Saturday, December 16, 2006

Learn to survive — and thrive — no matter what comes your way

I've seen people do all kinds of things to relieve anxiety. Some have a glass of wine at dinner. Others shop or eat. But these are troubling times — with hurricanes, tsunamis, war, and acts of terrorism — and if drinking, eating, or hitting the mall is your way offending off anxiety over the state of the world, you should know that the bill will eventually come due. And I don't mean just the credit card statement. Such coping methods do nothing to build your inner strength and resiliency. Fortunately, there are ways to nurture true inner peace when outer peace isn't an option.

A few months ago, a woman I'll call Nancy attended one of my seminars. Nancy had been through hard times: Three years earlier her house had burned down; then her husband's National Guard unit shipped out to Iraq, and when he returned he was angry, depressed, and traumatized. The couple got therapy yet grew further apart until, finally, her husband asked for a divorce. Nancy realized she had a choice: She could drown in self-pity or move forward. After seeing how the trauma of war had torn up her husband, she wanted to make a difference with her life. So, at 35, she enrolled in nursing school.

I think even Nancy was surprised by her resilience. But her leap into a life of greater meaning came from a simple change in outlook. She shifted her focus from her own problems to the difficulties of others. And that one change brought her clarity and peace.

Man of Letters

Talk to P. Chudi Uwazurike (uwah-zoo-ree-kay) about Africa and you'll probably leave the conversation buoyant.

"Have you been to Africa lately?" eagerly asks the City College sociology professor, confident that the economic boom Asian countries like India and China have seen in recent years will be happening all over the African continent.

"What took other continents 800 years to [acquire] took Africa 80 years," Uwazurike boasts. The Nigerian native has a lot to be optimistic about having seen the progress of his homeland since the early days of independence in 1960.

Five years old when Nigeria won the struggle for independence, Uwazurike, 51, remembers the euphoria that swept through the West African nation when the Union Jack was lowered, marking the end of British dominance.

He also remembers the civil war that broke out shortly afterwards that dragged on for four years. Since the end of the civil war, oil-rich Nigeria has been plagued with instability. The most recent being a resurgence of the Biafran conflict that started the original civil war. There have also been clashes between Christians and Muslims.

Uwazurike, who earned his doctorate from Harvard University, where his focus was political development, has taught classes in international conflict resolution.

"People don't start fighting unless they feel marginalized," said Uwazurike, who asserts that many of the problems facing governments on the continent happen because pockets of citizens feel as though they're being excluded from the democratic process.

A self-described Pan-Africanist, Uwazurike is a prolific writer who has authored plays, essays, novels and short stories, including his most recent book. "Plavine Off Off Broadway and Other Writings." Released by Triatlantic Books, the nearly 700-page book took three decades to complete.

"It's really five books in one," explained Uwazurike of the volume that includes a novel, poetry and plays and focuses on the continent's growing pains and progress.

Between a busy teaching and writing schedule Uwazurike finds time to serve on the African Peer Review Commission. An outgrowth of the African Union, the commission gives scholars and others who have distinguished themselves in their field an opportunity to evaluate countries within the AU.

"I'm a big believer in the African Union," says Uwazurike, hopeful that his children and the younger generation of Africans and Black Americans will usher in a renaissance on the continent.

"My hope is that the African Union has a chance to succeed and African-Americans play a role," says the author, who is in the process of forming a forum where people of African descent in the United States can learn of investment opportunities on the continent. He particularly hopes that African Americans will take advantage of the opportunity.

"African-Americans embody our hopes," says Uwazurike, who believes with access to technological know-how and educational opportunities Black Americans have the potential to be full partners in the "emergence of a federated commonwealth of African States"

By Tanangachi Mfuni, Amsterdam News Staff

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

5 ways to… get some rest

1. Make up a couple of games you play lying down. One staffer plays a game where the baby pulls out all her receiving blankets and covers Morn with them. (Just make sure the room is baby-proofed, in case you doze for a sec.)
2. Tie yourself to the bed if you must, but do whatever it takes to nap when the baby naps. The second he goes down, go directly to bed (do not pass go, do not load the dishwasher). Think you're not a napper? Put on an eye mask, lie down, and count to 100-without thinking about dirty bottles or bibs. Are you still awake?
3. If you have an office at work, place a Post-it on the door reading "On an important call." Then put your head on your desk and sleep. Have a friend give you a wake-up call in 40 minutes.
4. Put your baby in the ExerSaucer in front of the TV. Insert whatever DVD floats her boat at the moment. Play the whole thing (forget that "20 minutes tops" nonsense), and snooze on the couch while the baby blisses out next to you.
5. Sometimes we get so anxious over our lack of sleep, we make ourselves feel even worse. The truth is, you won't get enough shut-eye until your baby is at least a year old. Try to embrace this fact and even go it one better, like staying up to watch The Daily Show. You'll feel like an adult again--a tired one, but an adult nonetheless.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Tips on Being at the Cutting Edge

Practical tips on plasma cutting from Mick Andrews, Welding Process superintendent at ESAB, are relayed by Andrew Pearce

After our introduction to plasma cutting and the way it works (FW, 30 June), here's a look at the practicalities. Setup begins at the torch, which has an on-off trigger and, in some cases, a stepped tip to follow a guide or template - useful in thin material. When working with precision in thicker stuff, rest the outer nozzle rather than the tip on a guide.

