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NOTHING FRIGHTENS YOU? A few years ago I was on an aeroplane that had to make an emergency landing. We were ordered to crouch down and push our faces into our knees. I outright refused, so the co-pilot came out from his cabin and ordered me to assume that undignified position. "If we're all going to perish," I told him, "I want to see what's coming at me. If we survive, I also want to see it. I'm posing no danger to anyone by sitting upright." In the end, the landing gear deployed correctly and we had a safe landing, but I was banned from the airline for life, which I'm happy to tell you went out of business a couple of years later. Being scared or not is only a question of the way you choose to deal with your own mortality. Once you're reconciled with that, it isn't an issue. When I made Fitzcarraldo I was a captain ready to go down with his ship. Death has never impressed me. Strangely enough, one thing that does worry me - and has done for years - is the first hours of shooting a new film. It's the same every time: I arrive on set and look around, see myself surrounded by a group of exceptionally competent people, and desperately hope one of them is going to take charge. I wonder who is actually going to be making this film, "then quickly realise there's no escape. That person is me. It's like a kid who steps into the classroom when he and his friends all know that the teacher is going to shout at him. Over the years I have tackled this feeling with a primitive ritual. As some kind of protection, the assistant cameraman places a piece of bright yellow gaffer tape over my heart and across my back, as if I am now plainly visible as the person in charge. This protective shield helps me settle in and get through the first hour. Werner Herzog "Werner Herzog A Guide For The Perplexed" (2015)

Sensory Integration Jean Ayres, an occupational therapist in California, has developed a treatment called sensory integration which has been very helpful for most autistic children. It aids both fully verbal children and those with little or no meaningful speech. It is especially useful for reducing touch sensitivity and calming the nervous system. Two of the main components of this treatment are application of deep pressure and slow vestibular stimulation done on a swing that moves ten to twelve times per minute. Swinging must always be fun and done as a game, and the therapist should actively encourage speech and social interaction while the child is swinging. It must never be forced. Gentle swinging helps to stabilize abnormal sensory processing. It is easy to apply comforting deep pressure over large areas of the body to little children by placing them under large pillows or rolling them up in heavy gym mats. These procedures are most effective if they are done twice a day for fifteen minutes. They need to be done every day, but they do not have to be done for hours and hours. Depending on the children's anxiety level, some will need access to deep pressure or swinging throughout the day, using it to calm themselves down when they become overstimulated. Another useful aid for calming hyperactive children is a padded weighted vest. To help autistic children sleep at night, a snug mummy-type sleeping bag provides comfort and pressure. When I built my squeeze machine and Tom McKean made his pressure suit, we did not realize that we were inventing a therapy method that has now helped many children. Many of the behaviors of people with autism seem strange, but they are reactions to distorted or overly intense sensory input. Observation of the behaviors can provide clues to the underlying sensory problems. A child who flicks his fingers in front of his eyes may have a visual processing problem, and a child who puts his hands over his ears probably has hypersensitive hearing. Temple Grandin "Thinking in Pictures" (1996)

"Hitch" claimed two entries in the December 1920 Telegraph. If the first seems a precursor to Abbott and Costello's "Who's on First?" shtick, the second is every bit as frivolous, an amusing disquisition on "pea eating" that could have been dreamed up only by the son of a greengrocer. This story looks forward to the many scenes in Hitchcock films which are centered on sustenance and libation. Sometimes the scenes reveal crucial story information. Other times, as in "The History of Pea Eating," they offer disarming comedy relief. THE HISTORY OF PEA EATING Modern science, with its far-reaching effects on the life of the community, has yet one more problem to solve to further the progress of the world - that of eating peas. Considerable speculation has been given to the methods employed in the early ages, and we read of the prehistoric man who simply buried his face in the plate of peas and performed practically an illusion by his act of demolishing the vegetables without the use of his hands. One must admit, however, that this method may be described as crude, for one can hardly imagine the modern corpulent gentleman attempting the same feat, because of the danger of his excessive "adiposity" reaching the floor before his face reached the plate. We are told that Sir Roger D'Arcy, in the early Middle Ages, found no great difficulty in the problem. All he did was to attach to the headpiece of his armor a double piece of elastic in the form of a catapult. He simply placed a pea between the piece of leather attached to the elastic and aimed towards his open mouth. But even this method brought inconvenience, for it was soon discovered that there were many gentlemen with a bad aim, and often a duel resulted from the fact that Sir Percy had badly stung the wife of Baron Edgar over the other side of the room. It is believed that an Act was instituted prohibiting the use of this method without a licence, and one had to pass a test to secure the necessary permission to adopt this very ingenious style of feeding. These restrictions were responsible for the falling off in the popularity of peas, and after a time, they were practically non-existent as an edible vegetable. Many years later, however, their revival brought a great interest to the now famous pea-eating contests, the details of which reveal a further method of manipulation. It appears that each competitor was required to balance a certain number of peas along the edge of a sword, from which he was to swallow the peas without spilling any. Of course, in very exciting matches the contestants' mouths and faces were often cut. It is believed that the performance of sword swallowing was evolved from this feat, and that very large-mouthed people of today are direct descendants from the champions of that period. As is well known, many estimable people still practise this method on a smaller scale. Still further styles of deglutition were tried in late years, and the modern boy's pea-shooter recalls the employment of pages to shoot the peas in My Lord's mouth. Bad aim, of course, was reflected with dire results to the page. We have yet to discover a really useful and satisfactory method of pea eating. A recent inventor evolved a process by which a pipe was placed in the mouth and the peas drawn up by pneumatic means. But in the trials the inventor unfortunately turned on the power in the reverse direction, with the result that the victim's tongue is now much longer than hitherto. Another person suggested that they might be electrically deposited, but the idea of the scheme was so shocking that it was not considered. One of the most sensible ways which is at present in the experimental stages is receiving the attention of a well-known market gardener, who is endeavouring to grow square peas so as to eliminate the embarrassing habit which peas have of rolling off the cutlery. It is to be hoped that the experiment will prove successful. In order to help on this very important scientific development, suggested methods from our readers will be welcomed, and forwarded to the proper autho

