.”
“I think you should.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, I feel like you’re going to abandon me, again. And I don’t want to be abandoned.”

And boom, flip again. Revert. Fire. Relax, let it be. Do one thing he does not want you to do.

The end of Episode 6. (or 5, was it? I’ve lost the track.)

With the lackluster coming and going of the 2012 doomsday deadline, you now have a free pass to project your life path out until the next scheduled apocalypse (the singularity is predicted to occur between 2025 and 2045, so you’ve got some time).

In other words, if you spent 2012 eating like shit and imbibing harmful substances on account of the impending collapse of the civilization, it’s time to re-prioritize.

Juice Plus+: A Personal Case Study

Let me preface my cult recommendations by telling you a little about my life.

For years, I have been fascinated by accountability structures which compel people to enhance their wellbeing.

This fascination dates back to my first encounter with Juice Plus+, a neutriceutical which totes itself as the “most-consumed encapsulated whole food supplement on the planet.” JP+ has well over 1 million committed daily users.

The argument for Juice Plus+ is not merely ad populum, however.

With an unparalleled scientific veneer, the science behind Juice Plus+ puts its closest competitors to shame, and allows this cult of health obsessed distributors to propagate the faith without the self-reproach that often accompanies direct sales ventures.

…So when my parents joined the organization back in 1999, I had no choice but to fall into line.

The tenets of the faith are as follows:

1) Fruits and Vegetables are nutrient dense, and play a key role in radiant health. 7-13 servings per day are recommended for best results.

2) Juicing is an AWESOME way to get the nutrition from fruits and vegetables into your diet, if you can afford the time, cost and mess.

3) Most people can’t afford the time, cost or mess, so a good alternative is Juice Plus+: the concentrated nutrition from 17 fruits, vegetables and grains.

The concept that fruits and vegetables can be distilled down into a potent, nutritive powder is the basic belief one must accept to become part of the JP+ cult.

The whole collective is hooked on this idea. They use the following simile to explain their position:

Think of your body as a car, the macromolecules that power you (fat, protein, carbohydrates etc.) would be analogous to the gasoline, while the micromolecules (vitamins, minerals and phytochemicals) which repair and replenish your antioxidant cascade could be likened to the oil.

The problem is that you aren’t keeping your oil topped off!

Most Americans fail to meet the daily recommendation for fruits and vegetables.

As a result, our engines (our bodies) are driven to extremes through the use and misuse of macromolecule nutrition. We run protein and fat surpluses that end up clogging our arteries and interfering with healthy cellular function.

The solution? It’s obviously to get more fruits and vegetables into your diet each day.

Can’t/Don’t/Won’t do that?

Then supplement your diet with whole food nutrition, straight from 17 vine ripened fruits and vegetables.

Direct Sales And Cult Mind Control 

What makes Juice Plus+ a cult is its method of distribution. Think about the way Centrum Multivitamins are marketed. You see a few commercials every now and again that Centrum runs to boost sales, but in order to hook someone for life, you need more personal attention. A doctor’s visit would do the trick.

If you haven’t yet read “The Thank You Economy,” Gary Vaynerchuk makes a compelling case that the future lies in fanatical customer support for products that provide real (scientifically verifiable) solutions.

The Juice Plus+ distribution system is essentially network marketing, but because every distributor is so immersed in holistic wellness, their sales tactics are VERY low pressure, and above all, NOT based on recruiting distributors.

Yes, they rope in friends and family using a ‘memory jogger,’ but once the warm market dries up, as it inevitably does, the marketing materials are primarily focused on a holistic approach to health, with Juice Plus+ acting as a “catalyst to get your health snowball rolling,” a “nutritional safety net” and ultimately, a daily ritual that roots your diet and lifestyle in whole food goodness.

One top distributor has been quoted as saying “It’s a self-development course disguised as a business.”

ViSalus, Crossfit & Mormonism

If overarching control of your beliefs is your bag, Mormonism is the Health Cult for you. Joseph Smith’s “Word of Wisdom” requires you not to imbibe harmful or addictive substances, and to maintain a diet high in fruits and vegetables.

ViSalus’ “Body By Vi” campaign is a weight loss sensation that is also propagated via an MLM network. The difference is that the financial incentive is geared more toward business recruitment than promoting good nutrition.

Crossfit puts its focus on functional exercise. . Most members train for an hour a day and follow strict dietary requirements.

You must choose, but choose wisely. I am loosely affiliated with many organizations which espouse doctrine concerning physical fitness and a balanced diet. The decision to choose one over the other stems only from my need for precious self-care, and not from the idea that I would be wicked if I did otherwise.