Torch components are few and fit together logically (picture 1). Switch off mains power before delving into the innards and don't lose the ceramic swirl baffle. If this is not in the fight place or damaged, plasma won't form properly and arcing inside the torch is likely.

The electrode and tip are both consumable. Use an electrode until it's about 5mm shorter than a new one. Wear beyond this makes it difficult for the pilot arc to jump to the tip, so the torch won't fire up.

The tip itself both constrains and directs the plasma jet, and cutting performance will suffer as the central hole erodes. With proper setup and a good tip, the cut line or kerf will be clean, narrow - much narrower than with a gas torch - and square-shouldered. Replace a tip as soon as its outlet elongates or grows (picture 2), or when the kerf widens and becomes untidy. The outer ceramic/fibre nozzle will gradually deteriorate but unless whole segments break away, this won't affect cutting performance.

The workshop compressor must be able to deliver ample air without flagging, or cutting performance will go downhill. About 120 litres/ rain air (4-5cfm) should serve single-phase sets, while bigger ones need 165 litres/min (5.5-6.0cfm). Fit the air supply point with a water trap and turn off or remove any lubricator. Use air hose of at least 8mm bore if a short extension is needed.

A good plasma cutting set has its own inbuilt water trap/regulator. This, and the one on the supply outlet, must be empty and clean. Set air pressure to the maker's requirement on the set's own regulator, using an air check facility where provided to mimic cutting conditions. Typical pressure will be 5.5-6bar (80-90psi).

All that's left to dial in is the amperage required for a clean, full-depth cut in the material you're working with. Experimenting is the best way forward, at least until you can see what your set will do.

The thermal conductivities of aluminium and stainless steel are different from those of carbon and cast steels, so cutting capacity is lower in these metals. Naturally, thickness has an effect. Using high current on thin material won't cause problems as long as you speed up forward travel to suit, while in thick stuff` you'll have to slow down progressively. The set's upper limit is reached when the kerf won't clear and slag blows back towards the torch.

A caution or two to start. When slicing with gas, even a tiny air gap stops the cut - but not so with plasma. The good news is that you can stack-cut several sheets at once. The negative is that when you're trying to separate one thing from another (say, a damaged bearing from its housing), you can no longer rely on the gap between parts to stop the cut. On top of that, you'll need to take more care when working over something you might not want damaged, such as an anvil.

And watch out where you put the set's return lead. As with any arc process, if current passes through the small contact points of bearings or bushes on its way back to the set, resistance heating can flat-spot them.

Cuts in thin materials or at low currents (below 45A) are made with the torch tip resting on the work. For higher currents and thicker materials, leave a 2-3mm stand-off gap between tip and work. A specially-designed stand-off nozzle can be used where consistent top-quality results matter.

To start a cut, position yourself where you can see the tip all the while. Hold the torch so the tip's central hole is just in contact with the work (picture 3). This allows the plasma stream to initiate quickly. Then squeeze the trigger. After a burst of compressed air, the arc fires up and the cut starts. Move off at a speed that keeps a steady stream of molten slag flowing from below (picture 4).

On thin sheet, hold the torch vertical. In thicker stuff; the plasma column bends on its way through, so allow for this by angling the torch slightly away from the direction of travel (picture 5). At the end of a cut, keep the trigger down until the sliced plate falls away. If you let up too soon, the plasma stream won't clear the bottom edge and leave a tiny island uncut.

Plasma can pierce holes in any conductive material, although maximum depth is limited to about 60% of the set's cutting thickness capability.

Like when starting to pierce with gas, molten metal will splash up from the surface. If fine metal spray interferes with the magnetic field around the plasma column, the column can sway into the tip and damage it. Or if molten metal bridges between the tip and plate, high current will flow through this bridge and wreck the tip completely.

Sidestep both problems by starting to pierce with the torch canted over at roughly 45°. Once the initial splash has subsided and a crater opens up, gradually bring the torch upright. Maintain a stand-off gap of about twice the normal cutting height between tip and plate, or as much as the set will allow. Work round the embryo hole until it is the required size.

Unless you're blessed with a good eye and a steady hand (or a circle cutting attachment), some shape modification is usually needed. While you can carve slices from the edge of a hole to round it out or increase its diameter, this is not as easy as with gas, because the plasma stream stops immediately when there is no conductive metal below it.

Gouging is a good way to open a preparation U-groove before welding. Plasma is ideal for the job, but you'll need a three-phase set - single-phase units don't have the grunt to produce a long plasma column. Which is a pity, because gouging with plasma is faster, more effective and less fume-ridden than with a MMA rod. Use a wide tip, hold the torch at around 40° and blow metal away, repeating if necessary, until the fight profile/depth is reached.