Better Late Than Never (Livy) Well, I don't know if you've ever tried to go through a revolving door carrying a hula hoop, but that's what happened to me when I first visited the the Egg Marketing Board. The Egg Marketing Board is something that I think, particularly our listeners overseas, should be aware of. It's a thing that the British government has set up in order to popularize the eating of eggs. And they told me why we should eat more eggs: because of the chickens. If a chicken can't lay an egg, what else is there for it to do? You see what I mean? We all must have some purpose in our lives. And we don't want it to be populated by a whole lot of insecure chickens. And they showed me the improvement they've made for the laying conditions of chickens. In the bad old days before the industrial revolution it used to be very difficult for chickens to lay eggs, I mean out in the open. In a strong wind a chicken would sometimes lay the same egg four times. But they have improved all that now. The hours are better. They've got the chickens now to lay seven eggs in five days, so they get the weekends quite free. And I do think that this deserves the encouragement of all of us, especially as this improvement in laying conditions. And I would urge from all of you to eat more eggs. Better laid than ever. Denis Norden 580723b download at http://www.mediafire.com/?2mj5sr8hwek9lkm

Madden called her into his office and informed her that she needed a pen name. At the time, it was considered uncouth for a woman to sign her own name to a news story. The Dispatch's own Elizabeth Wilkinson Wade wrote as "Bessie Bramble"; in New York, Sara. Payson Willis was "Fanny Fern"; in Boston, Sally Joy (which itself sounded like a pen name) was known instead as "Penelope Penfeather." He was looking for a name, George Madden said, that was "neat and catchy." Together the two considered several possibilities, but none seemed quite right. It was late in the afternoon; the light from the gas lamps cast flickering shadows on the wallpaper. From upstairs an editor called for his copy. An office boy walked by whistling a popular tune of the day, written by the local songwriter Stephen Foster: Nelly Bly! Nelly Bly! Bring de broom along, We'll sweep de kitchen clean, my dear, And hab a little song. The name was short, it was catchy, and best of all, the public already liked it. Madden instructed the typesetter to give the story the byline "Nelly Bly" - but the typesetter misspelled the first name, and as a result of the erratum she was forever after Nellie Bly. Matthew Goodman, "Eighty Days: Nellie Bly and Elizabeth Bisland's History-Making Race Around the World" (2013)

Wakatsuki was always looking for a Japanese export product that the Americans would need, something basic but that would occasionally need to be replaced. In Japan such an item was the geta, the Japanese sandal; in Japan everyone needed getas, and eventually they had to be replaced. In America, he realized, the perfect item was the car; everyone had to have a car, and, because it was a rich country, people turned cars in after only three or four years. On his own he investigated the requirements for importing a car into America. He was surprised to learn how easy it was. In Japan, he knew, the regulations were as thick as a phone book, designed to keep intruders out. The American market, by contrast, appeared blithely open. The only regulation seemed to be that that the cars must have sealed-beam headlights from General Electric. He visited the California Chamber of Commerce and asked about the possibility of bringing Japanese cars to America. "I didn't know the Japanese made cars," the man there said. "I thought they got their cars from Jimmy." Jimmy? Wakatsuki asked. Jimmy who? Jimmy, it turned out, was GM. As he gathered information, he kept feeding it to his Marubeni colleagues back in Tokyo, urging them to get something going. They in turn went to Nissan, and Nissan somewhat suspiciously examined Wakatsuki's reports. In the fall of 1957 there was to be an auto show in Los Angeles, and Wakatsuki exhorted Nissan to send some cars. Marubeni was dubious, and so were the Nissan people. A friend of Wakatsuki's told him, "They are saying, 'There goes that crazy Nobe again. He's always too quick.' " But eventually Nissan decided to send two cars and a pickup truck. When Wakatsuki went to the dock to see them come off the ship from Japan, he could not believe his eyes. The car was the ugliest he had ever seen. Is that a car or a black box that moves? he wondered. He turned to a friend of his who had come along, a Nisei Japanese who had once worked for Lincoln, and asked how they would ever be able to sell it. "Nobe," said his friend, "this is America. The first thing you have to understand is that everyone has the right to try anything. They will always let you try. The other thing you have to understand is that one percent of all Americans are crazy. They like to do something crazy, and so perhaps a few of these will do something very crazy like buying a Japanese car." The car was displayed at the Los Angeles auto show, and people were fascinated. "What is a Datsun?" a customer would ask Wakatsuki. "It's a Japanese car," he would answer. "I didn't know the Japanese made cars." Then the customer would open the hood. "That's an Austin engine," he would say. "Yes," Wakatsuki would answer, "but it's an Austin engine made in Japan." Wakatsuki decided to price it the same as the VW bug, but people were resistant. If it was Japanese, they insisted, it had to be cheaply made, and therefore it should not cost as much. Because the styling was old-fashioned, the Nissan people eventually made a virtue out of necessity and sold the Datsun as a classic car. In a way that was what it was. More than even they realized, it was a car from another time. Japanese auto manufacturing had been primitive even before the war; it had just been getting started when the military converted the nascent industry to truck manufacturing. Then American bombs leveled most of the plants. In the postwar years the factories still had dirt floors, and there were apprentices whose job it was to spray down the floors every day to keep down the dust. The manufacturing process was very similar to that of an American factory in the twenties. In the rest of the world, highly automated machines were starting to be introduced, but buying them was out of the question for Nissan. However, Nissan's labor was cheap. The company now had absolute control over the workplace, and thus not only a skilled work force but a hungry one. Nissan could use this advantage to keep itself competitive while it earned the hard currency to invest in modern machinery. In 1958 the Japanese beg