5 reasons to join a health cult…

1. Human suffering falls into two categories – Mental and Physical. Removing unnecessary physical suffering (sickness and less-than-peak physical health) improves your wellbeing.
2. The discipline required to alter your diet and exercise regiment is rewarding, and more importantly, it is a prerequisite for the creative functions of the brain.
3. Surrounding yourself with a group of health conscious, energetic humans will likely result in increased self-esteem and engagement in your daily activities.
4. When compared with traditional “self-help” techniques, group forums (particularly the Mastermind) in which your health goals are posted for all to see forge a stronger commitment to healthy choices.
5. It doesn’t matter if you’re 6 or 60. If you don’t put healthy behaviors in place now, the remainder of your life will be sub-optimal.

There are many reasons why you should join a health cult which improves your physical wellbeing. Fear is not one of them. If you make it your business to connect with people who believe in lucrative self-realization (i.e. the direct sales model of a global business like Juice Plus+) you cannot go wrong.

Make 2013 (and all the years to follow) a practice. Practice self-care by first tending to your own body and brain with good nutrition and exercise, and a successful life will be inevitable.

It was just after four. Rumblings of thunder may have nudged me awake. A flash of lightning definitely bolted me out of bed. I quickly tied my garden shoes, looked up to remind myself about why I do all of this, then hurried outside to cover my heirloom tomato seedlings.

My forehead has a very precise circular bruise which I suspect will last for at least a week. I look as though aliens attached a tube to my forehead probing for information and leaving a scar as if to say ‘we were here’.

My very noticable bruising – especially the one on my forehead is particularly unnattractive and the local people seem to have no concept of diplomacy when it comes to staring, pointing and even laughing at my condition. A group of older women approached me by the river ‘tut-tutting’ through their teeth at the redness on my arms and openly advising me that ‘Lynne not beautiful’.

It began with me feeling out of sorts. Something that could possibly be described as heat stroke combined with travellers diahreoa but unfortunately, my homestay mother thought otherwise. She decided that I was downright sick. In hindsight I suspect she thought I was dying because the onslaught that followed would only be prescribed in extreme cases – or by a complete masochist of which I am almost certain she is not.

Typical Asian stomach problems, a slight fever and a cracking headache forced me to take to my bed durimg the day. I could have slept in an outside hammock or on the bamboo floor (it certainly would have been cooler!) but I wanted to be alone. My mosquito-net covered bed (in the heat of the day and on the top floor of the house) was almost certainly a quiet secluded hideout, but after what seemed like a few short minutes I was ‘found’ by one of the children.

‘Please let me sleep… I’m sick’. This admission was my first mistake. The child left without hesitation and I was just beginning to doze when the house mother, her sister and a lady I didnt recognise came to check on me. With some broken English I explained I was fine, that I just had a headache and I wanted to take some rest. They appeared to accept my request but a few hours later the trio returned. They wanted me to wake up amd eat rice. Rice was not what I needed. I wanted to sleep inside my steaming mosquito net but they insisted rice would make me better. After much insistence and the steam of the rice making my already hot sleeping cave hotter I agreed. ‘Ok!’ I said. ‘A little rice… but then I will sleep!’

I took to the verandah for some air. As I begrudging finished a few spoonfuls Mama suggested she give me a massage. ‘Mama massage you?’ she said. I did the obligatory decline-hesitate-say ok routine and graciusly accepted… (who says no to a free massage?!?!) and I can honestly say that the next hour was without a doubt the single most painful experience I have ever had in my entire life. Let the record state, that I did not cry because that will stand as one of my Cambodian adventure achievements. The pain was excruciating.

Like any other massage I lay flat on my back. What seemed like the whole village (probably about ten curious onlookers) came to watch. I should have taken that as a sign – their keen interest in seeing the white girl get a ‘local’ massage – but I’ve become so used to being the centre of curious eyes that I hardly noticed.  The fact I was wearing only a sarong as a verandah full of people watched me receive a top half body massage was only the first part of my discomfort… the rest would soon follow.

For those of you (like me) who don’t know what a Khmer Massage is, I’ve taken the liberty of writing what could be written as a Khmer Massage description in a day spa menu.

Welcome to the Chamber of Hell… Lie back, grit your teeth and clench your fists as hard as you can as our masochistic masseuse scratches your skin repeatedly with the ridged side of a large coin. The experience is painful, but whatever illness you had in the first place is soon forgotten as you focus all your energy on not crying, diplomatically convulsing and avoiding the urge to scream out in pain. The “alleged’ aim of a Khmer massage is to stimulate blood circulation. You can be certain that at the end of your treatment you will be able to see your blood moving as the blood vessels become exposed to the surface of your skin. This is not one for the faint hearted… or anyone concerned by noticeable bruising on the body surface.

