omg look what i found!

the internet is great.

so... if you want to know what 1 조억 is...
it's like this
조 = 1,000,000,000
억 = 100,000,000
so, 조억 = 1,000,000,000 x 100,000,000

which is 1,000,000,000,000,000,000
millions, billions, trillions... then what???

well. look what i found!


Dear Yahoo!:
What numbers come after millions, billions, and trillions... and how high do they go?
TimRochester, New York
Dear Tim:
The big numbers past a trillion, in ascending powers of ten, are as follows: quadrillion, quintillion, sextillion, septillion, octillion, nonillion, decillion, undecillion, duodecillion, tredecillion, quattuordecillion, and quindecillion (that's 10 to the 48th, or a one followed by 48 zeros). But wait -- there's more.
The highest number listed on Robert Munafo's table, which coincidentally is our new favorite number, is a milli-millillion. Say that three times fast! That's 10 to the 3000003rd. For something closer to home, a centillion is 10 to the 303rd.
The googolplex has often been nominated as the largest named number in the world. If a googol is ten to the one hundredth, then a googolplex is one followed by a googol of zeroes. Ugh, we think we feel a headache coming on.
The aforementioned mathematician and large number fan Robert Munafo offers a table of megadigits on his personal page. You'll also find some biggies at Russ Rowlett's page at the University of North Carolina.

so, in conclusion, 조억 = quintillion.
As in, "The human body is worth quintillions of dollars." (^.^)v

The medical term for "eye boogers" is "rheum." I found it!

nasal discharge
may be unilateral or bilateral, serous, purulent, hemorrhagic, or contain food material. http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/nasal+discharge

Rheum is a medical term for the natural mucus discharge from the eyes, commonly known as matter, sleepydust, sleepers, sleepies, sleepy men, sleepy seeds, eye boogers, eye gunk, eye goopy, gound, or legaña. The discharge forms a crust on the eyelids, or gathers in the corner of the eye during sleep (contrast to mucopurulent discharge). It is formed by a combination of mucus consisting of mucin discharged from the cornea or conjunctiva, tears, blood cells, skin cells from the eyelids, and dust.
Normally, blinking causes this substance to be washed away with tears. The absence of this function during sleep, however, results in a small amount of dry rheum forming in the corners of the eyes even among healthy individuals, especially children. Still, the formation of a large amount of crust or the presence of pus within it may indicate dry eye or other more serious eye infections including conjunctivitis and corneitis.
Adults and older children can easily remove the crust by washing the eye with water or simply brushing it away with clean fingers. In young children, however, the buildup of rheum can be so severe, that opening one's eye upon awakening can be difficult or impossible without washing the eye. Very young children or people under care may need to have this done by another individual.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rheum

Why do we wake up with “crusties” or “sleep” in our eyes? — Aaron Craig, Cordova, TN
Dear Craig:
People have given that “stuff” we get out of our eyes in the morning many different names. Some call it “matter”; others call it “sleep,” “sleepy,” “crusties,” or “eye boogers.” But whatever it is called, there is no denying that we all have it and would like to know what it is.
Many years ago, some scientists said that evolution was a fact because the human body supposedly contained parts that didn't do anything. For a long time it was thought that organs such as the tonsils and the appendix were useless “leftovers” of evolution. These parts were called vestigial (ve-STIJ-ee-al) organs. The word “vestigial” means a trace or a mark left by something, much like a footprint. It was thought that these “useless” organs were marks or “footprints” of evolution.
One of those organs was the plica (PLY-ka) semilunaris (sem-ee-LOO-ner-is), which is located around the eye. For many years, this organ was thought to have no function. But lo and behold, eventually it was discovered that this “useless” organ has an important function after all.
In fact, it is the “crusty” factory. It secretes a sticky mass that collects any foreign materials such as dust or pollen. All this trash is surrounded by the sticky gook so that it does not scratch the sensitive cornea in your eye. Once the garbage is collected, the plica semilunaris “escorts” it out of the eye just like a security guard would escort noisy troublemakers out of a theater.
Let’s all give the plica semilunaris a big hand for doing such a great job of “taking out the trash” in our eyes. And remember, there are no “footprints” of evolution in your body because your body did not evolve-God designed it!
http://www.discoverymagazine.com/digger/d01dd/d0101dd.html

woo hoo!