THIS ISN'T AN APPROACH YOU TAKE FOR ALL YOUR NON-FICTION FILMS. The stylisations in my documentaries are usually subtle ones; you probably wouldn't notice them unless you were paying close attention, though even in a film like Ballad of the Little Soldier you can see hints. I could have made a straightforward study of the situation in Nicaragua and called it The Children's War Against the Sandinistas, but I used the title I did because some of the most interesting material I shot was of villagers and young soldiers singing. The Miskito Indians are a people with a great musical tradition, and I felt their songs were a powerful way of revealing their deepest beliefs. I wanted to tell the story of children who were dying in battle, and the images of them singing become a powerful way of looking into their hearts, much more so than filming them with rifles in hand. In Cave of Forgotten Dreams you see Maurice Maurin, a man with extraordinary olfactory talent, roaming the landscape, fantasising about the odours of thirty thousand years ago. I filmed him using his primal technique of searching for currents of air and sniffing around at the base of a mountain. This was all my invention, though at one time Monsieur Maurin really was president of the French Society of Perfumers. Take a look at the argument I have with Graham Dorrington in The White Diamond. He didn't think it right that I go up in the prototype airship, and insisted that for safety's sake he make the maiden flight on his own. But if there was going to be only one flight, I wanted to be up there with a camera. The truth is that though these conversations really did take place, what you see in the film was staged, and we shot the scene several times. In The White Diamond is a sensational image captured by one of the cameramen, a wildlife photographer. We see a droplet of water in extreme close-up, and refracted through it is the waterfall, which appears upside down. I knew if I placed it in the right context and was inventive enough, the kitsch wouldn't show. There's a scene where Marc Anthony Yhap is out foraging for medical herbs. He stops on a ledge where there is a view of the falls and points out this droplet to the camera. Everything he says was planned, including my question to him, the most insipid New Age thing I could think of: "Do you see a whole universe in this one single drop of water?" In real life I would never ask something so stupid, but Marc Anthony slowly turns with an imperceptible smirk on his face and says, "I cannot hear what you say, for the thunder that you are." I shot this scripted line - which I borrowed from Cobra Verde - a few times before I got exactly what I wanted. It wasn't actually even a real droplet of water. It was glycerine, which is more translucent and has better optical properties. I placed it very carefully on the leaf myself. At the start of Echoes from a Sombre Empire I appear on camera, sitting in my Munich office, reading from a letter written by Michael Goldsmith in which he explains that his experiences of Bokassa and the Central African Republic still resonate powerfully within him, and that he recently dreamt about crabs invading the earth. These large, bright-red creatures have from emerged the ocean and are crawling everywhere, eventually covering the entire planet, layer upon layer. Michael's letter was real, but I never mentioned crabs; the idea was mine, and the images of them crossing the railroad tracks came from footage I found in an archive. There is no symbolism here and I can't explain it fully, but I know these images belong in the film. There is, incidentally, no clear-cut symbolism in any of my films. I've never thought in such terms; for me, a chair is a chair, and even If it were shoved under my nose I wouldn't recognise a symbol in a painting or film. Years later I went to Christmas Island in the Indian Ocean, west of the Australian mainland, and filmed those same crabs for Invincible. I sepnt days waiting for millions of these creatures to crawl out from the jungle, head towards the sea, mate, the

It is fascinating to compare Thinking in Pictures with Emergence. The intervening ten years have been years of increasing professional recognition and fulfillment for Temple - she travels, consults, lectures continually, and her devices are now used for cattle management and corrals all over the world - and of increasing authority too in the field of autism (half her lectures and publications are dedicated to this). Writing did not come easily to her at first, not because she lacked verbal facility, but because she lacked an imagination of other minds, of the fact that her listeners were different from her, were not privy to the experiences, the associations, the background information in her own mind. There were strange discontinuities (people injected suddenly into the narrative without warning, for instance); casual reference to incidents of which the reader had no knowledge; and sudden, perplexing changes of topic. It is said by cognitive psychologists that autistic people lack "theory of mind" - any direct perception or idea of other minds, or other states of mind - and that this lies at the heart of their difficulties. What is remarkable is that Temple, now in her fifth decade, has developed some genuine appreciation of other people and other minds, their sensibilities and idiosyncrasies, in the ten years which have passed since writing Emergence. And it is this which now shows itself in Thinking in Pictures, and lends it a warmth and color rarely seen in her earlier book. Indeed, when I first met Temple, in August of 1993, I found her so "normal" at first (or so adept in simulating normality) that I had difficulty realizing that she was autistic - but during the course of a weekend together this was to come through in innumerable ways. When we went for a stroll she confessed that she had never been able to "get" Romeo and Juliet ("I never knew what they were up to"), that she was stumped by complex human emotions of all sorts (of one man, a spiteful colleague, who tried to sabotage her work: "I had to learn to be suspicious, I had to learn it cognitively I couldn't see the jealous look on his face"). She spoke repeatedly of the android in "Star Trek," Data, and how she identified with him as a "pure logical being" - but how, too, like him she was wistful about being human. But many sorts of humanness have become available for Temple in the past ten years. Not least among these is a capacity for humor and even subterfuge which one would have thought impossible in someone who is autistic. Thus, when she wanted to show me one of the plants she designed, she had me put on a hard hat and overalls ("You look just like a sanitary engineer now!"), and smuggled me gleefully past the security guards. I was struck by her rapport with, her great understanding of, cattle - the happy, loving look she wore when she was with them - and her great awkwardness, by contrast, in many human situations. I was also struck, when we walked together, by her seeming inability to feel some of the simplest emotions. "The mountains are pretty," she said, "but they don't give me a special feeling, the feeling you seem to enjoy. You look at the brook, the flowers, I see what great pleasure you get out of it. I'm denied that." And I was awed, as we drove to the airport before my departure, by a sudden revelation of moral and spiritual depths which I had thought no autistic person would have. Temple was driving, when suddenly she faltered and wept, and said, "I don't want my thoughts to die with me. I want to have done something I want to know that my life has meaning. I'm talking about things at the very core of my existence. " Thus, in my brief (but very full) few days with Temple, 1 had a revelation of how, while in many ways so flat and constricted, her life was in other ways full of health, of depth, of deep human strivings. Thinking in pictures, she feels, represents a mode of perception, of feeling and thought and being, which we may call "primitive" if we wish, but not "pathological." Temple does not romanticize autism, nor does she downpla

