Commercial Chair Lift

I live in the DFW (Dallas, tx) area... but I can get this shipped. I need the lift to go up 42" (that's where the door of the building is) any ideas where I can get a used one? I don't care what it looks like.
thanks,
Izabela

www.google.com

2006-11-30 09:24:25 by BelaArt

This video was uploaded from an Android phone.

There used to be a commercial that showed three guys sitting in chairs with cubes lowered over their heads. Two of the cubes lift and reveal men with cube-shaped heads. After admiring their heads the third man is revealed and only has a regular head.

What was this for? I think it had a tag line similar to "dare to be square."

I don't remember the exact product, I wish I did, but I know it was for razor. I remember it was commenting on how faces aren't flat, or square, and to get the curves you needed their razors for flexibility. I think it said something like "don't be a block head," or something like that.

*EDIT*
Okay, I found what I was talking about but now I don't know if it's related to what you were asking. It's a Schick Tracer Razor commercial from 1992 about a Square Headed Man:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nw4rTEmzP G8&feature=related

2008-10-21 18:22:38 by Neill S

Price: $19.98 $14.98

Top quality vinyl-covered particle board; 19 x 66 inches
Helps make sofas sit up straight again
Slip under seat cushion to give old sofas a new look

Ok this is a commercial to try to get people to watch WWE:

Opens with Rey Mysterio sitting next to Hornswoggle.

"WWE gives the shot to show that the underdog can come out on top, and taht us small guys have to stick together, right Hornswoggle?"

Hornsoggle stares at Mysterio the lifts his hand up as if to give a high five Mysterio goes to give him the high five when hornswoggle pokes him in the eye and jumps on top of him and beats him up.

Switches to a scene with Edge walking.

"It's where I show that the Rated R Superstar comes out on top" Edge immediatly gets whacked by a chair in the forehead.

Goes to a scene with The Hardyz holding chairs, surrounded by Deuce and Domino, The Worlds Greatest Tag Team, and Trevor and Lance Cade.

"Where we take it to the extreme"

They smash all of there heads with the chairs.

Kand and Undertake walking downa hall, behind them chaos and fire is everywhere
"WWE is about the whole family joining up around the t.v to watch good wholesome family fun" - Undertaker says as a wall explodes and Hornswoggle flies through the wall.

Vince Mcmahon is outside of the WWE building

"It all started with a dream i had, i wanted to make millions, billions of dollars, and so far......"

Stone Cold runs and gives Vince Mcmahon and the camera man Stunners

"Watch WWE, you won't expect what happens next"

commercial ends

Thats a really kewl idea. I wish they would do some more commercials. The WM21 commercials were great

2007-08-20 09:48:15 by MVP's #1 Fan The Ballin Hart

The Coincidence Theorists Guide to 9/11

That governments have permitted terrorist acts against their own people, and have even themselves been perpetrators in order to find strategic advantage is quite likely true, but this is the United States we're talking about.

That intelligence agencies, financiers, terrorists and narco-criminals have a long history together is well established, but the Nugan Hand Bank, BCCI, Banco Ambrosiano, the P2 Lodge, the CIA/Mafia anti-Castro/Kennedy alliance, Iran/Contra and the rest were a long time ago, so there's no need to rehash all that. That was then, this is now!

That Jonathan Bush's Riggs Bank has been found guilty of laundering terrorist funds and fined a US-record $25 million must embarrass his nephew George, but it's still no justification for leaping to paranoid conclusions.

That George Bush's brother Marvin sat on the board of the Kuwaiti-owned company which provided electronic security to the World Trade Centre, Dulles Airport and United Airlines means nothing more than you must admit those Bush boys have done alright for themselves.

That George Bush found success as a businessman only after the investment of Osama's brother Salem and reputed al Qaeda financier Khalid bin Mahfouz is just one of those things - one of those crazy things.

That Osama bin Laden is known to have been an asset of US foreign policy in no way implies he still is.

That al Qaeda was active in the Balkan conflict, fighting on the same side as the US as recently as 1999, while the US protected its cells, is merely one of history's little aberrations.

The claims of Michael Springman, State Department veteran of the Jeddah visa bureau, that the CIA ran the office and issued visas to al Qaeda members so they could receive training in the United States, sound like the sour grapes of someone who was fired for making such wild accusations.

That one of George Bush's first acts as President, in January 2001, was to end the two-year deployment of attack submarines which were positioned within striking distance of al Qaeda's Afghanistan camps, even as the group's guilt for the Cole bombing was established, proves that a transition from one administration to the next is never an easy task.

That so many influential figures in and close to the Bush White House had expressed, just a year before the attacks, the need for a "new Pearl Harbor" before their militarist ambitions could be fulfilled, demonstrates nothing more than the accidental virtue of being in the right place at the right time.

That the company PTECH, founded by a Saudi financier placed on America's Terrorist Watch List in October 2001, had access to the FAA's entire computer system for two years before the 9/11 attack, means he must not have been such a threat after all.

That whistleblower Indira Singh was told to keep her mouth shut and forget what she learned when she took her concerns about PTECH to her employers and federal authorities, suggests she lacked the big picture. And that the Chief Auditor for JP Morgan Chase told Singh repeatedly, as she answered questions about who supplied her with what information, that "that person should be killed," suggests he should take an anger management seminar.

That on May 8, 2001, Dick Cheney took upon himself the job of co-ordinating a response to domestic terror attacks even as he was crafting the administration's energy policy which bore implications for America's military, circumventing the established infrastructure and ignoring the recommendations of the Hart-Rudman report, merely shows the VP to be someone who finds it hard to delegate.

That the standing order which covered the shooting down of hijacked aircraft was altered on June 1, 2001, taking discretion away from field commanders and placing it solely in the hands of the Secretary of Defense, is simply poor planning and unfortunate timing. Fortunately the error has been corrected, as the order was rescinded shortly after 9/11.

That in the weeks before 9/11, FBI agent Colleen Rowley found her investigation of Zacarias Moussaoui so perversely thwarted that her colleagues joked that bin Laden had a mole at the FBI, proves the stress-relieving virtue of humour in the workplace.