Lover's Leap: Falling into True Intimacy

Why are many of us so frightened to reveal our true selves, be fully open and fall in love? Columnist Martha Beck examines the issues and offers tips on how to get past our fears, be truly intimate with another and leap into love.

Psychologists tell us we're born afraid of just two things. The first is loud noises. Do you recall the second? Most people guess "abandonment" or "starvation," but neonatal dread was simpler than that: It was the fear of falling. Today we all have a much richer array of consternations, but I'll bet falling is still on your list. Why give up the prudent concern that brought your whole genetic line into the world clutching anything your tiny fists could grab? Fear of falling is your birthright!

Perhaps that's why most of us, at least some of the time (and some of us most of the time), are frightened by another deeply primal experience: intimacy. Allowing yourself to become emotionally close is the psychological equivalent of skidding off a cliff; hence the expression "falling in love." This gauzy phrase usually describes a sexual connection. But love has infinite variations that can swallow the floor from under your feet at any moment.

You're securely installed in a relationship, marching through life, keeping your nasal hairs decently trimmed. Then boom! You hear a song and know that the composer has seen into your soul. Or you wake up, bleary with jet lag, in a city you've never seen before and feel you've come home. Or the wretched little mess of a kitten you just saved from drowning begins to purr in your arms. Suddenly — too late — you realize that your heart has opened like a trapdoor, and you're tumbling into a deep, sweet abyss, thinking, God, this is wonderful! God, this is terrible!

The next time this happens, here's a nice, dry, scientific fact to dig your toes into: The sensation you're feeling is probably associated with decreased activity in the brain region that senses our bodies' location in the physical world. When this zone goes quiet, the boundary between "self" and "not self" disappears. It isn't just that we feel close to the object of our affection; perceiving ourselves as separate isn't an option. Some being that was Other now matters to us as much as we matter to ourselves. Yet we have no control over either the love or the beloved.

The horror! The horror!

We focus attention on stories about people, from Othello and Huckleberry Finn to the lusty physicians on Grey's Anatomy, who trip into versions of intimacy (passion, friendship, parental protectiveness) they can neither escape nor manage. These stories teach us why we both fear and long for intimacy, and why our ways of dealing with it are usually misguided. Two of these methods are so common, they're worth a warning here.

Bad Idea #1: Guard Your Heart
There's an old folktale about a giant who removes his own heart, locks it in a series of metal boxes, and buries the whole conglomeration. Thereafter, his enemies can stab or shoot him, but never fatally. Of course, he also loses the benefits of having a heart, such as happiness. The giant sits around like Mrs. Lincoln grimly trying to enjoy the play, until he's so miserable he digs up his heart and stabs it himself.

This grisly parable reminds us that refusing to love is emotional suicide. Yet many of us fight like giants to guard ourselves from intimacy, boxing up our hearts in steel-hard false beliefs. "I'm unlovable" is one such lockbox. "Everyone wants to exploit me" is another. Then there's "I shouldn't feel that" and "I have to follow the rules," etc. Whatever your own heart-coffins may be, notice that they're ruining your happiness, not preserving it.

As poet Mary Oliver puts it,

Listen, are you breathing just a little,
and calling it a life?… For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,
caution and prudence?
Fall in! Fall in!

If you've buried your heart to keep it from hurting, you're hurting. You're also in dire danger of using …

Bad Idea #2: Control Your Loved One
"If you don't love me, I'll kill myself. If you stop loving me, I'll kill you." Some people believe such statements are expressions of true intimacy. Actually, they're weapons of control, which destroy real connection faster than you can say "restraining order." Though few of us are this radically controlling, we often use myriad forms of manipulation and coercion. We can say, "Sure, whatever makes you happy," in a tone that turns this innocuous phrase into a vicious blow. To the extent that we try to make anyone do, feel, or think anything — whether our weapon is people-pleasing, sarcasm, or a machete — we trade intimacy for microterrorism. So, if neither control nor avoidance works, what does?

