Di tanto in tanto,comparirà nella nostra farm,un messaggio simile

found a lost “animale” on their farm. Oh no!
pubblicandolo in bacheca daremo la possibilità ai nostri amici,di adottare alcuni animali

QUI DI SEGUITO TUTTI GLI ANIMALI CHE E’ POSSIBILE ADOTTARE

E’ appena stata inserita oggi [ 25 Novembre 2009 ] la nuova Clumsy Reindeer ( Renna con luci Natalizie )

A nostra volta potremo adottare gli animali smarriti dai nostri amici,cliccando su ADOPT THE …

Ugly Duckling ( brutto anatroccolo ) si trasformerà in cigno nel giro di 3 giorni

Ogni animale può essere adottato da un numero limitato di persone

Jag har inte hunnit åka ner till Malmö för att hämta skivan med bilderna från den senaste fotosessionen i Malmö – för jag har varit sjuk i en vecka.
Modellen som jag sminkade har lagt ut några av bilderna på hennes blogg,
La petite noire, så jag plockade ner dem och lade ut dem här med. Jag sminkade henne lite 60-tal – lite Twiggy.
Fler bilder kommer!

Fotograf: © Angelika Sliwinski
Modell: Rebecca Zadig
Makeup: Varja

En kompis till Rebecca kom dit och gjorde några egna bilder på henne som kommer här.

Fotograf: © Ugly Duckling
Modell: Rebecca Zadig
Makeup: Varja

Jag längtar tills jag får alla bilderna från Angelika Sliwinski. Det ser ut som om sessionen blev lyckad – mycket fina bilder!!

A recent facebook phenomenon has arisen called Farmville. Here is my lovely farm with a message:

You can find out more about this group and R3s message here.

Maya will be telling her story about her farm here and showing you how to find her farm online and sharing pictures too:

Mannalis will be telling her story about her farm here and showing you how to find her farm online and sharing pictures too:

Nena will be telling her story about her farm here and showing you how to find her farm online and sharing pictures too:

You can comment and make suggestions about our project. We are learning about blogging and having some fun too. And learning creative ways to share Truth with our friends. We will also be seeing who can be the first to learn what happens to the ugly duckling, capture a pink cow, and learn to terrace their farm. Who knows maybe one of us will want to be a gardner or an architect one of these days!

Gotta get back to the farm and harvest a crop or two now so I can share my message with my facebook friends!

Blessings,
Sandie

"09:21," 2009; various papers, ink, collage; 6x8"

I may be the only one who loves this ugly duckling, but I do. Call it an homage to Kurt Schwitters. Merz!

I didn't have the foresight to take a picture of Recycled Sounds before it closed, so I found this picture on flickr by Brett Wilms.

Have you ever tried to understand a friend by meeting that friend’s relatives and friends?  I invariably remark, “Oh, that’s where so-and-so got that saying” or “That makes sense now that I met so-and-so’s brother.”

Yesterday was like that for me, as I attended Anne Winter’s funeral.  I first knew her through her work as owner of Recycled Sounds, then I saw her in action at the International Association of Assessing Officers, as my wife’s boss.  (I remember her coming home from the interview, excited that the lady who just interviewed her knew all about the magazines for which she had done freelance work.  That was for good reason; Anne sold Copper Press, Bandoppler and Paste in her store.)  I knew Anne was involved in the community, but I had no idea the many, many things she did until the past few days.

At any rate, Episode 17 is in memory of Anne.  All of the music is from albums I bought at her store.  As I think on her funeral, I realize how this show only represents a very small piece of who she was. I guess I shouldn’t apologize.  Anne would have loved to hear this show.

1. The Boo Radleys – Upon Ninth and Fairchild (Giant Steps 1993)
2. Trans Am – Let’s Take the Fresh Step Together/I Want It All (Red Line 2000)
3. Jud Jud – side two of No Tolerance for Instruments 1988
4. Ugly Duckling – Fresh Mode (Fresh Mode EP 1999)
5. Pixies – Monkey Gone to Heaven (Doolittle 1989)

I should also mention that the background songs, “The Jaunt” and “Survival of the Freshest,” are taken from Poets of Rhythm’s 2001 album, Discern/Define (also purchased at Recycled Sounds).

Radio Free Raytown – Episode 17 (10/28/09)

Dear Ex-Gym Teacher,

Adolescence can be difficult.  Every child has what we will call their “ugly duckling phase.”  My ugly duckling phase was something.  I use the word “something” due to the fact that there is simply no other vocabulary word to use here.  Glasses?  Check.  Braces?  Check.  Chubby?  Check.  Mushroom-shaped hairstyle?  Check.  (Thanks, Mom!)  See where the “something” comes in here?

