This plant has a blog:
TOKYO, JAPAN - It has long been accepted that talking to plants can help them flourish, but have you ever wondered what they'd say in response? Well a plant in Japan has its own blog that may help you understand.
"Midori-san," a 40 cm (16 inches) potted plant on a cafe counter in Kamakura, near Tokyo, blogs every day with the help of a sensor that measures electric signals and a computer algorithm that translates them into Japanese.
The plant, a hoya kerrii, is commonly called a "sweetheart plant" because of it leaf shape.
"We were initially interested in what plants are feeling and what they are reacting to where we can't see," said Satoshi Kuribayashi, a researcher involved in the project at Japan's Keio University.
The strength of electronic signals on the surface of Midori-san's heart-shaped green leaves, which react to light and human touch, are measured by a sensor attached to the plant, and this data is sent to a computer in the cafe. The computer uses an algorithm to translate the signal data, as well as other factors -- including weather and temperature -- to translate them into words, which are automatically posted on Midori-san's blog
(http://plant.bowls-cafe.jp/index.php)
"Today was a sunny day and I was able to sunbathe a lot... I had quite a bit of fun today," Midori-san, whose name means "green" in Japanese, posted on Oct 16.
The latest entry reads: "It was cloudy today. It was a cold day."
Kuribayashi said he hopes that in the future, the blog will reflect even more accurately of Midori-san's feelings.
Blogging with computers and mobile phones is popular in Japan, which had the greatest number of blog posts by language at 37 percent, followed by English and Chinese posts, a study from blog search engine Technocrati in 2007 showed.
A recent study by the Universities of Oxford and Oviedo found that Japan has the best performing broadband Internet connections in the world. --REUTERS
We got an award!
NEA 3R Award: We got the Merit Award.
Congratulations and thank you to the Green Club members who helped to create our club webpage and blogs. Keep in touch.
Congratulations and thank you to the Green Club members who helped to create our club webpage and blogs. Keep in touch.
India's "Karung Guni" Man
In 1991, after an earthquake hit Uttarkashi in northern Indian, Mr Anshu Gupta watched government relief trucks throw bundles of clothes at villagers gathered along the roadside. It did not go down well with the villagers. Many made do with potato sacks for clothes rather than touch the handouts. Witnessing that tussle between need and dignity would prove one of the deciding influences on Mr Gupta, a former corporate affairs manager.
The idea grew as Mr Gupta came to know of poor young men who avoided job interviews because they had no presentable clothes to wear. The tipping point came outside a government hospital, where he chanced upon an old man named Mr Habib, whose grim job it was to collect the bodies of destitutes found dead on the streets of Delhi. Mr Habib told him the body count would go up in winter because many could not afford proper clothing and simply froze to death.
Shortly after, in 1998, Mr Gupta quit his job and started Goonj, a social service organisation that focuses on clothing the needy. Goonj, which translates into Hindi as 'life's echo', began with 67 items of clothing, mostly picked from the wardrobe of Mr Gupta and his wife.
Last month alone, Goonj shipped 20 tonnes of donated clothing, reaching villages in Bihar in the east and Maharashtra in the west, as well as those in 18 other Indian provinces. Collection centres in cities gather clothes in warehouses, volunteer sorters set aside those in good condition and patch up the rest before dispatching them across the country. Goonj's driving principles is clothing the people with dignity.
'India's biggest issues still are bread, clothing and shelter,' says Mr Gupta. 'Half of the country needs help at any point of the time, regardless of whether a disaster has struck their areas or not.'
When the tsunami struck the Indian coast in December 2004, Goonj collected a million garments for distribution. The cost of the entire exercise, from sorting to transportation, is less than 4 Singapore cents a garment, underscoring just how a little can contribute so much.
Goonj runs on about 25 million rupees (S$809,000) a year and relies on a network of 300 full-time volunteers, backed by hundreds of part-timers. It achieves its level of efficiency by being famously careful with its money. For instance, its people are known to tap vegetable wholesalers and grain merchants to get gunny bags at the cheapest rates. Recipients are taught the value of what they receive. In some areas, villagers are handed out clothes in exchange for helping to build roads. Quite often, it needs to adapt to the social situation. After the religious riots in Gujeat, it sorted out women's clothing into two sets: It sent tunic- pyjama suits to camps housing Muslim women, while saris went to those sheltering Hindus. From being a distributor of clothing, Goonj has grown into a social movement.