Yet a sleeping Hitchcock could be a deceptive, dangerous Hitchcock. When he woke up, said Peck, he seemed to know "exactly what was going on. He had the entire picture in his head, in his mind's eye. Every shot and every frame was rolling through his head." It took Peck and Bergman a while to adjust to working with a man who appeared to have every image in his head, right down to the actors' gestures and intonations. Norman Lloyd was playing a small role in Spellbound, as a mental patient who insists he has murdered his father. His first scene was with Bergman; it was also the first scene in which Hitchcock directed the actress. Lloyd watched their battle of wills with fascination. Bergman wanted to play the scene according to her instincts, to speak and move in her own way. But Hitchcock, whose ideas for a scene grew more rigid whenever he was working under strain - or didn't yet trust a performer - wouldn't budge. "He would sit patiently," Bergman recalled years later, "and he would listen to my objections that I couldn't move behind a certain table, for instance, or that a gesture on a certain line was awkward. And then when I was finished complaining to him and I thought I'd won him over to my point of view he would say very sweetly, 'Fake it!' This advice was a great help to me later, when other directors wanted something difficult and I thought no, it was impossible. Then I would remember Hitchcock saying to me, 'Fake it.' " Peck made the mistake of inquiring about his motivation in a particular scene. What were his character's inner life and feelings? What should he be thinking? "My dear boy," Hitchcock drawled, "I couldn't care less what you're thinking. Just let your face drain of all expression." Peck's "soul-searching and lack of ready technique," in the actor's words tested Hitchcock's patience. The inexperienced leading man hungered for guidance. Much of the time Peck felt adrift, vulnerable - rather like the character he was playing. Although the drained expression was a guise, it also suggested the reality of an uncertain actor. Spellbound was not a film, however, in which Hitchcock required the stars to deliver immortal performances. The Bergman-Peck love story had been carefully mapped out in advance by the director as mainly a feat of camera work. Their hypnotic attraction to each other would be defined by some of his most sensuous, gliding camera moves, and by gorgeous, lingering close-ups that externalized her longing and his tortured doubt. He may have dozed, but the director didn't dawdle. Principal photography was over by late August, and then it was on to the matter of Salvador Dali's dreams. Patrick McGilligan "Alfred Hitchcock: A Life in Darkness and Light" (2003)

The Word impossible is not in my dictionary (The Word impossible is not in my dictionary was actually said by the first man who compiled a dictionary, Dr. Johnson.) Now, have you ever thought, what a novel idea it was to think of compiling a dictionary? I mean, there was Dr. Johnson, he was doing very well in the literary line; he was selling his stuff all over the place. But, he suddenly thought, no, let's stop writing the stuff with the ideas and let's get all the words and put them in one book, alphabetically like a telephone book, except of course there were no telephone book, except of course there were no telephone books then. And he went around to his publisher, I have a wonderful idea; instead of flogging away at these essays, how about a dictionary? And the publisher said, "What IS a dictionary?" He said, "Well, now, if you had a dictionary, you'd be able to look it up and SEE what it meant." So the publisher said, "Well, if you can do it fairly quickly, I may be able to find a market for it." So, Dr Johnson went home and he set about compiling a dictionary. Now, how do you start compiling a dictionary? That was his first problem. So what he did was first of all, he wrote down all the words that he knew. Just one after another, Marine, hepatitis, all those common garden words that everyone uses. And then he called round all his friends and said, "Just give me words. Throw them at me. Any word you like." And they just threw these words at him, all sorts. "Agorophobia," one man said. And he said, "What's that?" And he said, "It's a a morbid fear of public places." And Johnson said, "Well, I never knew that." And he wrote that one down. He said, "That is a winner." And he put that one down, agorophobia, it came on page 23. He knew he was going to tell his publisher, if you think it's dull, sir, wait until you get to page 23." And then he sorted them all out and put them all in alphabetical order, one under the other. They were left with the letter I. They didn't seem to find many for the letter I. Illicit. Someone kept saying "Illicit. And then it came to the word Irk. And Johnson said, "It starts with an e. " He said, "No it isn't. That's the Air Force one. It's irk, i-r-k." And Johnson said, "I always thought that was Iraq." "It's pronounced irk." "All right. We'll put it down." And they looked at the list and they had all these wonderful words that begin with I, like ironmonger and income tax and iridescent, iraquaquana; he had that down. And he got them all down, and he said, "Now, before we go round to the publisher let's just make sure that there's no word that we forgot. Is there any word at all that we've forgotten?" And they all sat down. They sat down for an hour. "Is there any word at all? Any word at all?" "Have you got epsilentary?" He said, "There isn't such a word." "Right. Right. I was just trying you out. You're quite right." They finally decided that they had all the words in the English tongue. And they took this round to the publisher and Johnson said, "Very well. There you are. There it is. The very first ever dictionary. With every word in the English language." And the publisher said, "I can't believe it." He said, "It's so. Tell me any word." "Agorophobia." "It's on page 23. Look." And sure enough, page 23, there was agoraphobia. And the publisher said, "I cannot believe this." And Johnson said, "It only took me three months." And the publisher said, "You DID ALL THIS IN THREE MONTHS. Impossible." Johnson said, "What?" And he said, "Impossible." And Johnson burst out crying and said, "The word impossible is not in my dictionary." Denis Norden 580709b Download at http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?2rt75kqd4dw6r23