That Dave Frasca of the FBI's Radical Fundamentalist Unit received a promotion after quashing multiple, urgent requests for investigations into al Qaeda assets training at flight schools in the summer of 2001 does appear on the surface odd, but undoubtedly there's a good reason for it, quite possibly classified.

That FBI informant Randy Glass, working an undercover sting, was told by Pakistani intelligence operatives that the World Trade Center towers were coming down, and that his repeated warnings which continued until weeks before the attacks, including the mention of planes used as weapons, were ignored by federal authorities, is simply one of the many "What Ifs" of that tragic day.

That over the summer of 2001 Washington received many urgent, senior-level warnings from foreign intelligence agencies and governments - including those of Germany, France, Great Britain, Russia, Egypt, Israel, Morocco, Afghanistan and others - of impending terror attacks using hijacked aircraft and did nothing, demonstrates the pressing need for a new Intelligence Czar.

That John Ashcroft stopped flying commercial aircraft in July 2001 on account of security considerations had nothing to do with warnings regarding September 11, because he said so to the 9/11 Commission.

That former lead counsel for the House David Schippers says he'd taken to John Ashcroft's office specific warnings he'd learned from FBI agents in New York of an impending attack - even naming the proposed dates, names of the hijackers and the targets - and that the investigations had been stymied and the agents threatened, proves nothing but David Schipper's pathetic need for attention.

That Garth Nicolson received two warnings from contacts in the intelligence community and one from a North African head of state, which included specific site, date and source of the attacks, and passed the information to the Defense Department and the National Security Council to evidently no effect, clearly amounts to nothing, since virtually nobody has ever heard of him.

That in the months prior to September 11, self-described US intelligence operative Delmart Vreeland sought, from a Toronto jail cell, to get US and Canadian authorities to heed his warning of his accidental discovery of impending catastrophic attacks is worthless, since Vreeland was a dubious character, notwithstanding the fact that many of his claims have since been proven true.

That FBI Special Investigator Robert Wright claims that agents assigned to intelligence operations actually protect terrorists from investigation and prosecution, that the FBI shut down his probe into terrorist training camps, and that he was removed from a money-laundering case that had a direct link to terrorism, sounds like yet more sour grapes from a disgruntled employee.

That George Bush had plans to invade Afghanistan on his desk before 9/11 demonstrates only the value of being prepared.

The suggestion that securing a pipeline across Afghanistan figured into the White House's calculations is as ludicrous as the assertion that oil played a part in determining war in Iraq.

That Afghanistan is once again the world's principal heroin producer is an unfortunate reality, but to claim the CIA is still actively involved in the narcotics trade is to presume bad faith on the part of the agency.

Mahmood Ahmed, chief of Pakistan's ISI, must not have authorized an al Qaeda payment of $100,000 to Mohammed Atta days before the attacks, and was not meeting with senior Washington officials over the week of 9/11, because I didn't read anything about him in the official report.

That Porter Goss met with Ahmed the morning of September 11 in his capacity as Chairman of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence has no bearing whatsoever upon his recent selection by the White House to head the Central Intelligence Agency.

That Goss's congressional seat encompasses the 9/11 hijackers' Florida base of operation, including their flight schools, is precisely the kind of meaningless factoid a conspiracy theorist would bring up.

It's true that George HW Bush and Dick Cheney spent the evening of September 10 alone in the Oval Office, but what's wrong with old colleagues catching up? And it's true that George HW Bush and Shafig bin Laden, Osama's brother, spent the morning of September 11 together at a board meeting of the Carlyle Group, but the bin Ladens are a big family.

That FEMA arrived in New York on Sept 10 to prepare for a scheduled biowarfare drill, and had a triage centre ready to go that was larger and better equipped than the one that was lost in the collapse of WTC 7, was a lucky twist of fate.

Newsweek's report that senior Pentagon officials cancelled flights on Sept 10 for the following day on account of security concerns is only newsworthy because of what happened the following morning.

That George Bush's telephone logs for September 11 do not exist should surprise no one, given the confusion of the day.

That Mohamed Atta attended the International Officer's School at Maxwell Air Force Base, that Abdulaziz Alomari attended Brooks Air Force Base Aerospace Medical School, that Saeed Alghamdi attended the Defense Language Institute in Monterey merely shows it is a small world, after all.

That Lt Col Steve Butler, Vice Chancellor for student affairs of the Defense Language Institute during Alghamdi's terms, was disciplined, removed from his post and threatened with court martial when he wrote "Bush knew of the impending attacks on America. He did nothing to warn the American people because he needed this war on terrorism. What is...contemptible is the President of the United States not telling the American people what he knows for political gain," is the least that should have happened for such disrespect shown his Commander in Chief.

That Mohammed Atta dressed like a Mafioso, had a stripper girlfriend, smuggled drugs, was already a licensed pilot when he entered the US, enjoyed pork chops, drank to excess and did cocaine, was closer to Europeans than Arabs in Florida, and included the names of defence contractors on his email list, proves how dangerous the radical fundamentalist Muslim can be.

That 43 lbs of heroin was found on board the Lear Jet owned by Wally Hilliard, the owner of Atta's flight school, just three weeks after Atta enrolled - the biggest seizure ever in Central Florida - was just bad luck. That Hilliard was not charged shows how specious the claims for conspiracy truly are.

That Hilliard's plane had made 30-round trips to Venezuela with the same passengers who always paid cash, that the plane had been supplied by a pair of drug smugglers who had also outfitted CIA drug runner Barry Seal, and that 9/11 commissioner Richard ben-Veniste had been Seal's attorney before Seal's murder, shows nothing but the lengths to which conspiracists will go to draw sinister conclusions.

Reports of insider trading on 9/11 are false, because the SEC investigated and found only respectable investors who will remain nameless involved, and no terrorists, so the windfall profit-taking was merely, as ever, coincidental.

That heightened security for the World Trade Centre was lifted immediately prior to the attacks illustrates that it always happens when you least expect it.

That Hani Hanjour, the pilot of Flight 77, was so incompetent he could not fly a Cessna in August, but in September managed to fly a 767 at excessive speed into a spiraling, 270-degree descent and a level impact of the first floor of the Pentagon, on the only side that was virtually empty and had been hardened to withstand a terrorist attack, merely demonstrates that people can do almost anything once they set their minds to it.