Anyway, there is nothing a chubby kid hates more than gym class.  It’s true.  Gym class was my arch nemesis.  All that running and jumping made my 10-year-old legs feel like Jell-O.

At that time, I was friends with a girl who was super cool.  She was not an “ugly duckling” by any means.  On the day the class had to run The Mile, my friend was sick, so she brought in an “excused from gym” note from her mom.  It was like a Golden Ticket in my eyes.  In an effort to not have to run The Mile myself and instead hang out with my super cool friend, I immediately searched my brain for a plan to find my own way out of gym.

I quickly ripped a piece of paper from my notebook (Mistake #1), pulled out my Crayolas (Mistake #2), wrote myself a note to get out of gym class, and signed my mom’s name.  (I am sorry, Mom.)

Gym time came around and I felt cool as a cucumber.  I slid my excuse note next to you while you were sitting on the bleachers talking with someone.  The class took a seat just before you began roll call.  When you reached for the piece of paper I slid your way earlier, my heart skipped a beat.  You opened the note and tilted your head to the side a bit.  (The head tilt is never good.  It’s just not.)  You looked up from the note and called me to the front of the class.

GULP.

When I arrived, you asked me if my mom wrote the note.  I said yes.  You then gave me that look—that look you get from parents that lets you know you really messed up—and said, “I am going to ask you one more time and ONLY one more time.  Did your mom write this note?”

Sweet Jesus.  What do I do?

Well, I admitted defeat.  I shook my head no.  You told me I would not be excused from class that day and I would be running The Mile.

One might think it was the ripped notebook paper or the green crayon that did me in.

Wrong.

I actually wrote:  “Please excuse M—- from jim.  She is sick today.  Thanks, her mom.”

So today, “jim” teacher, I just want to say that we are cool.  I understand you had to call me out, and I understand that running The Mile was good for me.  I don’t have any permanent scars from that day, just hurt pride.

M—-

A cluster of vital organs
with profound prophetic potential
was planted in the dirt
twenty-six years ago today.
Nourished by a diet of
acid rain
and intermittent blazing sunshine,
a strange and unstable seedling
was born.

Here mother!
I picked you a beautiful weed!

Yes, indeed.
The dandelion is a sight to behold
in all her un-glory
and poison
and pitiful waste
of unrooted
undisciplined
potted potential.

Remember the story of the Ugly Duckling? Everyone fucked the little duckling over, called it names, teased it and etc. right? Now, remember the guy or girl that you may have teased based on looks, sizes, social status, economic situation or whatever. They could have been the coolest, most down-to-earth person you have known, but you decided to follow the crowd and continued to down them. Years later after high school, college or whenever the last time you’ve seen them, you see someone that makes your mouth drop like “Damn!” You go up to them and ask for their name. Come to find out, it’s the same name of the same person you teased so long ago. You try to process it and think, “You’re shitting me. This cannot be (insert name here)!” You go up to them to speak and no words can escape. You are in awe of this person. Let’s rewind now. You start to go back in your memory banks to try to see if this is really the person you teased so long ago. The dreaded words, “I remember you from (insert place or time), you’re (insert name) right? It’s nice to see you.” I know you’re not frozen right? The person who had it all but decided to slam the next person. Ok you can take that foot or whatever object out of your mouth now. Lynette with the flat chest, no ass and glasses, now wears contacts or has had corrective eye surgery. She now has full breasts, a phat ass, is in shape and looks like she can rival Hallie Berry, Beyonce and Deelishus (ass-wise). Johnny now goes buy his full first name, Johnathan, he’s in shape, has his “swag” together, career in order and is continually progressing to the top of his field and now reminds you of Idris Elba (Ladies love him for some reason, please don’t comment on why.)

You look at yourself and realized that you haven’t done much with your life or maybe you, but you still riding of the wave of your glory days. You think to yourself that you aren’t where you want to be and decide you can still step to them. They reject you. They either have remembered how you fucked with them or fucked them over, or they could be with someone who as there for them before or during their journey of transformation. They could have been kickin it with that cool friend that accepted them for them. A smaller form of karma has come and the table has turned. The one you decided to put beneath you, is now at your level or better. That in a nutshell is the “Ugly Duckling Effect.” The moral of this story is: “Be careful who you tease, because that many be the same person that brings you to your knees or pulls you out of the fire.”

so I’m gonna be awesome and buy a mandolin…

(a mandolin made of my imagination)- and I will be the John Lennon of the mandolin world and everyone will love me ( also in my imagination)