For instance, its 'Not Just a Piece of Cloth' initiative targets an ugly secret of rural India - poor women are forced to use dirty cloth during menstruation, leading to diseases. Goonj provides clean-cloth napkins, thoughtfully packed in a pouch. Another recent initiative is the 'School To School' programme, in which city children pass their used school bags and water bottles to children in rural India. Money is always tight, although the situation is improving.
'We are a people's movement, not a funding-based organisation,' says Mr Gupta. 'We give every opportunity to people to become volunteers, not financial contributors.'
The past decade has not been easy. There were many doubters. Even some friends put the question to Mr Gupta: Why? Aren't there better things to do, like build a career?
Some of the will to succeed came from lessons he learnt after being in a road accident when he was 17. Doctors in the Dehradun valley, where Mr Gupta's father was posted as a civilian officer with the army, said he would not walk again. In and out of hospital for a year, he literally struggled to his feet although his legs never fully healed. It is that ability to battle the toughest odds that has helped Goonj succeed and gain an ever-increasing group of admiring volunteers.
Among them are Ms Srividya Natarajan and her colleague, Ms Smitha Anand, who work as hardware engineers. After the two of them set up the Bangalore unit of Goonj in March, their workload has increased by the day, and their homes have become collection centres for clothes. They also want to go into it full time.
The idea grew as Mr Gupta came to know of poor young men who avoided job interviews because they had no presentable clothes to wear. The tipping point came outside a government hospital, where he chanced upon an old man named Mr Habib, whose grim job it was to collect the bodies of destitutes found dead on the streets of Delhi. Mr Habib told him the body count would go up in winter because many could not afford proper clothing and simply froze to death.
Shortly after, in 1998, Mr Gupta quit his job and started Goonj, a social service organisation that focuses on clothing the needy. Goonj, which translates into Hindi as 'life's echo', began with 67 items of clothing, mostly picked from the wardrobe of Mr Gupta and his wife.
Last month alone, Goonj shipped 20 tonnes of donated clothing, reaching villages in Bihar in the east and Maharashtra in the west, as well as those in 18 other Indian provinces. Collection centres in cities gather clothes in warehouses, volunteer sorters set aside those in good condition and patch up the rest before dispatching them across the country. Goonj's driving principles is clothing the people with dignity.
'India's biggest issues still are bread, clothing and shelter,' says Mr Gupta. 'Half of the country needs help at any point of the time, regardless of whether a disaster has struck their areas or not.'
When the tsunami struck the Indian coast in December 2004, Goonj collected a million garments for distribution. The cost of the entire exercise, from sorting to transportation, is less than 4 Singapore cents a garment, underscoring just how a little can contribute so much.
Goonj runs on about 25 million rupees (S$809,000) a year and relies on a network of 300 full-time volunteers, backed by hundreds of part-timers. It achieves its level of efficiency by being famously careful with its money. For instance, its people are known to tap vegetable wholesalers and grain merchants to get gunny bags at the cheapest rates. Recipients are taught the value of what they receive. In some areas, villagers are handed out clothes in exchange for helping to build roads. Quite often, it needs to adapt to the social situation. After the religious riots in Gujeat, it sorted out women's clothing into two sets: It sent tunic- pyjama suits to camps housing Muslim women, while saris went to those sheltering Hindus. From being a distributor of clothing, Goonj has grown into a social movement.
For instance, its 'Not Just a Piece of Cloth' initiative targets an ugly secret of rural India - poor women are forced to use dirty cloth during menstruation, leading to diseases. Goonj provides clean-cloth napkins, thoughtfully packed in a pouch. Another recent initiative is the 'School To School' programme, in which city children pass their used school bags and water bottles to children in rural India. Money is always tight, although the situation is improving.
'We are a people's movement, not a funding-based organisation,' says Mr Gupta. 'We give every opportunity to people to become volunteers, not financial contributors.'
The past decade has not been easy. There were many doubters. Even some friends put the question to Mr Gupta: Why? Aren't there better things to do, like build a career?
Some of the will to succeed came from lessons he learnt after being in a road accident when he was 17. Doctors in the Dehradun valley, where Mr Gupta's father was posted as a civilian officer with the army, said he would not walk again. In and out of hospital for a year, he literally struggled to his feet although his legs never fully healed. It is that ability to battle the toughest odds that has helped Goonj succeed and gain an ever-increasing group of admiring volunteers.
Among them are Ms Srividya Natarajan and her colleague, Ms Smitha Anand, who work as hardware engineers. After the two of them set up the Bangalore unit of Goonj in March, their workload has increased by the day, and their homes have become collection centres for clothes. They also want to go into it full time.