That none of the flight data recorders were said to be recoverable even though they were located in the tail sections, and that until 9/11, no solid-state recorder in a catastrophic crash had been unrecoverable, shows how there's a first time for everything.

That Mohammed Atta left a uniform, a will, a Koran, his driver's license and a "how to fly planes" video in his rental car at the airport means he had other things on his mind.

The mention of Israelis with links to military-intelligence having been arrested on Sept 11 videotaping and celebrating the attacks, of an Israeli espionage ring surveiling DEA and defense installations and trailing the hijackers, and of a warning of impending attacks delivered to the Israeli company Odigo two hours before the first plane hit, does not deserve a response. That the stories also appeared in publications such as Ha'aretz and Forward is a sad display of self-hatred among certain elements of the Israeli media.

That multiple military wargames and simulations were underway the morning of 9/11 - one simulating the crash of a plane into a building; another, a live-fly simulation of multiple hijackings - and took many interceptors away from the eastern seaboard and confused field commanders as to which was a real hijacked aircraft and which was a hoax, was a bizarre coincidence, but no less a coincidence.

That the National Military Command Center ops director asked a rookie substitute to stand his watch at 8:30 am on Sept. 11 is nothing more than bad timing.

That a recording made Sept 11 of air traffic controllers' describing what they had witnessed, was destroyed by an FAA official who crushed it in his hand, cut the tape into little pieces and dropped them in different trash cans around the building, is something no doubt that overzealous official wishes he could undo.

That the FBI knew precisely which Florida flight schools to descend upon hours after the attacks should make every American feel safer knowing their federal agents are on the ball.

That a former flight school executive believes the hijackers were "double agents," and says about Atta and associates, "Early on I gleaned that these guys had government protection. They were let into this country for a specific purpose," and was visited by the FBI just four hours after the attacks to intimidate him into silence, proves he's an unreliable witness, for the simple reason there is no conspiracy.

That Jeb Bush was on board an aircraft that removed flight school records to Washington in the middle of the night on Sept 12th demonstrates how seriously the governor takes the issue of national security.

To insinuate evil motive from the mercy flights of bin Laden family members and Saudi royals after 9/11 shows the sickness of the conspiratorial mindset.

Le Figaro's report in October 2001, known to have originated with French intelligence, that the CIA met Osama bin Laden in a Dubai hospital in July 2001, proves again the perfidy of the French.

That the tape in which bin Laden claims responsibility for the attacks was released by the State Department after having been found providentially by US forces in Afghanistan, and depicts a fattened Osama with a broader face and a flatter nose, proves Osama, and Osama alone, masterminded 9/11.

That at the battle of Tora Bora, where bin Laden was surrounded on three sides, Special Forces received no order to advance and capture him and were forced to stand and watch as two Russian-made helicopters flew into the area where bin Laden was believed hiding, loaded up passengers and returned to Pakistan, demonstrates how confusing the modern battlefield can be.

That upon returning to Fort Bragg from Tora Bora, the same Special Operations troops who had been stood down from capturing bin Laden, suffered a unusual spree of murder/suicides, is nothing more than a series of senseless tragedies.

Reports that bin Laden is currently receiving periodic dialysis treatment in a Pakistani medical hospital are simply too incredible to be true.

That the White House went on Cipro September 11 shows the foresightedness of America's emergency response.

That the anthrax was mailed to perceived liberal media and the Democratic leadership demonstrates only the perversity of the terrorist psyche.

That the anthrax attacks appeared to silence opponents of the Patriot Act shows only that appearances can be deceiving.

That the Ames-strain anthrax was found to have originated at Fort Detrick, and was beyond the capability of all but a few labs to refine, underscores the importance of allowing the investigation to continue without the distraction of absurd conspiracy theories.

That Republican guru Grover Norquist has been found to have aided financiers and supporters of Islamic terror to gain access to the Bush White House, and is a founder of the Islamic Institute, which the Treasury Department believes to be a source of funding for al Qaeda, suggests Norquist is at worst, naive, and at best, needs a wider circle of friends.

That the Department of Justice consistently chooses to see accused 9/11 plotters go free rather than permit the courtroom testimony of al Qaeda leaders in American custody looks bad, but only because we don't have all the facts.

That the White House balked at any inquiry into the events of 9/11, then starved it of funds and stonewalled it, was unfortunate, but since the commission didn't find for conspiracy it's all a non issue anyway.

That the 9/11 commission's executive director and "gatekeeper," Philip Zelikow, was so closely involved in the events under investigation that he testified before the the commission as part of the inquiry, shows only an apparent conflict of interest.

That commission chair Thomas Kean is, like George Bush, a Texas oil executive who had business dealings with reputed al Qaeda financier Khalid bin Mafouz, suggests Texas is smaller than they say it is.

That co-chair Lee Hamilton has a history as a Bush family "fixer," including clearing Bush Sr of the claims arising from the 1980 "October Surprise", is of no concern, since only conspiracists believe there was such a thing as an October Surprise.

That FBI whistleblower Sibel Edmonds accuses the agency of intentionally fudging specific pre-9/11 warnings and harboring a foreign espionage ring in its translation department, and claims she witnessed evidence of the semi-official infrastructure of money-laundering and narcotics trade behind the attacks, is of no account, since John Ashcroft has gagged her with the rare invocation of "State Secrets Privilege," and retroactively classified her public testimony. For the sake of national security, let us speak no more of her.

That, when commenting on Edmond's case, Daniel Ellsberg remarked that Ashcroft could go to prison for his part in a cover-up, suggests Ellsberg is giving comfort to the terrorists, and could, if he doesn't wise up, find himself declared an enemy combatant.

I could go on. And on and on. But I trust you get the point. Which is simply this: there are no secrets, an American government would never accept civilian casualties for geostrategic gain, and conspiracies are for the weak-minded and gullible.
go to
http://rigorousintuition.blogspot.com/20 04/08/coincidence-theorists-guide-to-911 .html
for links for every statement made here.

http://truthmove.org

It exposes the limitations of human capacity to analyze and distinguish. Things appearing similar in terms of time is coincidence, but please remember two axiomatic truth that the same drop of water does not flow twice and the arrow of time is unidirectional.

