Why do Americans struggle with watching their weight, while the French, who consume rich food, continue to stay thin? Now a research by Cornell University suggests how life style and decisions about eating may affect weight. Researchers concluded that the French tend to stop eating when they feel full. However, Americans tend to stop when their plate is empty or their favorite TV show is over.

    According to Dr. Joseph Mercola, a health expert, the French see eating as an important part of their life style. They enjoy food and therefore spend a fairly long time at the table, while Americans see eating as something to be squeezed between the other daily activities. Mercola believes Americans lose the ability to sense when they are actually full. So they keep eating long after the French would have stopped. In addition, he points out that Americans drive to huge supermarkets to buy canned and frozen foods for the week. The French, instead, tend to shop daily, walking to small shops and farmers' markets where they have a choice of fresh fruits, vegetables, and eggs as well as high-quality meats for each meal.

    After a visit to the United States, Mireille Guiliano, author of French Women Don't Get Fat, decided to write about the importance of knowing when to stop rather than suggesting how to avoid food. Today she continues to stay slim and rarely goes to the gym.

    In spite of all these differences, evidence shows that recent life style changes may be affecting French eating habits. Today the rate of obesity — or  extreme overweight — among adults is only 6%. However, as American fast food gains acceptance and the young reject older traditions, the obesity rate among French children has reached 17% — and is growing.

    While all cultures share the same basic emotions, the body language used throughout different countries of the world varies（变化）greatly. What can mean one thing in one country can often mean something completely different in another.

    For example, in North America and Europe people tend to prefer direct eye contact（接触）. But in some Asian countries longer eye contact is considered rude.

    So when communicating with people, always be aware of different cultural customs that may exist.

    A V sign in the US could mean victory, but in England, it stands for a rude challenge, which has the same meaning as showing the middle finger in the US.

The OK gesture（手势）in America and England is given to mean everything is good or well. But in Latin America is looked on as a rude sign.

    The thumbs（拇指）up sign in America and most of Europe means that something is good or well done, but it is considered rude in many Asian countries.

    Putting your feet on the table is generally not thought to be rude in America and England. However, in Thailand（泰国）it is really rude.

    Telling someone to come to you by curling your index finger（食指）is acceptable in America and England, but this gesture signifies death in Singapore.

    Raising your hand up means stop in America and England. In some Asian countries this gesture is used when asking for permission to speak.

    In most westernized countries it is considered normal for two men to shake hands. In some Asian countries it is quite normal for men to kiss each other, while in most westernized countries men kissing in public would be viewed as homosexual（同性恋）behavior.

    If you would like more information on different cultural gestures all over the world, see this site on non-verbal （口头的）communication.

    While waiting for my daughter I treated myself with a coffee which I used to be so dependent on that when I stopped it I had headache for days. So while I was enjoying my rate moment, I was attracted by an old men who seemed not well

I could not see his face to be sure, as it was laid between his folded arms on the table. He had a long warm coat, and a big backpack which made me think he could be a homeless. I quit wondering, went to his table, patted him on the arm and asked him, "Are you OK?" He raised his head and said something in a whisper, nodding yes. I realized by the strong smell that he was indeed a homeless man.

I asked him if he was hungry. He responded but I could not understand his answer. However, I didn't give up and asked him if he would like some rice balls at which he raised his head saying clearly this time that he would be thankful for a rice bait Immediately I went to the nearest shop and bought a drink and a warm lunch box, and brought them to him. He said "thank you" but didn't eat right away and made no move, maybe because he was a little shy in the presence of a lady.

    So I left them on his table and changed my waiting place. When I passed again nearby, he was eating. You should have sensed my great pleasure. I was so grateful that I had the ways to help an old man even if only for a moment of his life.

    The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read beneath the branches of an old willow tree, with good reason to frown, for the world was intent on dragging me down. At this time, a boy approached me. He stood right before me, and said with great excitement, “Look what I found!”

    In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, with its petals (花瓣) all worn. Wanting him to take his flower and go off to play, I faked a small smile and then turned to the other side.

    But instead of leaving, he sat next to my side and placed the flower to his nose and declared, “It really smells pretty and it's beautiful, too. That's why I picked it. Here, it's for you.”

    The flower before me was dying or dead. But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and replied, “Just what I need.”

    But instead of placing the flower in my hand, he held it in mid-air. It was then that I noticed that the boy was blind.

    I heard my voice quiver (轻微颤抖), and at the same time my tears shone like the sun. As I thanked him for picking the very best one, he smiled and said, “You're welcome.” And then he ran off to play, unaware of the impact he'd had on me.

    I sat there and wondered how he managed to see a self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree. Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.

    Through the eyes of the blind boy, I could see the problem was not with the world; the problem was me. And for all of those times I had been blind. From now on I vowed to see beauty and appreciate every second that's mine. Then I held the flower up to my nose and breathed its fragrance and smiled as that young boy.

    A year after graduation, I was offered a position teaching a writing class. Teaching was a profession I had never seriously considered, though several of my stories had been published. I accepted the job without hesitation, as it would allow me to wear a tie and go by the name of Mr. Davis. My father went by the same name, and I liked to imagine people getting the two of us confused. "Wait a minute," someone might say, "are you talking about Mr. Davis the retired man, or Mr. Davis the respectable scholar?"

    The position was offered at the last minute, and I was given two weeks to prepare, a period I spent searching for briefcase and standing before my full-length mirror, repeating the words, "Hello, class. I'm Mr. Davis." Sometimes I would give myself an aggressive voice. Sometimes I would sound experienced. But when the day eventually came, my nerves kicked in and the true Mr. Davis was there. I sounded not like a thoughtful professor, but rather a 12-year-old boy.

    I arrived in the classroom with paper cards designed in the shape of maple leaves. I had cut them myself out of orange construction paper. I saw nine students along a long table. I handed out the cards, and the students wrote down their names and fastened them to their breast pockets as I required.

    "All right then,'' I said." Okay, here we go." Then I opened my briefcase and realized that I had never thought beyond this moment. I had been thinking that the students would be the first to talk, offering their thoughts and opinions on the events of the day. I had imagined that I would sit at the edge of the desk, overlooking a forest of hands. Every student would shout. "Calm down, you'll all get your turn. One at a time, one at a time!"

    A terrible silence ruled the room, and seeing no other opinions, I asked the students to pull out their notebooks and write a brief essay related to the theme of deep disappointment.

    The following ads come from UW(University of Washington)newspaper called The Daily.