Adapted from “India’s karung guni man”, The Straits Time, August 2008
Zero-Waste Village
Not long ago, life in Kamitkatsu revolved around the rice crop and tourists arriving to soak in the waters of the local hot spring. Now, the tiny village in Japan has a new obsession: rubbish. Since 2003, Kamikatsu’s 2000 residents have embarked on a quest to be become Japan’s first zero-waste community. Here, all household waste must be sorted into no fewer than 34 categories before being taken to a recycling centre.
Glass bottles must be relieved of their caps and sorted by colour. All bottles, cans and even plastic food wrappers must be washed thoroughly and newspapers and magazines have to be piled in neat bundles tied with a twine made from recycled milk cartons. Any waste that cannot be turned into compost is taken to the zero-waste centre which accommodates a dizzying array of items, ranging from bottles, cans and newspapers to crockery, batteries, diapers, pens and mirrors. Things that can be reused end up at the Kuru Kuru recycling store, where residents are free to drop off or take home free of charge whatever they like, mostly clothes, crockery and ornaments. All but a few categories of rubbish are recycled. Wooden chopsticks are pulped and made into paper, and cooking oil reappear in fertilizer. Batteries are shipped to a recycling centre on the northern island of Hokkaido, while glass and ceramic ware and light bulbs are buried in landfills. The village, 595 km from Tokoyo, was forced to change the way it managed its waste in 2000 when strict emission regulations forced it to shut down its two incinerators.
“We were no longer able to burn our rubbish, so we thought the best policy was not to produce any in the first place,” said Mr Fujii of Zero Waste Academy which oversees the recycling scheme.
Despite initial opposition, the movement has many enthusiastic participants.
“At first, it was very hard work. It took ages to sort out everything but it comes naturally now,” 65-year-old Kikue said, as she emptied a bowl of vegetable peeling into her electric garbage disposal unit.
According to official figures, Kamitkasu’s recycling rate has soared from 55 percent a decade ago to around 80 percent today. Not everyone is happy though. Critics point out that some of the disposal units use electricity and that most residents take their rubbish to the zero waste centre by car. It was also reported that 40% of residents were still unhappy about some aspects of the policy.
“We still have opponents, particularly because almost everything has to be washed,” Mr Fujii said.
“All we can do is talk to the doubters and explain why it is important. I think consciousness is growing that this is a good thing; that it’s not just the right thing to do but the only thing to do.”
Adapted from “Japanese village wastes nothing"
The Straits Time, 9 August 2008
Glass bottles must be relieved of their caps and sorted by colour. All bottles, cans and even plastic food wrappers must be washed thoroughly and newspapers and magazines have to be piled in neat bundles tied with a twine made from recycled milk cartons. Any waste that cannot be turned into compost is taken to the zero-waste centre which accommodates a dizzying array of items, ranging from bottles, cans and newspapers to crockery, batteries, diapers, pens and mirrors. Things that can be reused end up at the Kuru Kuru recycling store, where residents are free to drop off or take home free of charge whatever they like, mostly clothes, crockery and ornaments. All but a few categories of rubbish are recycled. Wooden chopsticks are pulped and made into paper, and cooking oil reappear in fertilizer. Batteries are shipped to a recycling centre on the northern island of Hokkaido, while glass and ceramic ware and light bulbs are buried in landfills. The village, 595 km from Tokoyo, was forced to change the way it managed its waste in 2000 when strict emission regulations forced it to shut down its two incinerators.
“We were no longer able to burn our rubbish, so we thought the best policy was not to produce any in the first place,” said Mr Fujii of Zero Waste Academy which oversees the recycling scheme.
Despite initial opposition, the movement has many enthusiastic participants.
“At first, it was very hard work. It took ages to sort out everything but it comes naturally now,” 65-year-old Kikue said, as she emptied a bowl of vegetable peeling into her electric garbage disposal unit.
According to official figures, Kamitkasu’s recycling rate has soared from 55 percent a decade ago to around 80 percent today. Not everyone is happy though. Critics point out that some of the disposal units use electricity and that most residents take their rubbish to the zero waste centre by car. It was also reported that 40% of residents were still unhappy about some aspects of the policy.
“We still have opponents, particularly because almost everything has to be washed,” Mr Fujii said.
“All we can do is talk to the doubters and explain why it is important. I think consciousness is growing that this is a good thing; that it’s not just the right thing to do but the only thing to do.”
Adapted from “Japanese village wastes nothing"
The Straits Time, 9 August 2008
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