2007-04-05 21:33:32 by jeremy

Chapter One

The white, warm sand rubbing against my body soothingly. The colorful palm trees is all the rave. Crisp, clear refreshing ocean tumbling into the beach with great determination. All you see is beautiful people wearing nothing but beautiful bathing suits which they probably spent hours and hours trying to find, to get something spectacular. I look back and see this magnificent hotel complex and all of the amenities I could possibly think of. The cool ocean breeze flows over my body while the sun beams light to give me a wonderful free tan. A perfect bronze with a hint of red which will hopefully turn to tan later. A nice refreshing glass of cola filled to the brim with crushed ice and of course the cool sun umbrella. This is so relaxing and wonderful. This is the life. Nothing can wreck this perfect moment. Wait, this is to good to be true.

ARG.
ARG.
ARG.
ARG.

I knew it! I knew it! It was just a dream again! I can't believe I had that dream again. This is unbelievable. This is the third time this week that I've had this dream and I want it to come true. Too bad I'll never be able to go on vacation.
Well it's six o clock. Sorry for all of that fuss but I am just so sick of having that dream. I quickly hop into the shower and wonder whether I will ever get to experience what I experience in my dream. I mean everything is so calm and peaceful I just can't understand why I keep on having that dream. Everything is so perfect, there has to be more to that dream than that. Maybe tonight it will be extended so I can see what's happening. It's probably a sign. Maybe, no never mind. I put some bread in the toaster, I'm still half asleep but I have to hurry up so I can catch the carpool with Jacob. Every other day or so we switch drivers so that we use up less gas. Jacob is totally my best friend in the whole world and I hope he will always be. We are always there for each other when one of us needs a helping hand. I grab my toast, spread some peanut butter on it and head out the door to make my way down to the parking lot where I wait for Jacob to show up. He's a little tardy, sometimes more than others but that's just who he is and as best friends, we have to live with each others annoyances. A few minutes later I see Jacob running out of the building like there was a huge fire in the building. I quickly look up out of habit but see that Jacob just wanted to hurry to the car because we are a couple of minutes late and usually with traffic, a couple here adds ten somewhere else. We both hop into the car once Jacob beeps the horn to signal that the Burnt Orange 2008 Ford Edge is unlocked. Jacob puts the sport utility vehicle (SUV) into reverse and speedily races through the parking lot of the apartment condos backwards. After almost hitting a pole I yell at him to put it in drive and he listened for his life, literally. If you know what and where Toronto is and have ever been there then you know where Jacob and I (Mark) live. By the way, I'm Mark Hatchet. You won't notice my name often through the story because it is written in first person. If your doing some school project about a character then you should probably know some things about me but your not getting off easy because I am going to scatter information about me all over this novel and by the end you will know me like I'm your best friend. Any who which is not a word but it sounds cool, Toronto is Canada's biggest city. If you are not familiar with Canada then check the globe! All Americans should know where Toronto is and that it's near Buffalo. So now at least some of you know where I am. Jacob and I live right near the 401 which is a convenient highway but usually has traffic. We speed down the on ramp to find that we can zip around cars as we fly a couple of kilometers over the speed limit. I look back to see people giving us the finger and of course hear honking from all directions but we could care less. As long as we don't die we are better off doing this. Jacob sees a police officer a few hundred meters up so he slows down just enough to the speed limit, once he was past the cop he raced onto the off ramp and we were once again racing towards our school. You can see the navy and gold colored sign with big block letters reading: St. Anne Catholic High School. It was a big school but all schools in the city are big so I can't really justify. It was a nice looking basically brand new school with a pretty tan brick color and a nice light tan stucco around doors and windows which made it look more like a upscale shopping plaza then a school. Jacob makes a left into the school parking lot then slows down and drives carefully through the lot to the back, basically opposite of how he drove through our condo parking lot!
I opened the large metal door and checked my watch, it read eight twenty five which means I have one minute to get to class. For some reason, classes started at eight twenty six which to me is an odd time but I can't change that so I jog up the stairs to the second floor saying bye to Jacob on the way. I don't remember classroom numbers so I remember third door on the right from back entrance up the stairs. Some people wonder why I find that easier but I just do. It makes more sense to me than trying to find room number 214. I mean where's 214 anyway. I open the door with my binder and pencil in hand and quietly find a seat near the front. I have bad eyesight but don't wish to wear glasses so I just sit near the front board. I understand lessons better that way anyway. First period is my favorite subject, English. I have always loved English from poetry to novels to anything related to English. But there is something I don't like about English this year and that's the teacher. Mrs. Walkworth. Mrs. Walkworth is most probably the meanest teacher at this school and I should know because it’s my last year here and I’ve had my fair share of mean teachers but this one tops it off. Saying Mrs. Walkworth in our school makes people cringe. I can honestly say that people egg her classroom window once a month not to mention her house. Nobody is allowed to say anything unless called upon. We are not allowed to get help from anyone at anytime and we never work in pairs or groups. Mrs. Walkworth thinks that working independently makes us smarter which I do agree with because we have to figure problems out on our own but we also need people skills to communicate in English but she doesn’t seem to think so. Mrs. Walkworth is about the total opposite from a people person. She probably lives in a cave wear nobody ever visits her or talks to her on the telephone or even e-mails her. Another reason people are scared of her is her punishments. For example, if you get caught chewing gum in her class she used the slap students across the face and dangle them out the window but since she’s not allowed to do that anymore, she makes the student stretch the gum over his or her face for the rest of the day, and when we have our next assembly, she makes the student chew five pieces of gum (at home of course) then stretch the five pieces over his or her entire body and make a one hundred word speech about not chewing gum in school and it also has to include how great Mrs. Walkworth is. The student then goes into detention for the next month. Yikes! And some people thought detention for a day was bad for chewing gum. Finally, the last reason why people don’t like her and are scared of her are because of the way she looks. Her face is all crinkled up and when she talks she has a raspy sound and her hands tremble with great strength. She weighs about one hundred pounds and she is very tall therefore extremely skinny and she always wears the same clothes. She owns three tops; a blue sleeveless one, a red t shirt that says teacher of the year 1989 and a very ugly faded purple sweater. I’m pretty sure she only wears one pair of pants and they are black with blue polka dots on them. No joke. Teens at our school seem to think she’s 90 years old but nobody knows for sure.
Mrs. Walkworth begins with her lesson and tells us to read pages 80-199 for homework and complete a thirty question quiz for tomorrow. I guess we got off easy tonight. Usually it takes me about four hours each night for her homework and looking over what I have to do tonight it might only take a couple of hours. As soon as the bell rings in Mrs. Walkworth’s class, everybody runs out. Students have respect for all teachers besides her. Everyone waits patiently until the teacher says they are dismissed but in her class everyone literally runs! Down the stairs ahead for four classrooms, hang a left and it’s the second door on the right. That’s my next class.
At noon thirty the bell rings for half of the school to have lunch. They built the cafeteria to only hold half of the school so it wouldn’t get out of control. I get in line to buy a salad and some pizza and I see our group sitting down at our usual table. Each member of our group is known for something they are good at, we all have different personalities and strengths so we complete each other. Our group includes; me (the English dude), Jacob (the jockey), Sam (the Intelligent one), Rob (the science geek), Nick (the mapmaker), Kyle (the rich kid), Alicia (the drama queen) and Jordan (the quiet kid). Everyday we sit at the same table with the same people and have done that since day one of this year. Some of us were friends last year but because of the two lunches we didn’t have the same lunch and you never have the same class with anybody you knew before so you make new subject buddies but those are just buds who you partner with during that subject. It’s the lunchtime friends who you hang with after school. Once we are all seated we talk about some teen stuff and decide what movie we should see this weekend. Every weekend or so we try to go to the movies together. It usually ends up being a big fight so we chose to become a democracy and vote each week what movie each of us wanted to see. People walk by our table and wonder what the bleep we’re doing but who cares, not us. We don’t need to act popular, we have our own friend group which we are already apart of. We don’t need to impress anybody, nobody does. We just be ourselves and we are friends for who we are not what we are trying to be. We decide on a movie and continue the discussions.
By ten o clock that night I was exhausted by all of Mrs. Walkworth’s homework. Two of the questions were mini projects and took a lot longer than expected, by the time I was done it was midnight and I hadn’t even started on any of the other homework given by the other teachers. This is ridiculous I think to myself. How can she wreck the best subject in the world? I feel a blast of energy actually of hatred and I want to go throw a rock through her window but I’m better than that so I decide not to. I have about another hour of homework and I’m already tired, I better get to work.
********************************************
The white warm sand rubbing against my body soothingly. The colorful palm trees is all the rave. Crisp, clear refreshing ocean tumbling into the beach with great determination. All you see is beautiful people wearing nothing but beautiful bathing suits which they probably spent hours and hours trying to find something spectacular. I look back and see this magnificent hotel complex and all of the amenities I could possibly think of. The cool ocean breeze flows over my body while the sun beams light to give me a wonderful free tan. A perfect bronze with a hint of red which will turn to tan later. A nice refreshing glass of cola filled to the brim with crushed ice and of course the cool sun umbrella. This is so relaxing and wonderful. This is the life. Nothing can wreck this perfect moment. Wait, this is to good to be true.