I realise quite some time has elasped since I was last inclined to share with you the boredom and tediousness that is my life… uhhh…. bbblllllbbb (raspberry) he he he

Do you ever find yourself wishing life had a ‘Ctrl’ and ‘Z’ button, (As Mr Hiroshima would say “DELETE”), so by just pressing down on those two little buttons your life could be tidied and put right; corrected and formalised- and from an ugly duckling a beautiful swan would arise

of course in this situation the ugly duckling would be a certain individual embarrassing themself by laughing at their maths teacher… because it felt like church…… I don’t know? my brain… a certain individual’s brain works in odd ways

and then the beautiful swan would be the same same certain individual keeping quiet at the back… and not comparing the professor of maths to a priest  that would be perfect… if it were real

george was in my dream- you know the usual, arranged marriage, fat old indian guy who smells like samosas and he shot me in the head with a fork… cool…samosas- We’re studying BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM which may have somewhat influenced that dream/nightmare/thing in my head that is weird

Mummy got me EMMA, SENSE AND SENSIBILITY AND PERSUASION and they are really cool/ oldish books that make me look smart if I put them on my bookshelf.

Houseboat is a compound word… ha

I also bought HEARTLESS by Tasma Walton- life ambition: to read lots of bookies… that reminds of a man called Russell Brand or man with the big hair… he seems cool if a little bit addicted to certain things… don’t say I didn’t warn you

Astro ( ckeck out Alex592 dans le blogroll) may be Batman but I am Oprah, Eleanor Roosevelt, Gandhi, Jane Goodall, and Emily Bronte (INFJ). And… get this… I am the Tinman… suck on that batty watty with a biggy wings…. sorry

The tinman came to my 4th birthday… only I’m pretty sure he was from the Horsham Theatre Company

I is zinking zat is all (imagine that with a sexy french accent- ooh seductive)

don’t catch my cold via the interweb, stay sweet my hot doggies…

sometimes I just don’t know….

alice xx

So a while back I noticed that this one game on Facebook was getting really popular because I would see notifications from it every 10 minutes! That game was Farmville.

So to show that I’m not the only obsessed with updating my status (or with Zazzle) I’ve posted all the designs that Farmville has on Zazzle. The money that they make from these products probably go to helping expand the game and creating more opportunities in the game.

Find More at Farmville’s Store

Pass this on to all your Farmville neighbors!

Titulo Original: My life in ruins

Genero: Comedy | Greece | Drunkenness | Workplace Romance | Tour Guide | Professor | Shoplifter | Husband Wife Relationship | Employer Employee Relationship | Father Daughter Relationship | Drinking | Dancing | Ugly Duckling | Beer

Año: 2009

Duración: 95 min.

Reparto: Nia Vardalos, Richard Dreyfuss, Rachel Dratch, Caroline Goodall, Alistair McGowan, María Adánez, María Botto, Brian Palermo.

Puntuación IMDB: 6.3

Sinopsis: Georgia (Nia Vardalos) es un joven divorciada que está desencantada con la dirección que lleva su vida. Trabaja como guía turística en una agencia de viajes griega, donde tendrá que lidiar con un alocado grupo internacional de turistas más interesados en comprar bizarros souvenirs que en visitar monumentos. Mientras intenta que presten atención a las maravillas de la Grecia antigua, ella misma comenzará a ver las cosas de otra manera, ya que el amor puede aparecer cuando menos se lo espera… Guión de Mike Reiss (productor y guionista de varios capítulos de “Los Simpson”) y revisado por la propia Vardalos (“Mi gran boda griega”).

Trailer:

America is as innocent as OJ.

Living in this world is like being constipated. It feels good when the waste is released; but, it builds back up immediately because you have to eat on a daily basis to survive.

A gun needs a bullet like a head needs a brain

Mothers who put anything before their children are like a
pornstar with no sex drive.

Like a trash can that allows itself to be dumped on continously is a person who lives with their oppressor.

A bad woman can be as good as a good woman, if she can learn to keep silent.

A woman whose legs are instantly opened to a multitude is like an ATM that does not require any previous balance. People will use it often until it is empty while putting their money in a secure and respectable location.

A man that thinks his penis keeps a woman is like a person who thinks his key is the only one that can open that lock.

Like an ugly duckling that struts like a peacock is the person who believes their potential is being seen rather than their present ability.

My words are like money. Most people dont know what to do with it.