I keep seeing "chia seed water" all over social media, with influencers saying it helps with constipation, bowel regularity and weight loss. Is that true? In a video on TikTok, a woman waves a plastic bottle containing chia seeds, lemon juice and water. She's on her fourth day of drinking the gloop, she says. "Let me tell you something," she adds, "this is, like, the realest thing I've ever learned on the internet. I am the most constipated person I know," but since drinking the chia seeds, she continues, she has "never been so regular." On TikTok, views for videos about "the internal shower," as the drink has been called, number in the millions. Chia seed water is made from simple ingredients: just a tablespoon or two of chia seeds, water and perhaps a squeeze of lemon juice for taste. Yet it has been said to have big benefits, helping with bloating and irregularity and stimulating weight loss. To an extent, these claims are true, said Amanda Lynett, a dietitian specializing in gastroenterology and hepatology at Michigan Medicine. Thanks to the high fiber content, chia seeds are one of her go-to dietary recommendations for people with constipation. Experts say that no matter how you consume chia seeds - whether sprinkled onto oatmeal or yogurt, or mixed into puddings, baked goods or smoothies - they'll still help your digestion. There's good research in general showing that dietary fiber - an essential nutrient abundant in chia seeds - can help. A two-tablespoon serving of dry chia seeds contains nearly 10 grams of fiber, over twice the amount in a medium Red Delicious apple, and a good portion of the recommended 21 to 38 grams most people should eat a day. Chia seeds contain both soluble and insoluble fiber, said Dr. Sophie M. Balzora, a gastroenterologist at NYU Langone Health. Soluble fiber forms a gel-like substance when it dissolves in water and can help keep your stool soft, while insoluble fiber adds mass to your bowel movements, making them bulkier and easier to pass, Dr. Balzora said. Ms. Lynett added that chia seeds can also help reduce bloating and discomfort. This laxative-like effect isn't unique to chia seeds, said Joanne Slavin, a dietitian and professor of food science and nutrition at the University of Minnesota. Other fiber-rich foods - like nuts and seeds, most fruits and vegetables, and whole grains - can help reduce constipation too; as can staying hydrated and taking supplements like psyllium husk. Some on social media have said that chia seed water can also help you lose weight - fast. One woman on TikTok said it helped her lose four pounds in three days. Such rapid weight changes are probably a result of losing water weight from going to the bathroom, not of losing body fat, Dr. Balzora said. That weight would most likely come right back after drinking a large glass of water, she added. But chia seed water could help you feel full, which could reduce how many calories you consume. "You're going to feel more satiated than someone who had, say, a bagel," Dr. Balzora said. Over time, this could contribute to longer-term weight loss. Chia seeds in liquid might be easier on your stomach than eating them dry, Ms. Lynett said. When soaked in water, they expand and produce a slimy substance called mucilage, said Elvira de Mejia, a professor of food science at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. This is part of what helps to bulk up your stool and keep it soft. When you eat chia seeds dry, Ms. Lynett said, that expansion happens in your gut instead of in your glass, potentially leading to bloating and cramping. No matter how you consume them, the discomfort you feel from eating chia seeds will depend on how much fiber you're used to eating in general, she said. It may take some experimentation to figure out how many chia seeds mixed into your food or drink will ease your constipation without stomach discomfort. Ms. Lynett recommended starting off with one tablespoon (or less) and soaking the seeds in water (or milk to create chia pudding, or adding them to overnight oats or smoothies) until they'

Arthur made several musicals at Paramount, which put him i touch with the composers who came out from New York. Our house became a gathering place for them. I had a fine piano, a medium grand Steinway handmade from pearwood. My mother was always very fussy about pianos nothing but a Steinway would she ever touch. One night Richard Rodgers, Jerome Kern, George and Ira Gershwin fought for that instrument, practically knocking each other down getting to the piano. One would get up and another would jump in. They played and played. Augustine Lara, the Mexican composer, was there. He sat in absolute ecstasy at this display of musical wealth. The talent good Lord! But we really had a musical theater then. Dick Rodgers played a beautiful piano, which is not always true of composers. We had become friends making Love Me Tonight and stayed friends through the years. I would always see him and Dorothy when they came out to California. Besides that marvelous Love Me Tonight score, he wrote a song for Manhattan Melodrama, which, after several changes of lyrics by Larry Hart, became "Blue Moon," a very New York song. It has a quality about it that is the city at night. He played those and other songs at my house always his own songs, of course, vying with his peers for that pearwood piano. Jerry Kern came into my life while composing that lovely score for High, Wide and Handsome, one of Arthur's Paramount musicals. He was dear and diminutive, with an impish sense of fun. I adored him. Sometimes I'd come home from the studio in the evening and find him sitting on our front porch. He would drive up from his house in Beverly Hills and just wait for us. Once, planning to surprise me, he climbed into an enormous ceramic jar on the porch and got stuck. We had one hell of a time extricating him. Arthur and I, with some of the servants, had to overturn that heavy thing and pull, coax, and squeeze, nearly breaking his little bones. This was Jerry, full of whimsical pranks to relieve what seemed a constant flow of creativity. He worked late at night, which was hard on his wife, a lovely woman, patient; they all had to be, married to those mad men. As he composed by an open window one night, a bird's insistent call annoyed him. "Close that window!" he shouted to his wife. "It's driving me crazy." But the birdcall came back to haunt him, and, dozens of melodies later, it became the first seven notes of "I've Told Every Little Star." Beautiful melodies poured out of him. James Kotsilibas-Davis & Myrna Loy (Myrna Loy – Being & Becoming) 1987

