The Dharma Dictionary, a list of highly unusual terms used in connection with Eurasian proto-senility cults. It's somewhat off the beaten track, to be sure, but therein lies its variety and charm. For example, probably very few people know that the word ``visrhanik'' that is bantered about so much today stems from the verb ``bouanahsha'': to salivate. Likewise, and equally fascinating, is the news that such unlikely synonyms as ``pratakku,'' ``sweathruna,'' and the tongue-twister ``nnuolapertar-it-vuh-karti-biri-pitknoumen'' all originated in the same village in Bathar-on-Walli Province and are all used to express sentiments concerning British ``imperialism.'' The terms are fairly safe to use on this side of the ocean, but before you start spouting them to your date, it might be best to find out if he was a member of Major Pockmanster's Delhi Regiment, since resentment toward the natives was reportedly very high in that outfit.

The Breeze And Chancellor Neitzbohr, a movie melodrama that concerns the attempts of a West German politician to woo a plaster cast of the Apollo Belvedere. As you have doubtless guessed already, the plot is plastered with Freudian, Jungian, and Meinckian theory. For example, when the film is only four minutes old, Neitzbohr refers to a small, Victorian piano stool as ``Wilhelmina,'' and we are thereupon subjected to a flashback that informs us that this very piano stool was once used by an epileptic governess whose name, of course, was Doris (the English equivalent, when passed through middle Gaelic derivations, of Wilhelmina). For the remainder of the movie, Chancellor Neitzbohr proceeds to lash the piano stool with a slat from a Venetian blind that used to hang in the pre-war Reichstag. In this manner, he seeks to expunge from his own soul the guilt pangs caused by his personal assaults against the English at Dunkirk. As we find out at the end, it is not the stool (symbolizing Doris, therefore the English) that he is punishing but the piece of Venetian blind. And, when the slat finally shatters, we see him count the fragments, all the while muttering, ``He loves me, he loves me not.'' After a few tortuous moments of wondering who ``he'' is, the camera pans across the room to the plaster statue, and we realize that Neitzbohr is trying to redeem himself in the eyes of a mute piece of sculpture. The effect, needless to say, is almost terrifying, and though at times a bit obscure, the film is certainly a much needed catharsis for the ``repressed'' movie-goer.