ARG.
ARG.
ARG.
ARG.

I wake up with such great hatred toward that stupid dream that I pull my alarm clock out of the wall socket and chuck it at my wall. My mom quickly rushes into my room to see what was up.
"Sorry mom but I had that dream again, you know about the sand in some tropical place," I say apologetically.
"Mark, you know I want to take you someplace but since your father died we haven't had much income coming in from my job to take you anywhere," mom replies.
"I know, it's obviously not your fault and it's not mine either, I'm just tired of having that dream," I cry (not literally). Mom walks out of my room and I begin my daily wake up routine in which I do every school day. I am so fed up with that dream and I'm so fed up with Mrs. Bleeping Walk Bleeping Worth I could just go insane! I begin to shake and also begin to worry about my shaking. Am I going insane? I need to calm down. I put my iPod on and listen to my favorite music, that always seems to calm me down.

******

Once I get into Mrs. Walkworth's classroom I walk straight up to her and tell her,
"You need to give out less homework. I was up to one o clock in the morning doing English, I can't stand you! You ruined my favorite subject and you're ruining everyone's lives!" I look around the classroom to see if anybody had heard what I said and they did. People began to clap for me once I finished. It felt really good to have everyone appreciate what I did. Mrs. Walkworth had an ugly look which I wanted but she didn't say anything , I kind of wanted a detention or write a speech then I could slip some information to all the students and teachers watching but she said nothing. I stared at her looking like I wanted an answer and then she sighed,
"I have been giving out a lot of homework lately and I'm really sorry class. My husband left a few months ago and I've been really upset. The reason I've been upset since I've been at this school is because my brother got to go to a better university than I did then became what I wanted to become, a doctor. My parents forced me to become a teacher and I hated it so I decided that I would take it out on the students I was forced to teach, I am so sorry to you all," says Mrs. Walkworth with flowing tears. Everybody is silenced. I walk up to and give her a big hug. I don't know why we are all such jerks. This poor lady has gone through heck and back and here I am lecturing her about her teaching. Everyone that threw a rock at her window or egged her window should be ashamed.
"I'm so sorry Mrs. Walkworth, I had no idea, I was so selfish," I say crying (literally this time). Usually when a boy cries at school he is made fun of but not today, I look around the room and everyone including the boys had tears. We were so mean to her behind her back and everyone felt so bad.
"I think everyone in this classroom including me should be ashamed of themselves, now let's move on with today's work. I promise I will not give out as much homework any more. Heck, tonight, no homework," says Mrs. Walkworth with a smile for once. Applause fills the room again but this time it was for a good reason. You should never judge a book by the cover or the homework it (she) gives out.
By the end of the school day everybody knew the Mrs. Walkworth story and teens from all over were coming up to her apologizing for what they did and she also apologized to everyone that came up to her. It was a happy day at St. Anne's today. It should be like a holiday or something, Mrs. Walkworth is like happy and like oh my goodness we should celebrate.
Once I got home I saw my mom lying down on the couch crying, I wonder what is wrong. I ask immediately and she says that she was upset about Dad dying and she can't pull herself together.
"Mom, we have to get over this. Yes it's sad but life goes on," I say sweetly.
"You’re never going to be able to go on your trip though," cried mom. "You don't know that, never have doubt," I say with pride for some weird reason. Mom sits up and I sit next to her on the couch and to my surprise I see a commercial. WOW! A commercial, haven't seen one of those since like the last time I watched television but this commercial was calling out to me. I watched intently;
Are you smart? Do you want to go to Mexico? Do you live in Toronto or in the GTA? Then send your information to 178 B.......
"Mom, can you believe this, last night in my dream I saw a sign saying Mexico, that's where my dream is taking place, this is a huge sign! " I yell excitedly as I jump up and down. I log onto my computer and find the website, there I print out the information sheet that needs to be filled out. Of course I could do it over the net but I don't trust all of those freaks who want my information. With a black pen I write down everything from my age to my address to my hobbies to my IQ. I fold the pieces of paper two times and neatly stuff it into the envelope and lick it closed.
"Do you want me to take you to the post office right now? I have to get some groceries anyway," mom calls from the living room. She is now not crying and actually excited and happy. She wants to see me happy which of course I am.
I open the large mail bin flap and slip the letter proudly into the box and close the movable door. I put a big smile on my face and walk back into the car. I think about going to Mexico and all the great fun I'll have. I wonder weather I should take mom or Jacob? I get into the car and ask,
"Mom let's say that I get accepted onto the show and I win the trip to Mexico, I can bring a guest. I want to bring you but I think it would be more fun with Jacob, no offence," I say hoping that she'll say okay take Jacob.
"I want you to have fun on this vacation but I also want you to be safe in a foreign country. I have an idea, how about you take Jacob as your guest then I fly down with you guys and stay in your room. You can totally ignore me if you'd like," she says.
"Mom, wouldn't that be kind of awkward, can just me and Jacob go, I mean I probably won't get on to the show but if I do?" I ask.
"Mark, I don't know, I'm going to have to think about it and if and when you do win I'll give you an answer," explains mom and I nod with agreement. I really don't want my mom in the room with Jacob and I, it would be really awkward but then I think that I'm probably not going to win anyway so I blow it off.