Inevitably the union moved closer to violence. Though a strike was going on, the union people felt free to enter the factory, and they held suribachi courts on the factory floor, more brutal than in the past. Masuda's people carried their battle into the workers' dormitories. The dorms became the center of the worst kind of civil war, conducted within the larger one. There the union people assaulted anyone they thought was against them. They harassed entire families, blocking some from using the toilets or the kitchens. Sometimes they set their wives upon the wife of a wavering worker; the wives would taunt the woman for several days, cutting her off, making fun of her, making it impossible for her to cook for her family. One worker years later could remember corning home and finding a huge sign outside the door of his room. It said, "The spy for the company lives here." Inside were five men. He had seen only one of them before, "We know what you are up to," one said. "Do not think you can fool us." Then they remained silent. For four hours they just sat there, not saying anything. No one spoke to him. When his children tried to move around, they were told to be quiet, as if they were intruders in the house. The only noise was the occasional sound of weeping from one of the children. Finally one of the men turned to the others and said, "Do you think he gets the idea?" Then they got up and left. For days afterward the worker wondered what he had done to bring them to his apartment. He had been a member of the union, he had believed in Masuda. He had, it was true, been a little uneasy about the conduct of the union, and in his heart he believed that a man should be paid only if he worked. But he could not remember having revealed any of these seditious thoughts - to anyone, not even his wife. David Halberstam "The Reckoning" (1987)

A few years later, during production on Into the Abyss, I had only a few minutes with Reverend Richard Lopez, the death-house chaplain, whose job is to be with prisoners in the moments before and during their execution. He immediately tapped his wristwatch, saying, "I have to be in the death house in forty minutes to assist with an execution." I had ten seconds to introduce myself before placing him in front of the camera and filming him. He immediately started speaking like a phoney, superficial television preacher; about a merciful and forgiving God, about redemption for everyone and paradise awaiting us all, about the beauty of Creation. Then he mentioned how much he loves being alone on the golf course in the morning, and how he switches off his cellphone so he can listen to the sounds of nature. He wanted to experience the dew-covered early-morning grass and watch the squirrels and deer running about and a horse looking at him with big eyes. I sensed our conversation was moving in the wrong direction, that I had to put an end to these platitudes, so I stopped him and asked something that nobody else on God's wide earth would have. From behind the camera, with a cheerful voice, I said, quite spontaneously, "Tell me about an encounter with a squirrel." Immediately, within twenty seconds, he began to unravel and completely came apart. He was so shaken to his core that he started to weep, talking about the bad choices and mistakes of the many people with whom he had been during the last moments of their life. Although he was able to stop his golf cart before it ran over a squirrel, he couldn't halt the inexorable procedures of an execution. I don't know why I asked him about the squirrel; I only knew I had to crack him open. Werner Herzog "Werner Herzog A Guide For The Perplexed" (2015)

Organizing Information Because of these faulty connections in the brain, an individual may receive information but be unable to organize it or make sense of it. Donna Williams, a well-known person with autism from Australia, mentions that spoken words turn into "blah-blah-blah" and the meaning disappears. She is hearing the words clearly but not understanding them. Problems with organizing information affect children's ability to form categones - the foundation for later concept formation. Difficulties people on the spectrum have with multi-tasking would also fall into this category. Again, these difficulties are highly variable, and range from mild to severe depending on which brain circuits connected during development and which ones did not. One classic test of flexible thinking is the Wisconsin Card Sorting Test. In this test, a person has to sort differently-patterned cards, one at a time, into categories such as YELLOW or CIRCLES. A person on the spectrum is slower to figure out new categories as they are introduced. Sensory overload can cause either vision or hearing to shut down completely. During these times, no information will get through to the brain, and learning will not occur. Also, sensory and information processing problems are worse when a child is tired. It is therefore best to teach difficult material when the child is alert and wide awake. Since my oversensitivity to noise was fairly mild, I responded well to a generally intrusive teaching method where the teacher grabbed my chin to make me pay attention. Donna Williams told me that method absolutely would not work with her. The tactile input coupled with the teacher speaking would be overload and could not be processed simultaneously; Donna is a mono-channel learner. She either has to look at something or listen to something, but she cannot look and listen at the same time. Information processing on more than one sensory channel is not possible. An effective teacher with spectrum children and adults is one who is a good detective and looks for the source of learning difficulties. Often they can be found in one or a combination of these categories mentioned above. A challenge, even one considered mild, will dramatically compromise a child's ability to learn via traditional teaching methods. Teachers who truly want to help students with sensory and perception difficulties will figure out the child's unique learning style and adapt teaching methods accordingly. Some children do best with written instructions and assignments; others will do best through oral methods or oral testing. The best teachers have a flexible approach and teach to the style through which each child learns. Temple Grandin "The Way I See It: A Personal Look at Autism & Asperger's" (2011)