The BLAQUESMITH

This term in school Roy will be learning the following

Stories

• Goldilocks and the Three Bears
• The Enormous Turnip
• The Ugly Duckling
• Little Red Hen

Art & Craft- Characters related to the stories

Word Recognition- Reading words extracted from Rogby Readers

Mathematics

• Matching/ Grouping/Patterning
• Visual discrimination (comparing differences)
• Number Concept within 10 (Focus on finger patterning)

As you know, these ugly critters are the latest animal up for adoption in Farmville. They are ugly, buck-toothed creatures that will eventually turn into swans for those lucky enough to grab one. I was finally admitted to that category! I’ve had him for less than 24 hours and he’s at about 20%. I think he will turn into a swan when he’s “ready to harvest.” Either that, or a nice duck dinner. I’ll have to let you know.

In other news, I was also gifted an olive tree today. It will be ripe in 4 days and pay 121 coins. I still don’t have a high enough level to gift one myself, but I was happy to get one for my own.

Live. Laugh. Farmville.

I have yet to adopt one of these precious little creatures because my track record with adopting animals is poor. I would love to adopt one, but to date, my application for adoption has been denied. I’m a day late and a duck short.

The cool thing about the ugly duckling – the newest animal on the adoption list for Farmville – is the transformation into a swan. Yep, it changes into a swan. So if you are lucky enough to adopt one of these ugly critters, they will soon change into a beautiful swan – just like in the story.

Live, Love, Farmville!

• Sun It Rises Fleet Foxes Fleet Foxes
• Branches Midlake The Trials of Van Occupanther
• Southern Point Grizzly Bear Veckatimest
• The Birmingham Eccentric Kelley Stoltz Circular Sounds
• La Revolucion Ugly Duckling Taste The Secret

Listen to the playlist at imeem and get your Sunday on.

Recently I went out for drinks with one of my guy friends and a former co-worker of his. We staked out a table in the back of a dark, quieter bar and sat around shooting the shit for awhile. The bar was pretty empty, but once in awhile a group of stumbling, giggly drunk girls would pass by on their way out the rear entrance to the street. I noticed pretty quickly that with each passing group, J’s head would turn a bit to his right, his eyes glazed over and hungry-looking as he nonchalantly scoped them out.

The co-worker went to the bathroom, and my guy friend, J, looked at me and said, ‘Dear, you’re lucky you’re a virgin. There are some things that you just don’t get.’

‘What?’ I’m sure there are many things I ‘just don’t get,’ thanks. ‘Where are you going with this?’ I asked.

‘I think this is a hand-holding moment.’ J laid his hand palm-up on the table and looked at me expectantly. Perplexed and pretty sure this would involve biting my lip to keep from laughing, I placed my hand in his.

‘You see, dear,’ he started, ‘it’s been awhile since I’ve been with anyone. And my biological clock is ticking and telling me to pro-create. Well, maybe not pro-create but…yeah. You get it.’

‘Hmm.’ I nodded as seriously as I could manage.

‘So every attractive girl that walks by, I find myself eyeing her and thinking, “Oh, she’s cute.”‘

The conversation continued this way for a couple of minutes, him explaining his male lust and me nodding and hmming accordingly. Then the co-worker returned from the restroom and the guys started discussing how their boss has been trying to set J up with some cute girls he knows.

Listen, J. I’ve loved you like a brother for nearly a decade now, but that kind of conversation sorta makes me feel extremely unattractive. Trust me, I’ve no interest in sleeping with you. I just can’t help feeling a little put off when my guy friends talk to me about sexual attraction to random girls based off looks.

Anyone else ever get this? I realize it doesn’t make much any sense, but, alas, there is is.

P.S. I guess it’s only fair, though. How often do I tell guys about my love for Zefron?

Source: http://hca.gilead.org.il/ugly_duc.html

The Ugly Duckling

by

Hans Christian Andersen

(1844)

T was lovely summer weather in the country, and the golden corn, the green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows looked beautiful. The stork walking about on his long red legs chattered in the Egyptian language, which he had learnt from his mother. The corn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst of which were deep pools. It was, indeed, delightful to walk about in the country. In a sunny spot stood a pleasant old farm-house close by a deep river, and from the house down to the water side grew great burdock leaves, so high, that under the tallest of them a little child could stand upright. The spot was as wild as the centre of a thick wood. In this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest, watching for her young brood to hatch; she was beginning to get tired of her task, for the little ones were a long time coming out of their shells, and she seldom had any visitors. The other ducks liked much better to swim about in the river than to climb the slippery banks, and sit under a burdock leaf, to have a gossip with her. At length one shell cracked, and then another, and from each egg came a living creature that lifted its head and cried, “Peep, peep.” “Quack, quack,” said the mother, and then they all quacked as well as they could, and looked about them on every side at the large green leaves. Their mother allowed them to look as much as they liked, because green is good for the eyes. “How large the world is,” said the young ducks, when they found how much more room they now had than while they were inside the egg-shell. “Do you imagine this is the whole world?” asked the mother; “Wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches far beyond that to the parson’s field, but I have never ventured to such a distance. Are you all out?” she continued, rising; “No, I declare, the largest egg lies there still. I wonder how long this is to last, I am quite tired of it;” and she seated herself again on the nest.