In the night I don't dream the same vacation dream that I usually dream, this time I dream that I am all alone in the hotel looking for Jacob who seems to be lost, I can't find him then I wake up. I decide not to tell mom about the dream because then she would say it was a sign and that I'm defiantly not going. It can't be a sign, I mean come on, it's just a dream. Weird things happen in dreams all of the time. Nothing actually happens. But what if it is a sign? What if I do win and I go with Jacob and he goes missing? I start to get nervous and then shake my head which seemed to relax my nerves. There's probably more to the story I mean dream than what I saw last night. Maybe tonight I will dream the dream again but I find him at the restaurant or the pool or oh I have to call Jacob. I pick up the phone and dial Jacob's cell number. I don't care how early it is, I need to talk to him about this ordeal.
"Hi Jacob, ummm.. were do I begin? I saw this television commercial last night about a new game show coming to Toronto so I sent an application form in and if you win you get to go to Mexico with a friend and ummm... I had this dream last night that we were in the hotel and you were erere missing. I know it's just a dream but for the last oh I can't even remember I've been having this dream that I'm in this warm tropical place and I have it over and over each night basically until last night when I had the dream about you being missing. I feel it's the next part of the story. This is really weird and it's kind of really freaking me out. I can't help but wonder what's going to happen," I say with a shake in my voice, it felt so good to tell Jacob this whole story and I hope he has some advice.
"Listen Mark, it's just a dream and it's really early in the morning and boy you have a lot of energy to ahhahhahmmm sorry I yawn a lot at this time in the morning but anyway don't worry about it and I'll see you at eight, bye," says Jacob with a serious sleepy voice.
"Bye," I add. I press end on my cell phone and get ready to go to school. I hop into the shower and put the temperature to warm which I usually do because I love warm water and my favorite part of the day is my shower, it's so relaxing and calming and nothing bothers me in the shower. All my worries seem to float away in the shower but as soon I as I get out all of the worries and thoughts fly back into my head and I begin to worry again. I worry a lot actually. It's basically like a disorder and I can't help but worry what is to come and worry if something I did in the past is going to hurt me in any way.
I dry off quickly realizing that I had a really long shower but I forgave myself because I knew I really needed it. I go and put on my uniform which actually looks quite good on me and who can argue the fact that you don't have to buy all of the top names to fit in because everyone has to wear the same level of clothing, also there is no grubby kids that wear an old ratty shirt or you know those emo kids with their black and depressive clothes. Nope just everyone the same and that's the way I like it.
I open the box of Frosted Flakes which is my all time favorite cereal. Splash some 1% on them and eat away. I love it so much that once I'm done I pour myself another bowl. Mom walks in and gives me a quick smile then heads for her coffee. Don't mess with mom when she hasn't got her coffee in her, I don't really understand why coffee is the liquid God of everybody. If you have ever been to Canada or you know, live here, then you know that there is a place called Tim Hortons on every on other street corner. It's insane! And even with all of the locations, there is still a huge lineup at each one. Canadians like their coffee eh?! I tried it a couple of times but no matter how old I get my taste buds just reject that awful taste. I don't need coffee anyway because I usual wake up and I am ready to go in just a few minutes.
I walk over to the television which either showed me my vacation was possible or that Jacob being lost was possible so I wasn't sure whether to hug it or kick it so I decided to do neither. If the television production company asks for me to be on the show, I can just recline but I really want to go to Mexico and now I am finally getting a chance to go somewhere I have been waiting to go for 17 years, but do I want to go to Mexico so badly that I'm willing to lose a friend over it? No, it was just a dream. Jacob even said so. I have to stop this worrying, I really do.
The phone rings, actually it vibrates. I bring my cell to school and to make sure that teachers don't know I turn vibrate on before I even get into the school. I open the flap and see that it's Jacob so I press Talk which is in green lettering then say, "hello, Jacob? What's up?"
"Oh nothing much I was calling to say that I was sorry for being a jerk this morning on the phone and I really appreciate you taking me as your guest, it means a lot. I thought you'd take your mom or something. I really hope that you win, Mexico sounds like fun!" says Jacob with an excited tone.
"Jacob, I'll tell you the whole story in the car, well there's actually not much more to it but I don't want to waste your minutes so we can wait. See you soon," I smile into the phone hoping that he can see that I'm smiling and not frowning on the inside because now Jacob really wants to go but he doesn't want my mom going I know that for sure. But if Jacob and I go alone then what happens when Jacob gets lost if he really does. Oh my, I really need to stop worrying about this whole situation and I really need to spend more time looking over my homework. Every single day in the morning even though I think I have the answers right I still go through every thing and check them. You never know when you make a mistake that can be easily fixed. I really care about my marks so I do this on a regular basis.
I look up on the microwave clock and see that it is seven fifty five therefore I should probably head down to the parking lot now. I really want to tell Jacob about everything. I need someone I can trust besides my mom because I know what she'll decide and I really do want to go to Mexico so, yes I'll tell Jacob and if he thinks that we shouldn't go and it is a sign then we won't. Done, and now I don't have to think about it till Jacob wants the whole story.
I see Jacob come out of the thirty story building at ground level and he waves his large hand. He yells from a distance and I can barely hear him but what I make out from the words are,
"Mark, I want you to tell me everything."
I motion for Jacob to come letting him know that we need to be in the car to talk. I don't need a bunch of strangers hearing about my crazy weirdo dreams. Jacob walks up to the car and gets him. I follow suit.
"So what's the whole story?" asks Jacob putting the SUV into reverse.