While the censorship battle was raging, George Tomasini did his brilliant editing, and Bernard Herrmann composed what many regard as his quintessential score. Herrmann's frenetically paced all-strings orchestration – what one critic called "screaming violins" and another "pure ice water" - would set the all-time standard in film music. The main Psycho theme is "repeated so often and at such musically strong points that it seems to be not only a point of departure but a point of return as well," according to film music scholar Royal S. Brown. The musical backing went beyond any previous Hitchcock theme "in its array of jarringly dissonant chords, the bitonality of which reflects on the film's ultimate narrative theme." Although the director originally intended the shower scene to be one of his silent short stories, he changed his mind after hearing the piercing music. So Marion's ordeal would begin with "an extremely high-pitched string passage," in the words of film scholar James Naremore, "punctu-: Marion's screams and a series of notes that are like whistles," abruptly shifting, after Mother has stopped stabbing and fled, "into a loud but slow sequence of bass chords in a minor key." Only after Mother leaves the room does the music fade away, as a staring Marion slides down the wall. The final shot of her lifeless eye is complemented only by the natural noises of running water and a drain gurgling. While the film was being edited and scored, Hitchcock convened a series of meetings in Lew Wasserman's office to plan the publicity, advertising and release strategy for Psycho. It was a campaign Hitchcock had really begun BEFORE the filming, making a series of provocative statements about the intentional shocker he had planned - complete with nudity, bloodshed, and transvestism - and then closing the Psycho set to journalists. This created an aura of supersecrecy that extended even to the cast members. According to Vera Miles, the ensemble actually had to raise their right hands and swear not to divulge the plot twists of the film. That Hitchcock actually took such self-serving pains was unlikely, as was the rumor that the director bought up all copies of the book in Los Angeles. Psycho was a popular novel that hasn't gone out of print since its original publication. One thing Hitchcock DID buy was the book's original cover design, from artist Tony Palladino, ordering the poster to be modeled after the book jacket. (Since early in his career, Hitchcock, who started out in design, had consulted on his titles and advertising, but this was the first time he was able to dictate the style. Harold Adler, who worked with Saul Bass on title sequence - "nervous, balletic horizontal and vertical bars that expanded and contracted in mirror-image patterns," in Stephen Rebello's words - noticed that Hitchcock's office "contained more art books and current magazines on graphics than I owned.") Having agreed to direct the film for a deferred salary, Hitchcock was a major investor in - and co-owner of - Psycho. At one of the early advertising and publicity meetings, Barney Balaban objected to Hitchcock's promotional ideas, insisting they would never work, but Wasserman flourished Hitchcock's contract, reminding Balaban of the director's rights. All his life Hitchcock had been a student of publicity; now he could take all the lessons he had been learning since Islington - lessons he had mastered with his television series - and apply them to Psycho. He hired his witty amanuensis James Allardice to write the Alfred Hitchcock Presents-type trailers, with the director himself offering a guided tour of the Bates Motel, lingering in the bathroom, flushing the toilet, and rolling his eyes. "All tidied up," Hitchcock says ruefully. "The bathroom. Oh, they've cleaned all this up now. Big difference. You should have seen the blood. The whole, the whole place was, well, it's too horrible to describe. Dreadful. And I tell you a very important clue was found here (pointing to the toilet]. Down there. Well, the murderer, you see, crept in here very sile

These are the times that try men's souls (Thomas Paine) Yes, what a provocative minx, Dame Fate is, because I actually said this line, These are the times that try men's souls. It was during a bus strike actually. And I was limping rather badly. I was in some agony because I had a corn. And I was walking to work from the railway and I also had a cold. And I was sucking a peppermint which had no taste in it. And it wasn't quite a wild. I realized that what had happened was that my children, through some sense of humor, had realized the close resemblance between a corn plaster and a peppermint with a hole in the middle, and had switched them over. But having cured my corn, I realized that to stop its recurrence I would have to have a scooter, because a lot of people are having these scooters. I find they're very tiring on the right leg all that sort of pushing back on the pavement. But I did get along very well. I'll try to keep the story as brief as possible, just keep to the essentials. I was in south Kensington and I threw myself into a skid; and I came away from the scooter. And I couldn't get the scooter's wheel; it had buckled. I was quite near Nancy Spain's. So I went in to ask Nancy whether she could help me straighten the wheel, because she's stronger than I am. Nancy actually wasn't at home and I was walking across the drawing room when I slipped on a globule of quince jelly which was on the floor and struck my hip. I'll try to cut out all the superfluous bits. I struck my hip against the armchair. And in reaching out to save myself I grabbed a book on the bookshelf and it was Thomas Paine. And the page opened and there was this line, these are the times that try men's souls, and somehow that line, these are the times that try men's souls, stuck in my mind like a literary fishbone. And some time later, this was the Thursday. No it was the Friday because we had fish. No, it was the .... No, it was the Friday. No it was the Wednesday, I remember, because Mrs. Turret rang up. No, she rang up on a Tuesday. No, it was a Saturday because I was up in town and I was sitting opposite this chap in the railway compartment. And he was a smiling sort of chap. He was reading one of those financial papers. And I could see that he was happy. He was viewing the world through rose-tinted newsprint. And he was quite happy. and I got into conversation and asked him how he was and he was going to see his income tax inspector. And I said, sort of, how are things, and he said, "Well I find this bus strike rather irksome because I've worn out two pairs of shoes." Well, then this line sort of occurred to me and I said, "Well, These ARE the times that try men's soles." And he started to laugh. And it so transpired that he laughed all the way to work and he went to his income tax inspector and he came out of the building, still laughing, and was arrested for being drunk, because he was laughing coming out of an income tax office. And the shame killed him. And a month later, apparently, I had the information from his solicitors that he'd died but that he'd left me a small, but rather lovely plaster of paris bust of Lord Roberts in his will. He's left this to me, as he said, because, in the train, when he'd had those holes in his shoes, and I had said, "These are the times that try men's souls" It had brought him happiness. I thought it was rather charming. But you know, actually, it's rather odd because I brought him a little Paine. Frank Muir 580709a Download at http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?2rt75kqd4dw6r23