I would love to tell you that was the end. One hour of sheer brutality (witnessed with pleasure by an unsympathetic crowd) being scratched over and over again on every inch of my upper body with a sharp object… but that was only the beginning.  There were times during the torture massage that I laughed uncontrollably. It was so bad, so painful and so ridiculous that I actually thought it was funny. There were times when I thought I would squeeze through the piece of bamboo they had given me for stress relief and there were times when I actually had to  say ‘stop’, take a deep breath and do a silent prayer to get through it… but I survived.

As I began to celebrate the fact that my body was (mostly) still in tact… I realised I still had a headache. I stood up to inspect my bruises and I was suddenly overcome by nausea. As I settled, and resisted the urge to be sick I started shaking and Mama grabbed me to check if my fever had subsided. I returned to the safety of the floor and Mama asked if I was ok.

The truth is that I was really not feeling ok. I felt battered. I felt worse than before – physically sick because of the abuse I had just endured… but I was scared of some other homestyle witchcraft remedy so all I could muster in response was ‘I feel a little better’. ‘You still hot? Head still sick?’ she said. ‘A little’… and then I was forced onto my back as a flurry of words were exchanged with the now bored bystanders.

After a few minutes of commotion, one of the naked village children appeared with a small jar, a candle and a lighter.

I’d seen a variation of this before amd I realised that I was about to experience the ancient technique of cupping.

A small candle was held above my face as Mama dripped small dots of wax onto my forehead. When there was just enough wax – the candle was placed upright on my forehead so it would stick – with the flame flickering right between my eyes. I watched the fire draw closer as the small jar was placed face down over the candle extinguishing the flame and causing a suction against my face. I lay very still for about fifteen minutes. I was lying in the centre of an outdoor verandah,  surrounded by a group of villagers, half dressed and still scarred from my previous massage and I had a jar stuck to my forehead. This was not one of my finer moments.

The gluing process with the candle and the jar was repeated twice more – once to the left, and once to the right resulting in three perfectly formed and somewhat embarrassing round bruises on the centre of my forhead.

As if by magic – or the fact I had other (more superficial) things to worry about… my headache, nausea and fever disappeared.

Would I do it all again? No. Was it an enjoyable experience?  No. Will I remember it for years to come? Yes – and almost certainly if the coin-scrape marks and the circular hiccy-like bruise doesn’t fade.

Dim, latticed, waiting.

Slightly cool, the ribbon

of dust-filled aroma of ancient memories

flitting around;

teasing and mocking

with its glory, of times past.

Looking down challenging

with one eyebrow raised.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve done a weekend gaming recap or written pretty much anything solely board game related. In fact, the last six months have been really fruitful for board games. I’ve grown my collection quite a bit, started going to a regular local gaming meetup, met and played with lots of cool new people, and played a whole heap of fun games. Gaming phases have come and gone in the period. The world failed to end. I started recording a podcast with a couple of cool dudes. It’s been pretty great, you guys. But enough of that, for now let’s talk about some honest-to-goodness board games.

Infiltration

We had a brief Infiltration phase toward the end of last year. Infiltration is another game brought to us by the designer of Dominion, Mr. Donal X. Vaccarino. It’s a cute little “push your luck” style game, where each player takes on the role of an infiltration team trying to steal valuable data from a secure facility and escaping with it before the fuzz arrives. It’s interesting that Fantasy Flight chose to use the Android universe theme for this game, as I read somewhere that the initial theme for this game was a raid on a candy factory. I think it’s pretty great that Fantasy Flight is committed to pushing their own unique intellectual properties, which differentiates them from all the generic sci-fi and fantasy themes in other games. Not to say that their settings aren’t also a little derivative, but it adds a sense of cohesion and identity unique to Fantasy Flight. Furthermore, I’m just glad that one of the themes they are pushing is cyberpunk, which is woefully under-represented in board games. Also a pretty bold move to push ahead with it, since the Android board game itself isn’t as beloved as Twilight Imperium or Descent which formed the building blocks for their Space Opera and Heroic Fantasy universes. I’m very hopeful for it, since Netrunner is now set in the same Android universe and by all accounts has been a smash hit. They’ve also really done well for themselves with the Warhammer and Star Wars licenses. It’s been a pretty great year for Fantasy Flight. Now, if only they would get a product designer that skews more to my tastes…