"Listen Jacob, I just want to know deep down if you think having that dream where you were lost was a sign or not. Also my mom does want to go; but not with me, on her own. She wants me to take you and still come so we can be safe. I didn't even tell her about the dream and she still says that," I explain.
"No I don't think it's a sign and it would be really weird having your mom there. Would she be in a different room though?" asks Jacob wanting a certain answer that sadly I cannot give him.
"Sadly, she wants to stay in the same room and can't afford to stay in a different room," I say staring into the deep and confusing eyes of my best friend.
"Oh, well, I was just wondering what you felt. How do you feel about this Mark?" quizzes Jacob.
"I'll go if I win, if you want to that is, but no, I don't want my mom there either so, yeah. I guess that's the whole story. See, I told you it wasn't very long," I say.
We pull up to the St. Anne parking lot and I can't help but wonder whether or not people will still be talking about Mrs. Walkworth. Of course not, I mean this is high school were there is a different story everyday. Everyone will be talking about something different by now, it's been one whole day which means half of the students here would have forgotten it. The other half just wouldn't care anymore. Old news is looked down upon and it wasn't even a big deal anyway. I mean once a famous celebrity came to our school because she went here when she was in high school and by the next day people weren't giving a fuss about what had happened a day before. I wonder if Mrs. Walkworth is going to give a lot of work again today. If she does than I know what to say.
"Hello Mrs. Walkworth. It's a loving morning out isn't now?" I ask Mrs. Walkworth as I walk into her classroom with a big smile.
"A wonderful day indeed. I feel absolutely amazing," smiles Mrs. Walkworth and right then and there I knew she wasn't going to give out a lot of homework.
"Take your seats everyone. Today you are going to have homework. I thought about it last night and I decided to give you the same amount of homework that every other teacher gives you, well besides for the physical education class. I actually called the University of Toronto and got a hold of the English teacher there. She is one of my best friends. I'll tell you a story actually: When I was forced to go to teacher college, I hated it but made one friend in particular there. Her name is Mrs. Jenkins. She was the smartest student in the whole school and once she graduated she got to pick what level of schooling she wanted to teach at and what school. She picked University because it pays the highest and at University of Toronto which is the closest University to her house. So I was talking to her about how much homework she gives out in a night and what she said shocked me when she said one half hour of homework. Be aware this is University homework so it's pretty difficult but only one half hour. After talking to Mrs. Jenkins I got on the phone with other grade twelve teachers and found out that they each gave you one half hour for their subjects so all in all I decided to cut the homework load down for you guys and you better thank me."
"Thank-you Mrs. Walkworth," everybody in the whole class yells in unity. It sounded really good to tell you the truth because it was not planned or anything. All the students in my class just decided about three seconds after she finished her last words to say thank-you. I and probably many other students were relieved. I might actually have a life now instead of my life being Mrs. Walkworth's homework.
I look to the left of me and see the most beautiful girl in the whole school. All year I've been looking back and forth at her and her long straight blonde hair. Her complexion is light brown and looks as though she goes to a tanning salon once in a while. She has absolutely no acne and the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. Her name is Julie Appleton and she is also the most richest kid at our school. She always has a boyfriend buying her flowers or taking her to the movies or taking her out to dinner. I mean no wonder she's so rich, everyone is buying things for her. I also wondered what it would be like to go on a date with her. It would probably cost all my life savings to impress her which I am not willing to give up.
Julie looks over and sees me staring at her. I quickly dart my head over into the other direction pretending I was starring at the posters on the wall. I slowly turn the other direction to see if she's still looking at me in disgust but to my surprise when I look at her she's starring at me, not with a frown but with a smile. I smile back then look back at Mrs. Walkworth who is trying to teach a lesson. I feel a nudge on my arm. I look over and see it's a note, Julie is giving me a note. She only gives notes to her best friends and crushes. Maybe it just went through her to me. She probably didn't write it. I open the folded piece of paper to read in beautiful hand writing; I saw you starring at me Mark so I starred back. I have a boyfriend but I like you to. Love Julie. Oh my goodness, it was from Julie. I automatically look at Julie and blow her a kiss. She blows one back but before the imaginary kiss gets to me, Mrs. Walkworth stands beside our desks and says, "quit interrupting me you love birds!"
Uh-oh. Mrs. Walkworth just blew it and now the whole class is going to know then spread it to the rest of the school and her boyfriend goes to this school and he happens to be on the wrestling team and football team and a heavy weightlifter. He could probably lift me up in one arm, throw me into the air and punch me down. I'm dead! I take a big gulp and hear murmurs from the class and know for sure that I'm dead. I can't believe this. I begin to cry on the inside but I don't dare show any emotion on the outside.
Out of the blue, Julie stands up and stares at everyone talking to each other about what just happened and says, " enough already! I obviously don't like this guy and I love my boyfriend, I was just making him feel good."
I swear a tear began to come down my cheek so I wiped it off with my hand. This is the lowest I have ever felt in my entire life. I want to go lay down and die somewhere before I want to keep on going with this day. I thought for sure that Julie liked me but I guess she was just trying to make me feel good. I should have known that I'm not the type of person that she would go out with. I'm so stupid.
By lunch, every single person was talking about what happened. Well at least I was right about everyone will be over the Mrs. Walkworth thing but for once in my life I wish I was wrong because now all of the hype is about me and it doesn't feel good.
"Hey Mark, you better watch out. I think Steve is coming in soon. You're so dead man. I really want to see this," says a person who I have never met before but now everyone knows who I am so it really doesn't matter if I know them.