Interviews, as I've said, were like Presidential press conferences then, because there were so many newspapers. You always had to have somebody from the studio to help you through them. Larry Barbier, one of Howard Strickling's assistants, was my protector. If I went to New York or anywhere on studio business, Larry accompanied me, reinforced by people from the local Metro office once we arrived. There would always be a phalanx of people around to protect me. We were so coddled by the studio. This was the "M-G-M syndrome" that Judy Garland and I used ty talk about, a strange kind of conditioning that wasn't good for us. I considered it great sport to shake them, to escape the constant surveillance. Others, like Judy, became too dependent on it. On the other hand, you had the public to deal with, which I rudely discovered on a trip to New York with Arthur. Like all native New Yorkers, Arthur loved to shop there, and in that day, before cut-rate chain stores and suburban malls, New York shops were really something. We went down to Macy's one morning to buy place mats and things for the house. I'm a pretty fast shopper; I don't fool around, so a salesgirl took me behind her showcase to show me what they had. I'm examining this stuff, when all of a sudden I look up and there's a sea of faces crowding in on me. Two big Macy cops appear, grab my arms, and start pulling me: "Word's out that you're in the store; we've got to get you out of here. They're coming up the elevators and the stairways." They were scared; they really had a mob on their hands. Just then some woman yells, "I luf you! I luf you!" and cracks me on the back of my neck. I actually saw stars. She almost killed me with her luf. I'm staggering, calling for Arthur, who's wandered off to another department, with these two cops dragging me downstairs, all the while bawling me out: "Don't you know better than to do a thing like this? Don't you ever come in here again." They got me to a side entrance and literally threw me out of Macy's. Imagine! I stood there absolutely nonplussed until Arthur found me. "They just threw me out," I gasped. "I mean, they actually told me never to come back." The irony started us laughing as we headed toward Fifth Avenue for a shot of brandy. James Kotsilibas-Davis & Myrna Loy (Myrna Loy – Being & Becoming) 1987

That was always the obstacle. The financial people were conservative - all they could think of was that immense sum they owed the bank - and their instinct about any new venture was reflexively negative. To their mind the company was already stretched too thin, too many new factories were being built, there was too little cash, and America remained an uncertain world dominated by automotive giants. Only Ishihara, an Ishihara living in Tokyo instead of New York, could handle them. His requests were not the requests of some difiant, lowly manager who had gone native in America and who was probably trying to create his own empire at Nissan's expense; these were the requests of one of their own, a man of profit. He knew all the numbers, all the games that the financial people played, and he had their trust. Because Katayama was living in America: he was perceived as alien. Every time he challenged Tokyo, it was additional proof that he was more American than Japanese. Ishiaara's word would be trusted as Katayama's would not. Ishihara was acutely aware of this. Once, early in the course of the American venture, during a visit to the California offices he took Katayama and Nobe Wakatsuki, the trading company executive who in 1957 had urged Nissan to send cars to the Los Angeles auto show, to dinner. The question of Tokyo's reluctance to accept suggestions from America hung heavily in the air that night. It was very hard to make Tokyo respond to American needs, Ishihara said. "I am the only one who can do it, who can push it through," he told them, "and I can do it only from Tokyo. Always remember that." There was soon ample evidence of it. Nissan capitalized the American company at $1 million. To the Japanese that seemed an enormous amount of money. There were strict governmental limits on how much a company could spend overseas. They were sure $1 million would last five years. But America turned out to be a terribly expensive place. Breakfasts at a hotel could cost the unwary traveler several dollars. Advertising on radio and television was like burning money. Even arranging dealerships turned out to cost money, for lawyers were expensive. Nothing was cheap in this country. There was no way to save. Within two years there was only $100,000 left from the original $1 million. In late 1962 Ishihara went back to the board, hat in hand, and asked for another $500,000. They had, he acknowledged, spent more rapidly than anyone had anticipated, but doing business in America had proved far costlier than imagined. He had done everything he could to save, but it was impossible to save in the Japanese sense of that word. If they held back now, the American company would come to a complete stop, and Nissan would have to retire from the American market, which meant in effect from the export market. When he made his presentation at the board meeting, there was no real challenge to him. The board voted the money rather readily and he felt very little heat. But the American operation continued to be costly, and results remained hard to come by. A year later he had to go back and ask for another $500,000. This time he knew he was going against the wishes of the board. Some board members suggested he had been careless and that for so much money there ought to be more to show. Ishihara replied politely that he was still confident they could attain their objective, that Nissan could make a car that would do well in the American market. Again he repeated what he believed, that if Japan was to have any world export market in autos, it had to prove itself in America, against the best. But they had all underestimated how expensive starting out in America was. He was positive that if they held on a little longer they would succeed. Indeed, he was willing to bet his career on it. If we don't make it with this request he added, I will resign from the company. When he made that promise, no one, he noted, tried to talk him out of it. The eyes on him at the meeting, he thought, were as cold as stone, and he could even see a small amount of pleasure in the