Anyways, back to Infiltration itself. The concept behind the game is pretty solid. You have a bunch of cards that each represent a room in the facility, and in each room there are differing numbers of Data File tokens, which are the prizes you seek to liberate. Each player gets the same set of action cards (Paraphrased: Move forward, move back, collect DF tokens, interact with the room) and choose one secretly to execute during the turn. Once the actions are revealed, the players take turns executing the actions, which could result in more rooms being revealed, guards being summoned, or players being injured. At the end of the turn, a die is rolled and the alarm dial is advanced. The alarm dial represents the proximity of the security forces on their way to discuss the possibility of your no longer being alive or free, and once it reaches 99 the game is over and players who are still left in the facility immediately lose. Of the players who escaped, the one with the most valuable stolen goods wins. Pretty straightforward, but also a lot of fun. There are special cards (items) which you can use in place of the standard actions which let you do other crazy things like make the room which was supposed to be an easy exit turn out to be a hologram and strand the people further in. Yeah, that one still hurts. There’s not a lot of deep strategy but the interactions are solid and the theme is fun. Worth trying out for none-too-serious gamers.

King of Tokyo

King of Tokyo has been a staple at game nights, when we want a light game with interaction and cute aggression. Now there’s more to love with the Power Up! expansion thrown into the mix. The expansion adds unique powers for each of the kaiju menacing Tokyo in the form of separate small decks of power cards. It also adds a new monster and the potential for an additional player with Pandakai. Giant panda menacing Tokyo? I think maybe China wants some payback for World War 2… The powers add just enough to not overburden the game with complexity while providing more options and a unique flavour to each monster. We usually play with the following variant rules: Start with 3 energy and 1 randomly drawn power card. You get additional powers by rolling 3 hearts as usual and drawing randomly from your own power deck. I like what the expansion adds to the game, and like the Leaders expansion for 7 Wonders, I usually default to playing with the expansion unless I’m teaching new players. Even then, it’s simple enough that I throw the expansion in anyways. 5 giant claws up!

Eclipse

We managed to get in a couple of games of Eclipse during long weekends and I am very impressed. It really does feel like a 4X game in board game form. You have hex tiles that represent the space sectors you will be exploring, and it uses a similar approach to Through the Ages to keep the math in line with your production and upkeep numbers being revealed as you move cubes off your personal board. You also have three branches of technologies for research, a neutral “barbarian” faction in the form of the ancient ships and the ability to customise each of your classes of ships with ship tile technologies. The combat is pretty intuitive, with a simple roll of d6s to hit and modifiers based on your technologies. However, the combats can take a while if the dice rolls go awry and a string of misses is rolled. Or you could be Jin Wei and just roll sixes all the time. We also played a game with the different alien races, and I really like the mechanics used to differentiate the races. Furthermore, the games don’t actually take that long, with our average playtime being around 3 1/2 hours including set up and downtime for checking rules. This is a game that deserves the buzz, but might still not be for everyone. However, if you’re a fan of 4X games, don’t miss out on this one.

Risk Legacy

The campaign continues! We managed to get another two games of Risk Legacy in the bag. These were our first games using the draft mechanic. I really, really like what the draft adds to the game. Enclave of the Bear and Khan Industries have been performing well in our games and they’re usually high picks. The troop number and placement position picks have also been highly drafted. I like that there’s a potential for self balancing through the draft by gimping the players with the more powerful abilities with potentially less troops or less favourable placement orders. I’ve been pretty crap the past two games though. In our last game, I managed to get eliminated twice. We haven’t opened any additional packets, but we should be close now as we have more winning players. The games area still going at a pretty brisk pace, but somehow we haven’t had the urge to play back to back games. Too many other games to play, I guess.

Cash and Guns

Another game that has been quite a hit is Cash and Guns. I bought a whole batch of party games or lighter games since that category was pretty lacking previously, and it was also good for the end of year party season. Cash and Guns is a really fun game about gangsters that threaten each other with guns while trying to divvy up their ill-gotten gains.  At the start of each round, money is added to the center of the table, and each player secretly chooses one of their cards to play face down. Each player gets 8 cards, only 3 of which are shots. Once the cards are chosen, you can then point your cute little foam gun at another player to threaten them to step away from the table and forfeit their share of the money. If they think you are bluffing and refuse to step down, the cards are revealed and if a shot (BANG! or BANG! BANG! BANG!) card was used, the recipient takes a wound and drops to the ground sobbing like a spoiled little boy and the remaining gangsters divide the money as evenly as possible. If you accumulate 3 wounds, you are dead and permanently out of the game. The basic game can further be enhanced with special powers and roles. Jeannie also got me the Yakuzas expansion which allows up to 9 players to play simultaneously and adds a team mechanic and different powers for the yakuza who use tantos and shuriken instead of guns. Cash and Guns has been a hit with almost every group I’ve brought it our for. You can see the glee in everyone’s faces as they wave the foam guns around and threaten to shoot anyone who crosses them. It’s a really great light game for the start or end of a games night or just for parties. Everyone loves threatening to shoot friends for cash rewards. It’s a fact of life.