Gulp. I see Steve who by the way is Julie's boyfriend if you haven't figured that one out yet. He looks angry which is perfectly normal when you want to cream a little person like me. Actually I'm not little and I workout and all it's just that Steve is like the next Terminator so I don't really have a chance. His group of friends follow behind him, all are smaller than him but I guess look up to him for some reason and follow him around all of the time. This is just perfect. I want to run but I know that he would catch me or one of his friends would catch me then probably do worst things. I call over Jacob to sit with me so at least I will have someone sort of big to fend for me. He quickly runs over and sits down just in time for Steve to say something.
"Hey scrawny! I heard that you were trying to steal my girlfriend!" Steve shouts with anger. My palms are like puddles of water floating on top of my skin so I rub them onto my pants and wish myself luck.
" Well she doesn't like me so what's your point?" I ask with uncertainty.
"My point is that nobody tries to take my girl," Steve says with great power. He unzips his sweater to reveal his muscle shirt underneath. I guess he was trying to get some attention when he put up his biceps and flexed for the students to see. His muscles were huge and I wondered how many hours he spent at a gym or if he took steroids. Cheers came from around the cafeteria, mostly from girls but some guys also cheered for the sake of him attacking me to a pulp. He walks over right to my face and punches me across my cheek. Blood is spurting everywhere and with great power I stand up and punch him right back right in the same place where he punched me. Nothing happened to him of course but all of my friends take me back to my seat. I see blood all over and feel very dizzy and I want to throw up. I see that Steve is just touching his cheek like it just stung a little but I could see inside that it really did hurt him. That made me feel a bit better but what made me feel worse was that Steve took his hand away from his cheek and screamed,
"I win!" He also flexed his unusually large biceps again to show that he was the ruler of the school and that if anyone tried to mess with him they would be bleeding.
"I hate him so much," I said between heavy breaths.
"We all do," said Jacob with a sigh. I wished I was dead again so when my group of friends went to their classes and I was stuck alone that I wouldn't be tortured.
The end of lunch bell rang just at the time when I didn't want it to ring. I began to cry but didn't care because I deserved a cry. I was humiliated in front of the whole school and punched by the strongest guy around. I was in serious pain so I got up and walked out of the cafeteria toward the nurses office. I open the door trying to get away from the crowds of people wanting to ask what happened and how I felt. The nurse walked over to me and grabbed some tissues, put them over my face and told me to sit down.
"What happened to you?" the nurse asked wondering what the heck happened.
"Long story," I replied without enthusiasm.
"Well your not going back to class so I have time and you have time," the nurse replies trying to sneak an answer out of me.
"Okay, I might as well tell you because if I don't then any other kid in the school will and he or she might change it so it's probably better if I tell the truth about what happened. It all started this morning when Julie and I were caught passing notes and blah blah blah and Mrs. Walkworth said something in front of the class which I forget what but anyway everyone in the class told everyone in the school and everyone in the school includes Julie's boyfriend who has a very bad temper by the way and at lunch he made a big deal about his muscles and then punched me and then showed off his muscles again then left and the end of lunch bell rang and now I'm here," I told the nurse.
"Steve Richardson punched you? You're still talking? You're still breathing? Wow," replies the nurse obviously shocked.
"You know who Julie is and who her boyfriend is and his last name and what Julie I was talking about?" I said astonished.
"Well I know the popular people because they always come in here to skip class and they always talk about their life. I don't get mad at them because it's sort of my hobby to hear all of the problems in the school and who's dating who," the nurse says with a smile.
"Right," I reply slowly pronouncing each letter.
"Steve is huge, I mean he's always at my gym and I talk to people who were there before me and they say that he was there before they got there and it's pretty unbelievable. He sure gets his gym membership money out of it that's for sure. To tell you the truth I don't think he's on steroids which is very surprising considering his strength," the nurse wonders.
"I really don't want to leave this room. I really don't feel like being bothered right now. I just want to stay in this chair till everybody leaves then ride the city bus home in a very large coat where nobody will notice me," I say in a depressing tone. The nurse’s nameplate flashes its golden letters at me. It says “Paddy”. Paddy begins to laugh, I look at her.
"People might think that your a terrorist," nurse Paddy replies.
"Fine, then can you tell Jacob to wait for me after school until everyone else leaves then we can go home?" I ask Paddy hoping that she will say yes and that I won't have to face my fears.
"Sure." I put a very large smile on my face.

Hi,

I can tell that you are living your story, which is a good thing. What you don't want to do is to tell us about each detail.

Example:
I guess we got off easy tonight. Usually it takes me about four hours each night for her homework and looking over what I have to do tonight it might only take a couple of hours. As soon as the bell rings in Mrs. Walkworth’s class, everybody runs out.

This is nothing that we need to know. It's okay to let us know that your teacher gives you tons of homework, but how many hours you usually sit doing it and how many hours you think you'll sit doing tonight is entirely unimportant.

About half of the information you provide in your first chapter can be deleted.

Here's another thing:
Steve is huge, I mean he's always at my gym and I talk to people who were there before me and they say that he was there before they got there and it's pretty unbelievable. He sure gets his gym membership money out of it that's for sure.

You use a lot of repetitive words like "sure" and "for sure" in the same sentence. And a lot of "there" "were there"...

Work on these things and think about what it is you actually want to tell us, and you might get a whole different and more interesting first chapter. :) Good luck.

2008-02-24 15:24:35 by mars bar