“Well, how are you getting on?” asked an old duck, who paid her a visit.

“One egg is not hatched yet,” said the duck, “it will not break. But just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever saw? They are the image of their father, who is so unkind, he never comes to see.”

“Let me see the egg that will not break,” said the duck; “I have no doubt it is a turkey’s egg. I was persuaded to hatch some once, and after all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid of the water. I quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. I could not get them to venture in. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that is a turkey’s egg; take my advice, leave it where it is and teach the other children to swim.”

“I think I will sit on it a little while longer,” said the duck; “as I have sat so long already, a few days will be nothing.”

“Please yourself,” said the old duck, and she went away.

At last the large egg broke, and a young one crept forth crying, “Peep, peep.” It was very large and ugly. The duck stared at it and exclaimed, “It is very large and not at all like the others. I wonder if it really is a turkey. We shall soon find it out, however when we go to the water. It must go in, if I have to push it myself.”

On the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shone brightly on the green burdock leaves, so the mother duck took her young brood down to the water, and jumped in with a splash. “Quack, quack,” cried she, and one after another the little ducklings jumped in. The water closed over their heads, but they came up again in an instant, and swam about quite prettily with their legs paddling under them as easily as possible, and the ugly duckling was also in the water swimming with them.

“Oh,” said the mother, “that is not a turkey; how well he uses his legs, and how upright he holds himself! He is my own child, and he is not so very ugly after all if you look at him properly. Quack, quack! come with me now, I will take you into grand society, and introduce you to the farmyard, but you must keep close to me or you may be trodden upon; and, above all, beware of the cat.”

When they reached the farmyard, there was a great disturbance, two families were fighting for an eel’s head, which, after all, was carried off by the cat. “See, children, that is the way of the world,” said the mother duck, whetting her beak, for she would have liked the eel’s head herself. “Come, now, use your legs, and let me see how well you can behave. You must bow your heads prettily to that old duck yonder; she is the highest born of them all, and has Spanish blood, therefore, she is well off. Don’t you see she has a red flag tied to her leg, which is something very grand, and a great honor for a duck; it shows that every one is anxious not to lose her, as she can be recognized both by man and beast. Come, now, don’t turn your toes, a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, just like his father and mother, in this way; now bend your neck, and say ‘quack.’”

The ducklings did as they were bid, but the other duck stared, and said, “Look, here comes another brood, as if there were not enough of us already! and what a queer looking object one of them is; we don’t want him here,” and then one flew out and bit him in the neck.

“Let him alone,” said the mother; “he is not doing any harm.”

“Yes, but he is so big and ugly,” said the spiteful duck “and therefore he must be turned out.”

“The others are very pretty children,” said the old duck, with the rag on her leg, “all but that one; I wish his mother could improve him a little.”

“That is impossible, your grace,” replied the mother; “he is not pretty; but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well or even better than the others. I think he will grow up pretty, and perhaps be smaller; he has remained too long in the egg, and therefore his figure is not properly formed;” and then she stroked his neck and smoothed the feathers, saying, “It is a drake, and therefore not of so much consequence. I think he will grow up strong, and able to take care of himself.”

“The other ducklings are graceful enough,” said the old duck. “Now make yourself at home, and if you can find an eel’s head, you can bring it to me.”

And so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor duckling, who had crept out of his shell last of all, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and made fun of, not only by the ducks, but by all the poultry. “He is too big,” they all said, and the turkey cock, who had been born into the world with spurs, and fancied himself really an emperor, puffed himself out like a vessel in full sail, and flew at the duckling, and became quite red in the head with passion, so that the poor little thing did not know where to go, and was quite miserable because he was so ugly and laughed at by the whole farmyard. So it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse. The poor duckling was driven about by every one; even his brothers and sisters were unkind to him, and would say, “Ah, you ugly creature, I wish the cat would get you,” and his mother said she wished he had never been born. The ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, and the girl who fed the poultry kicked him with her feet. So at last he ran away, frightening the little birds in the hedge as he flew over the palings.