Party Games: The Big Bang Theory Party Game and Snake Oil

I also snagged a few Apples to Apples clones which have been great fun. If you don’t know, the basic mechanic behind Apples to Apples is that each player takes turns to judge a round, and the judge selects or gets a category while all the other players submit a card that arguably best matches that category. The judge then picks the cards which they think best fits the category. It’s a very simple mechanic and there is a whole subgenre of games that use a similar core mechanic while adding some tweaks, such as Cards Against Humanity, Story War and the two games I discuss here. The Big Bang Theory Party Game doesn’t have that much to do with the series, and essentially follows the Cards Against Humanity model of having certain categories that allow a combination of two cards. The actual cards and categories are skewed towards geek and pop culture and there are some references to things in the show but they are general enough that even a non-fan would have no problem with this game. It also adds ranking of the answers, so you can actually play for points. Snake Oil is similar, but always requires the submission of two cards that form the answer. The theme of the game is that you are trying to sell a poorly conceived product to a gullible customer, and the cards are all single words that can be combined together for (hopefully) hilarious effect. One thing I thought was cute with Snake Oil is that the rules are printed on the sides of the box, so you never need to worry about losing the rulebook as long as you have the box. I think these two games are great variants on the classic Apples to Apples and are usually good value for some laughs. I’m still hoping to get Cards Against Humanity, as I do so relish shock humour.

Tsuro of the Seas

Daniel got me Tsuro of the Seas, a variant of Tsuro, as a gift and it has been another good addition in the light game category. It’s a tile laying game where the aim is to be the last surviving player on the board. The tiles represent routes traveled by your ships and your ship follows the lines printed on the tiles and if the tiles are connected in such a way as to lead your ship off the board, you’re out of the game.  Tsuro of the Seas makes your seafaring life even harder by adding sea monsters that can gobble up your ships. You lose if a monster moves onto your tile or you have to move onto a tile containing a sea monster. It’s a really fun, light game that can play lots of people. It’s a good game to start the night as you can start it while waiting for other people to show up, and as people get eliminated they can set up games with the latecomers. You do have to be aware that there is player elimination and it can happen very suddenly and quickly. However, it’s light enough a game that you can just roll with it.

Other Games

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

We also played some old favourites like Power Grid, Wits & Wagers, Lords of Waterdeep, Agricola, Kingsburg, Balderdash, Grass (on 420, no less) RoboRally and Alien Frontiers. (with the Factions expansion). I also went to the pre-release for Gatecrash and Dragon’s Maze for Magic: the Gathering. We also got back into playing Dungeons & Dragons, with a few one-shot sessions with some new players, and now in the early stages of a new ongoing campaign. Other new games that I got but don’t have much to say about at this point (or saving up for a proper review later or I’ve spoken about on the podcast): Village, Seasons, Legendary: A Marvel Deckbuilding Game, Puzzle Strike, Myrmes, Survive: Escape from Atlantis and a whole lot more. And there’s still a lot more games to come! There’s a whole bunch of expansions set to come out this year, and I’m looking forward to discovering other new games as well. And Kickstarter! I’m also waiting on delivery of some Kickstarter games that have recently been funded. What games are you guys excited about? I’ve said this many times, but it truly is a great time to be a gamer. We have such a variety of fun, smart games with different themes and great new innovative ideas. I just hope my wallet can keep up… Until next time then, happy gaming!

She loved flowers and today I send her some roses from the garden.

But signs of life are not restricted to the stream soaked valleys. On the hill tops prayer flags beat in the winds, some are very old, worn and tattered with almost all their prayers lifted to the breeze. Fossils scatter the myriad of paths that weave their way out of town along scree slopes and over mountain ridges. These benthic remnants a reminder that this very landscape was once hundreds of meters below the ocean.