Good Idea #1: Be Willing
In The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams reveals the secret of flying. Just launch yourself toward the ground, and miss. "

All it requires is simply the ability to throw yourself forward with all your weight, and the willingness not to mind that it's going to hurt … if you fail to miss the ground. Most people fail to miss the ground, and if they are really trying properly, the likelihood is that they will fail to miss it fairly hard.

"This is the best advice I know for coping with fear of intimacy. Avoidance and control can't keep our hearts from falling, or cushion the landing. Why not try throwing yourself forward, being willing not to mind that it's going to hurt? Please note: "Being willing not to mind" isn't the same as genuinely not minding. You'll mind the risks of intimacy — count on it. Be willing anyway.

How? Simply allow your feelings — all of them — into full consciousness. Articulate your emotions. Write about them in a journal, tell them to a friend, confess them to your priest, therapist, cab driver. Feel the full extent of your love, your thirst, your passion, without holding back or grasping at anything or anyone (especially not the object of your affection). The next suggestion will show you how.

Good Idea #2: Go "Whoo-Hoo"Author Melody Beattie took up skydiving and was scared senseless. Another diver told her, "When you get to the door and jump, say 'Woo-hoo!' You can't have a bad time if you do."

This phrase works as well when you're falling emotionally as when you're falling physically. When fear hits, when you want to grasp or hide, shout "Woo-hoo!" instead. While there is never — not ever — a sure foundation beneath our feet, the willingness to celebrate what we really feel can turn falling into flying. You don't need an airplane to practice woo-hoo skills. For instance: I'm writing these words at 2:15 in the morning, because writing, like other intimate pursuits, often occurs at night. As I type each word, I come to care about how it will be read — about you, there, reading it. Caring is scaring. It makes me want to stop right now, or spend years composing something flawlessly literate. Unfortunately, my deadline was yesterday, and Shakespeare I ain't, so … woo-hoo!

Now it's 2:20 a.m. My writing partner, a fat, aged beagle named Cookie, snores contentedly at my feet. I'm revisited by a worry that was born the day I fell in love with his puppy self: the dread of the moment that snuffly breathing stops. This is my cue to throw myself forward, drop deeper into my affection for this ridiculous dog. Tomorrow I will let Cookie teach me to roll in the grass, to howl in ecstasy at the sight of good food. Of any food, actually. Woo-hoo!

It's 2:30 a.m. Upstairs, my son, Adam, is dreaming dreams I'll never quite understand, because his brain is different from mine. Shortly before his birth, I learned that he has Down syndrome, which put mothering him well above skydiving in my Book of Fears. I yelled a lot during Adam's birth. Eighteen years later, I'm still yelling "Woo-hoo!" And so far, the only consequence of that particular plunge is love.

Which takes me to my final point.

In Preparation for Landing
What I really panic about nowadays isn't falling; it's landing. But even that concern is fading, because I've realized there are only two possible landings for someone who embraces intimacy, and both are beautiful.

The first possibility is that your beloved will love you back. Then you won't land; you'll just fall deeper into intimacy, together. This is how bald eagles prepare to mate — by locking talons and free-falling like rocks — which is deeply insane and makes me proud to call the eagle my country's national bird.

The other possibility is that you'll throw yourself forward, yell "Woo-hoo!," and smash into rejection. Will it hurt? Indescribably. But if you still refuse to bury your broken heart, or force someone to "fix" it — if you just experience the crash landing in all its gory glory, you'll create a miracle.

A Jewish friend told me this story: A man asks his rabbi, "Why does God write the law on our hearts? Why not in our hearts? It's the inside of my heart that needs God." The rabbi answered, "God never forces anything into a human heart. He writes the word on our hearts so that when our hearts break, God falls in." Whatever you hold sacred, you'll find that an unguarded broken heart is the ideal instrument for absorbing it.

If you fall into intimacy without resistance, despite your alarm, either you will fall into love, which is exquisite, or love will fall into you, which is more exquisite still. Do it enough, and you may just lose your fear of falling. You'll get better at missing the ground, at keeping a crushed heart open so that love can find all the broken pieces. And the next time you feel that vertiginous sensation of the floor disappearing, even as your reflexes tell you to duck and grab, you'll hear an even deeper instinct saying, Fall in! Fall in!