“They are afraid of me because I am ugly,” he said. So he closed his eyes, and flew still farther, until he came out on a large moor, inhabited by wild ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feeling very tired and sorrowful.

In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they stared at their new comrade. “What sort of a duck are you?” they all said, coming round him.

He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be, but he did not reply to their question. “You are exceedingly ugly,” said the wild ducks, “but that will not matter if you do not want to marry one of our family.”

Poor thing! he had no thoughts of marriage; all he wanted was permission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on the moor. After he had been on the moor two days, there came two wild geese, or rather goslings, for they had not been out of the egg long, and were very saucy. “Listen, friend,” said one of them to the duckling, “you are so ugly, that we like you very well. Will you go with us, and become a bird of passage? Not far from here is another moor, in which there are some pretty wild geese, all unmarried. It is a chance for you to get a wife; you may be lucky, ugly as you are.”

“Pop, pop,” sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead among the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood. “Pop, pop,” echoed far and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the rushes. The sound continued from every direction, for the sportsmen surrounded the moor, and some were even seated on branches of trees, overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from the guns rose like clouds over the dark trees, and as it floated away across the water, a number of sporting dogs bounded in among the rushes, which bent beneath them wherever they went. How they terrified the poor duckling! He turned away his head to hide it under his wing, and at the same moment a large terrible dog passed quite near him. His jaws were open, his tongue hung from his mouth, and his eyes glared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to the duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then, “splash, splash,” he went into the water without touching him, “Oh,” sighed the duckling, “how thankful I am for being so ugly; even a dog will not bite me.” And so he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes, and gun after gun was fired over him. It was late in the day before all became quiet, but even then the poor young thing did not dare to move. He waited quietly for several hours, and then, after looking carefully around him, hastened away from the moor as fast as he could. He ran over field and meadow till a storm arose, and he could hardly struggle against it. Towards evening, he reached a poor little cottage that seemed ready to fall, and only remained standing because it could not decide on which side to fall first. The storm continued so violent, that the duckling could go no farther; he sat down by the cottage, and then he noticed that the door was not quite closed in consequence of one of the hinges having given way. There was therefore a narrow opening near the bottom large enough for him to slip through, which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. A woman, a tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. The tom cat, whom the mistress called, “My little son,” was a great favorite; he could raise his back, and purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if it were stroked the wrong way. The hen had very short legs, so she was called “Chickie short legs.” She laid good eggs, and her mistress loved her as if she had been her own child. In the morning, the strange visitor was discovered, and the tom cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck.

“What is that noise about?” said the old woman, looking round the room, but her sight was not very good; therefore, when she saw the duckling she thought it must be a fat duck, that had strayed from home. “Oh what a prize!” she exclaimed, “I hope it is not a drake, for then I shall have some duck’s eggs. I must wait and see.” So the duckling was allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but there were no eggs. Now the tom cat was the master of the house, and the hen was mistress, and they always said, “We and the world,” for they believed themselves to be half the world, and the better half too. The duckling thought that others might hold a different opinion on the subject, but the hen would not listen to such doubts. “Can you lay eggs?” she asked. “No.” “Then have the goodness to hold your tongue.” “Can you raise your back, or purr, or throw out sparks?” said the tom cat. “No.” “Then you have no right to express an opinion when sensible people are speaking.” So the duckling sat in a corner, feeling very low spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air came into the room through the open door, and then he began to feel such a great longing for a swim on the water, that he could not help telling the hen.

“What an absurd idea,” said the hen. “You have nothing else to do, therefore you have foolish fancies. If you could purr or lay eggs, they would pass away.”

“But it is so delightful to swim about on the water,” said the duckling, “and so refreshing to feel it close over your head, while you dive down to the bottom.”

“Delightful, indeed!” said the hen, “why you must be crazy! Ask the cat, he is the cleverest animal I know, ask him how he would like to swim about on the water, or to dive under it, for I will not speak of my own opinion; ask our mistress, the old woman—there is no one in the world more clever than she is. Do you think she would like to swim, or to let the water close over her head?”

“You don’t understand me,” said the duckling.

“We don’t understand you? Who can understand you, I wonder? Do you consider yourself more clever than the cat, or the old woman? I will say nothing of myself. Don’t imagine such nonsense, child, and thank your good fortune that you have been received here. Are you not in a warm room, and in society from which you may learn something. But you are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. Believe me, I speak only for your own good. I may tell you unpleasant truths, but that is a proof of my friendship. I advise you, therefore, to lay eggs, and learn to purr as quickly as possible.”

“I believe I must go out into the world again,” said the duckling.