My journey to Zanskar begins in Leh, with a 26 hour bus ride covering some 400km to take me to the remote valley. As you can imagine, the road is very rough. Because I booked late, I don’t have a seat and so have to make do with the floor where I wedge my way into a somewhat comfortable space between the luggage that fills the aisle. I am not the only one and soon a man falls asleep on my back and another on my knees. After 10 hours of this and with the knowledge of 16 more to go, I begin to feel agitated, my legs and back cramped. From my place on the floor I glance up at a boy standing at the front of the bus without even room to sit. He is smiling and in his smile my anger subsides. The easy nature of the locals and their open acceptance of each situation is contagious. Like other times when I have traveled to developing countries, I am struck by what lessons we have forgotten in a privileged and wealthy world. Not long after, a girl sitting on the seat next to me offers me her lap to rest my head. Gratefully I fall asleep there for an hour or two. Later I find out she is from Zangla, the small village where I  will be teaching.

When we finally arrive, tired and dirty from the dusty road, it is late, so I spend the night with the girl from the bus in her family home. Their house is like all the rest in the village, made from mud and cow dung, two stories high, with a flat roof loaded with fodder, wood and dried cow dung to burn in the coming winter.

The next morning I walk through a flowered field woven with a myriad of creeks and streams running to the river. There I wash in water clear as glass before walking the short distance to the Gompa that sits on a small hill on the far side of the village. I am nervous to meet the nuns as they have no way of knowing I am coming, but I am greeted with warm smiles and open laughter.

During my time at the monastery, my relationship with the nuns becomes more like a friend than a teacher and maybe this is why at times it is difficult to get them to come to class. Many of the nuns don’t have much of an interest in learning English, except maybe male and female body parts for which they have abundant enthusiasm. But it makes me question what I am doing. What is the purpose of teaching English? Is it not just another form of cultural imperialism? I still don’t really know the answer to this, but I do know that I am there with others who came before and after me. With a growing number of tourists visiting the region each year and with increasing access to the outside world, western influences are unavoidable. And in general, such change is welcomed by the locals, because with it comes a higher standard of living, the ability to join the rest of the world, to “develop”, to “progress”. I realise I am more sentimental than many of the locals in regard to the loss of traditions and the damage to land and culture that comes with such pursuits. But as I learn from the Buddhists that live there, nothing is permanent, change for good or for bad is inevitable. So perhaps as westerners we should focus on learning from our own mistakes and try to assist those who are following in our footsteps to take on a more sustainable path. Because of this I allow myself some small reassurance that in some tiny way, I am giving the nuns some of the skills they need to communicate with the outside world, so they can speak up and voice their needs and concerns in a shifting landscape. But it is small comfort in light of the stories of rapidly retreating glaciers, water sources drying up, the brain drain as educated children chose to live in far off cities, the introduction of white flour, sugar, packaged food and the plastic litter building up in a place with no formal rubbish disposal system.

So I spend my time practicing the art of just being and trying to help where I could, teaching in the school with the younger nuns, offering small informal English lessons here and there and lending a hand with the cooking.

The kitchen is a good place to be because it is where the nuns meet. Warm and cheeky they laugh and hoot slapping one another on the legs as they sit cross-legged at the low tables lining one wall of the large room. This is where I watch them making yoghurt. Taken fresh, straight from Pashi the Gompa’s resident cow, they heat the milk over a large pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room. Just as the milk starts to simmer but before it boils they pull it off the heat allowing it to cool to the temperature of a hot bath before stirring in a tablespoon or so of yoghurt left over from the last batch. The whole pot is then wrapped in a thick woollen blanket and placed in a corner of the kitchen until the next day when it is eaten with ladakhi bread and butter tea for breakfast.

I became very fond of Pashi and her calf Patel. They were a handsome pair, golden blond with strongly defined features. Their stable was next to my room and at night I could hear them moving around. It would give me great comfort. In the evenings I liked to bring Pashi back from the fields where she would be tethered on a grassy knoll. I remember the pleasure in the simplicity of it all, walking the cow home with the summer breeze on my face and playing in my skirt.

My room was also made of mud and cow dung, a little square that I could just lie down in. It had a small window and a small door I had to double over in to enter. When it was windy the roof sprinkled dirt to the floor.  I remember the scene vividly from my little window.  At dusk small birds with round bellies and orange tails would sit outside. I would try to be very quiet then, any movement and they would fly away. As night would draw, the moon illuminated the land with a pale yellow grey light and the shadows of the clouds played on the mountain tops.

Some days I would walk to the river, its fast current tempting me, full of the energy of the mountains and sky from which it came. To get there I would walk past Mane walls, ancient inscriptions on flat stones piled together. Who placed those first rocks there sending Om Mane Padme Hum to all ends of the earth? The valley big and broad with barely any landmarks, I would lose perspective of distance, everything seemed closer than it really was. Zhos (a cross between a yak and a cow) grazed on the fertile strips where a creek met the river’s edge. I would watch the herders bring them together and drive them home. At the river the current was hypnotising, eddies running in all directions and waves appearing to move upstream.