“Yes, do,” said the hen. So the duckling left the cottage, and soon found water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided by all other animals, because of its ugly appearance. Autumn came, and the leaves in the forest turned to orange and gold. then, as winter approached, the wind caught them as they fell and whirled them in the cold air. The clouds, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns crying, “Croak, croak.” It made one shiver with cold to look at him. All this was very sad for the poor little duckling. One evening, just as the sun set amid radiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out of the bushes. The duckling had never seen any like them before. They were swans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their soft plumage shown with dazzling whiteness. They uttered a singular cry, as they spread their glorious wings and flew away from those cold regions to warmer countries across the sea. As they mounted higher and higher in the air, the ugly little duckling felt quite a strange sensation as he watched them. He whirled himself in the water like a wheel, stretched out his neck towards them, and uttered a cry so strange that it frightened himself. Could he ever forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of his sight, he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself with excitement. He knew not the names of these birds, nor where they had flown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world. He was not envious of these beautiful creatures, but wished to be as lovely as they. Poor ugly creature, how gladly he would have lived even with the ducks had they only given him encouragement. The winter grew colder and colder; he was obliged to swim about on the water to keep it from freezing, but every night the space on which he swam became smaller and smaller. At length it froze so hard that the ice in the water crackled as he moved, and the duckling had to paddle with his legs as well as he could, to keep the space from closing up. He became exhausted at last, and lay still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice.

Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what had happened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poor little creature; but when the children wanted to play with him, the duckling thought they would do him some harm; so he started up in terror, fluttered into the milk-pan, and splashed the milk about the room. Then the woman clapped her hands, which frightened him still more. He flew first into the butter-cask, then into the meal-tub, and out again. What a condition he was in! The woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs; the children laughed and screamed, and tumbled over each other, in their efforts to catch him; but luckily he escaped. The door stood open; the poor creature could just manage to slip out among the bushes, and lie down quite exhausted in the newly fallen snow.

It would be very sad, were I to relate all the misery and privations which the poor little duckling endured during the hard winter; but when it had passed, he found himself lying one morning in a moor, amongst the rushes. He felt the warm sun shining, and heard the lark singing, and saw that all around was beautiful spring. Then the young bird felt that his wings were strong, as he flapped them against his sides, and rose high into the air. They bore him onwards, until he found himself in a large garden, before he well knew how it had happened. The apple-trees were in full blossom, and the fragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the stream which wound round a smooth lawn. Everything looked beautiful, in the freshness of early spring. From a thicket close by came three beautiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly over the smooth water. The duckling remembered the lovely birds, and felt more strangely unhappy than ever.

“I will fly to those royal birds,” he exclaimed, “and they will kill me, because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them; but it does not matter: better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, beaten by the hens, pushed about by the maiden who feeds the poultry, or starved with hunger in the winter.”

Then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans. The moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched wings.

“Kill me,” said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to the surface of the water, and awaited death.

But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; no longer a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and beautiful swan. To be born in a duck’s nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan’s egg. He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him; for the great swans swam round the new-comer, and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome.

Into the garden presently came some little children, and threw bread and cake into the water.

“See,” cried the youngest, “there is a new one;” and the rest were delighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clapping their hands, and shouting joyously, “There is another swan come; a new one has arrived.”

Then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, “The new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty.” And the old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for he did not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He had been persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, “I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.”

Source: http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_the_moral_lesson_of_The_Ugly_Duckling

The moral lesson that we can get from this story is to be proud of ourselves. Don’t let anyone crictic or reduce our personality. Nobody ever knows tomorrow, and after the rain always comes the sun. So, be proud of ourselves and the rest will come by itself. 

Studies indicate that attractive individuals tend to be regarded as kinder, smarter, and more capable than their less aesthetically-appealing counterparts.  I don’t doubt this bias is true of human nature; I am sure I have been guilty of such instinctive stereotyping countless times.  What I’m consciously aware of, however, is that this finding obscures the reaction of those who, having once identified themselves as unattractive and perceived themselves the recipients of negative stereotyping, choose to counteract the bias in others by making an especial effort to go against their primitive instincts and be kind towards those they once identified with or still do.

I trace my never having learned what, if anything, I could like about myself to the fact that, from the moment my mother saw I understood what she was saying, she never praised me, lest I see disapproval in her silence (oh, I saw it anyway).  You see, my mom was certain it was bad luck to compliment me: it would drive the jealous fates/gods/powers-that-be to take away whatever she admired, or something like that.  Notice how Caucasian I looked and suddenly my Asian features would become more prominent.  Remark how open my eyes were and before you knew it my vision would go bad and I’d need glasses.  She knew first-hand how dangerous praise could be: when I was in the fifth grade, a department store saleswoman said how pretty I was and how I should be a child model and the next day, wham, I fell on my face on the freshly cleaned floor at school, lost half of my left front tooth, and needed a root canal and a thin metal screw driven into the tooth to hold it in place, its end visible through the extension added onto my remaining dead tooth.  Bye bye, pretty girl.  What more proof did she need that I ought never be complimented?

I don’t remember ever being called ugly to my face, but the evidence before me was not promising.  My eyes were a muddy brown, as was my hair, which was neither neatly straight nor curly.  My cheekbones were in hiding.  My nose was rather wide compared to my small mouth and rounded at its tip, its nostrils made prominent by broken blood vessels.  An overbite stained from a lifetime of tea-drinking always threatened to reveal itself should I smile.  My head was too big for my body; my torso, too long for my legs; and my fingers, too short for my palms.  No, I didn’t need to be told explicitly.  My features were not in harmony with each other.  I was both common and out of proportion.

Should self-scrutiny not be enough to dampen my self-regard, though, I had my mother to remind me how I hadn’t met her grand plans: my voice was too loud, my skin wasn’t as milky white as my third brother’s, my teeth refused to be straight despite (three?) years of braces, my earlobes were detached unlike her own neatly attached lobes.  I learned implicitly that if anyone ever approved of me, it would not be for my looks, but for some deeper, more abstract connection.

Direct evidence of wide nose, off-center and uneven overbite, dark skin, asymmetrical eyes and heavy eyelids (I'm serious, all of these are flaws I used to obsess over and still worry about highlighting in photos, everything but my skin tone, that is)

In fact, I had such a deep-seated fear of being examined at close and judged by my looks, I tried my hardest not to judge others by theirs.  And so I found myself in the habit of giving the benefit of the doubt to those who, I believed, were the victims of aesthetic bias themselves: assuming that they were probably more studious or thoughtful, having more time to themselves to reflect on matters; less superficial and more considerate, having been treated poorly themselves; and more patient and forgiving, knowing firsthand that first impressions can’t always be trusted.

I wasn’t so generous with myself, however.  In college, when I finally managed to gain weight, making my head no longer appear so big (the lollipop syndrome, a friend had called it), developed breasts to balance out my hips, and was finally comfortable enough to consider some of my classmates as friends, I dismissed their praise whenever they complimented me: they were just being nice.  They were biased.  They only wanted me to feel good about myself.  (I won’t repeat what they said; repeating a compliment is a sin greater than accepting it, no?)

That’s what I tried to remind myself, but the less I saw of my mother freshman year and the more time I spent with friends, the more tempting it became to see myself as they saw me: that my body had filled out nicely and that being mixed wasn’t at all inferior to being either wholly Caucasian or Asian, but a desirable quality in itself.  When I began to realize I might not be unattractive after all, however, my cautious self (my inner Kiew) reminded me to be wary: it warned me not to let anyone see that I liked how I looked.  In fact, the less critical I became of my features, the more critical I was of my feelings of self-worth.  Wouldn’t others make fun of me if they knew I thought something of myself?

P.S. This video on do-it-yourself plastic surgery was deeply disturbing to watch, though it was good to see attention being given to those with body dysmorphia directed at their face.  Beware: it may be very upsetting, as it was for me.

[Continued here]

The Magic Riddle is an Australian animated children film, made in 1991. Not many people know about this film. It’s not even out on DVD and I wish it were so I can watch it over and over again like I did as a kid. I’ve seen a lot of Disney movies as a child, but nothing captured me the way the Magic Riddle did. It combines Cinderella, Snow White, Pinocchio, and Red Riding Hood into one story with a little bit of the Three Little Pigs and the Ugly Duckling on the side. We’re all familiar with the fairy tales, but the way Yoram Gross connected them together is brilliant. You might have heard of Yoram Gross for being the creator of Blinky Bill.

The main plot of the story is that there’s a girl named Cindy who lives with her evil stepmother and stepsisters. The boy next door is infatuated with her but the stepmother wants him to marry her large, clumsy blond daughter. The other stepsister is tall and skinny and much nicer to Cindy. The stepmother keeps her busy with house chores. Her father left everything to Cindy in his will, which he hid for Cindy to find. The stepmother thinks if she keeps her busy, she wouldn’t have time to find the will so the stepmother can find it first and destroy it. A riddle is left behind that explains where the will is. If only the stepmother can figure out its meaning.

I love this movie so much but I can’t find it anywhere!