Other days I would follow the small stream up behind the Gompa into a canyon that became narrower and narrower drawing nearer to its source. There in the rock pools I would swim comfortably naked and alone among the pastel green, maroon, and orange of the boulders. The water as glass, streamed crystal clear over the rocks, like cloth falling over the landscape, cool enough to make me gasp but warm enough to linger a while.

One night stands out to me in particular. It was nearing the end of my time in Zanskar and we couldn’t find Pashi. She was not in the field where we had left her and must have broken her tether. One of the nuns and I went looking for her down by the river. The moon was half full in the sky and bright enough to lead the way, the stars half obscured by clouds. The green field in the flat of the river ran with small streams and shone moist. The beauty caught my breath. We spent two hours wandering along the water’s edge, through fields and along stone-walled pastures. Finally, defeated, we walked back to the village through the sweet smell of mustard in flower. Back at the Gompa we found Pashi tethered to her stable. One of the other nuns had found her and brought her back whilst we were gone. By now it was late and I climbed back into my mouse-hole room only to find I couldn’t sleep. The freshness of the night was still on my skin and in my mind, the stars shining on me.

My last day in Zangla, I woke up from my small window to see the sun’s first rays on the fresh snow-capped mountains turning from grey to orange to yellow and finally to white as the day began. My sleeping bag was slightly wet from rare rain that had fallen that night. After breakfast the nuns filled my bag with chapatis’ for my journey to Leh. Way to many for me to eat by myself but they insisted I take them all. We heard the bus coming so running out the door, kataks thick around my neck it finally sunk in that I was leaving and tears pricked my cheeks. I climbed onto the roof of the bus. From there the nuns looked so sweet waving in their maroon robes framed by the Gompa and the Himalayas. The fresh morning and the smiling mountains felt good on my damp cheeks. I was full with the privilege to have lived a little in their world.

How to make Yoghurt

Before going to Zanskar, I had always been put off by the idea of making yoghurt as every recipe I had come across called for either a yoghurt-maker or thermometer, making it all seem far to complicated. But after seeing the nuns do it, I realised all you really needed was a large pot, a warm  place, a blanket and a bit of careful watching.

But still I kept putting it off and it wasn’t until a year ago when I was asked to give a fermentation workshop at CERES that I decided I better give it a go. I couldn’t even pretend to be an expert if I had never made yoghurt before. So I started researching. It turned out I didn’t need to go far.  In my bookshelf  was my much-loved copy of Wild Fermentation and in it a recipe for Yoghurt that doesn’t use a yoghurt maker or a thermometer. This was what I’d been waiting for.

The most important thing you need when making yoghurt is a warm and cosy place to rest it in. I usually pre-heat a small Esky by filling it up with hot water from the tap. I then empty it, dry it out and fill it with towels and if it is winter and really cold, a hot water bottle or some jars filled with warm water as well. But really what you need is a place  that will cool down very slowly. I have also heard of people making yoghurt in a thermos and I’m sure this could work too.

Yoghurt Recipe makes 1 litre

Equipment

1 litre jar
Insulated cooler/esky

Ingredients

1 litre whole organic milk
1 Tbsp fresh yoghurt (check it has live cultures)

Method

Pre – heat your jar and cooler with hot water, so that they won’t drain heat once you pour in your yoghurt.

Slowly heat your milk, paying close attention, until tiny bubbles start to form but before it starts to boil (if you have a thermometer, this is 80°C/180°F). Stir frequently to avoid burning the milk. The heating is not absolutely necessary, but it helps to get thicker yoghurt.

Allow the milk to cool until it still feels hot but is not so hot that you can’t keep a clean finger in it. You can quicken the cooling process by placing your saucepan in a bowl of cold water. But be careful it doesn’t cool too much. The optimum temperature is as mentioned above – about 40°C/110°F).

Mix the starter yoghurt into the milk. Make sure you don’t get tempted to add more yoghurt thinking it will help to make a thicker  end result as it will do the opposite. Poor into your jar, screw on the lid and place in your pre heated “incubator”. If you see fit, add some jars with warm water and/or a hot water bottle (with warm water in it) to help maintain the temperature. Leave in a place where it won’t be disturbed as it doesn’t like being jostled.

After 8 – 12 hours, check on your yoghurt. It should have developed a “tangy flavour and some thickness” .

Store in the fridge and consume within 4 weeks, saving some for your next batch.

Finally, make sure you have a look at how to make Labnah cheese from yoghurt here and some of the things you can do with Labnah here.

Source: http://moonomo.com/wp-content/uploads/memories-time-and-fortune-haiku-trio.jpg

by Anonymous -

Memories. When we think of this nostalgic (or not?) word, we think of images; scenes of the past. But as I was reminiscing about certain events in the past, I was confronted with conceptions of what exactly memories mean to me.

“For some life lasts a short while, but the memories it holds last forever.”

And so Laura Swenson expresses. Her sentiments are paralleled by many others. But do they truly? As I was sourcing for apposite quotes, I chanced upon an adage by Oscar Wilde.

“Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.”

Undeniably, both quotes succeed in tugging at our heartstrings, for they centre upon some of the issues we are most concerned about – the principle of eternity and the science of life.

Yet, to me, memories exist neither as images nor scenes in a diary. Rather, they exist as numerous intertwining and interweaving threads which extend through the deepest corners of our heart (in replacement of brain, as I’m feeling pretty sentimental). Each thread differs in length and thickness, making intricate and complex connections with others. (Think neurons) These are connections which determine our story, connections which make sense of a seemingly endless chain of events. Similar to the chemistry of bonds, each connection and its relative significance are determined by the strength of the interconnection of both threads. But contrary to Swenson’s assertion, memories do not always last. Over the course of time, some threads wear down and eventually dissolve, fading into the past where they belong. Other threads grow stronger as time lapses, establishing extensive connections as they prosper.

The memories we share with others are all distinctly different in that they exist only within the hearts and minds of those involved. Beyond that, no one knows what has happened, no one understands, no one can truly appreciate the connections between the parties – the threads of memory. In this sense, memories come to me as shared secrets. Over the course of life, when parties involved have all breathed their last, the memories fade away into the air, till the end of time.

Perhaps, this is what makes memories invaluable. It is what makes memories so special and precious to each and every one of us, so much so that we hold it close to our hearts, unwilling to let go.

Image of sado-masochism (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the D/s world, it is commonly bandied about that a submissive is the property of her Dominant.  While this is a universally accepted idea, I think I have to buck tradition and disagree.

Allow me to explain.

While a man may take pride in owning a home, and extra pride in owning the nicest home in the neighborhood, it is still simply a possession, up for sale to the highest bidder if the price is right, or a nicer, more impressive one comes along.  His arm, on the other hand, is not for sale.  It is a rare (and disturbed) man who would part with his own arm, because he knows that nothing could replace it.  There will never be another like it, it is part of himself, and its value is beyond anything that could be given him for it.

This is the value of the right submissive to the right Dominant.  She is an extension of himself, as valued to him as his own arm.  Irreplaceable, and of worth beyond measure.  His pride in her is his pride in himself, and he loves her as he loves himself.  He doesn’t own her, he absorbs her.  She becomes a part of him in a way that cannot be explained, only understood by those who have experienced it.

I believe it is detrimental to the D/s relationship to refer to a submissive as property.  Yes, she is his, like his body is his.  But she is not property; her submission can be neither bought nor sold.  To call her such is to enforce a separation of identity between herself and her Dominant.  Calling her property
only causes her to fight the natural merging of two halves of a whole.  A submissive’s true desire is to be as supportive to her Dominant as his own legs, as helpful to him as his arms, a piece of himself that he would never voluntarily choose to lose.  Refusing that merger by calling her ‘property’ brings about resentment and a desire to establish that they have worth in their own right.  I truly believe that this is the source of the common statement “my submission is a gift” that many submissives use.  It’s an expression of their desire to be seen as something of value and worth, outside of their ‘owner’ because by him calling her his property, he has established that they are not a whole, but two separate entities.

Submission is not a gift, because it is not something she can give without his dominance.   Her submission is nothing more and nothing less than the yin to his yang, the sky to his earth, the water to his flame.  She cannot submit without his dominance, and he cannot dominate without her submission.

Do the structural beams of a skyscraper insist on gratitude for the strength they give?

Does the exterior insist on gratitude for it’s protection of the beams from the elements?

No, because each exists for the benefit of the other.  On their own, each would fall to ruin, but together, they amaze and inspire.  It’s no gift they give, they simply serve the purpose for which they were created, as does he for you, and you for him.

Do not submit because you’re giving him a gift, submit because you are two halves of one soul and your submission is the element that binds you as one.

Please let me know in the comments below whether you agree or disagree with this post, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject!

~A