Plasma cutting is an arc process, so cover up exposed areas and use a welding filter specified for arc use. Gas welding goggles will not do. Torch maintenance must never be carried out with the plasma cutter switched on, either.

By Andrew Pearce

Saturday, November 04, 2006

13,000 people playing chess in Mexico City

5 Inspiring True Life Dramas

Everyone has a story to tell. Maybe you battled a terrible illness. Or committed a great heroic act. Or struggled to make your dream come true. Whatever your story, sharing it can inspire others to overcome their problems or just let them know they're not alone. Here, the life stories of five amazingly brave souls.

"i survived leukemia"

Jack's Mannequin singer Andrew McMahon, 24, thought feeling tired all the time was just part of being a rock star, But then he found out the truth.

Growing up, my family moved around a lot, from Massachusetts to New Jersey to Illinois and California. I'm not sure if that had an effect on my personality, but I do know that I was a weird kid. For one thing, I talked really loud all the time. My parents actually took me to the doctor because they thought I was deaf. But the truth was, I just talked really loud. Hey, I had four older siblings and wanted to be heard!

My siblings were always very athletic, but I was more into the arts. I started taking piano lessons in the first grade, which gave me something to do so I didn't have to pretend that I could play sports. My junior year of high school, in Orange County, California, I started a band called Something Corporate with some of my friends. We won our school's battle of the bands competition and got good buzz from performing locally--but we didn't record anything until the owner of a local venue helped us pay for our demo at the end of our senior year. I sent it to a bunch of record labels, and by spring 2001, when I was 19 years old, we had a record deal!

Our first album came out in May 2002, and we immediately started touring all over Europe. The next two years were amazing but exhausting, so in the summer of 2004 we took a break. Later that year, I decided I wanted to try to record some other music, so I formed another band called Jack's Mannequin. That December, we recorded our first album, and in March 2005 we headed out on tour.

I couldn't believe it, but I was living my dream--I was a rock star! Then one day in April, during the tour, I started losing my voice. I thought it was because I smoked, so I quit. I was also suddenly really tired. all the time. I just figured I was overtired from the tour, so I didn't even go to the doctor. But that May, my voice got so bad that I had to cancel our show in New Jersey. went to see my voice doctor, and he gave me a blood test. The next day, I felt good so I figured I'd just had a sinus infection or something. But my voice doctor called later that day with some disturbing news. "Andrew, your blood work is extraordinary," he said. I was like, "That's good, right?" But he said, "No, it's extraordinarily bad." He told me to go to the New York Presbyterian Hospital--to the leukemia ward. He wasn't saying I definitely had leukemia, but he wanted me to get checked out. Still, the possibility of it was bad enough. I called my manager, and as soon as I said the word leukemia, I started bawling.

The doctor saw me immediately and said it was one of two things--aplastic anemia or leukemia. He said he had to do a bone marrow biopsy to find out and wanted me to stay at the hospital while we waited for the results. That was going to take five days, so I called my sister, Emily, who lives in New York; and she came to the hospital. I also called my parents, who arrived the next day from California. I tried not to stress out too much over the next few days. Whatever it was, I thought, at least I was in a place where they could help me. On the day the results came in, my parents, Emily, my girlfriend, Kelly, and my manager, Arvis, were all with me in my hospital room. When the doctor explained that had acute lymphoblastic leukemia, I didn't know what to think. At 22, you just don't say cancer.

My family was so upset, they had to leave the room. I just lay there bracing myself for what was ahead.

I left New York the next day for Los Angeles, where I began chemotherapy at UCLA. The doctors were optimistic about my chances of survival, but the chemo was brutal, I developed a bad case of pneumonia and almost died. My mom was literally getting ready to call the family to have them come say good-bye to me, but then my blood count turned around. Since chemo doesn't always kill all the leukemia cells, I opted to try another, more aggressive treatment a few weeks later. What I had was a stem cell transplant, a really high dose of drugs and/or radiation that kills the leukemia. Basically, the radiation destroys all your blood cells--even the "normal" ones. Then the stem cells grow into new, healthy blood cells.

There were a few complications after my transplant. Like, I developed sores on my throat, which is a common side effect, so I couldn't eat and lost a lot of weight. But at least I didn't get severe graft-versus-host disease, which happens when donated stem cells react against a patient's tissues--it can be life threatening. In fact, the survival rate for adults who have a stem cell transplant is only about 50 percent. I was lucky.

I can't say my cancer has been "cured." There's always the chance it could come back. But my doctor says that if it hasn't come back within two years of the transplant, the odds are pretty good that it never will. That means I have about a year to go before I feel like I'm in the clear. So right now, I'm just trying to stay positive.

One thing that helps me do that is music. When I was first diagnosed with leukemia, I told my band not to wait around for me just in case I didn't make it. But they stuck with me. Actually, we'd already recorded our album before I got sick, and it was released on the day that I had my stem cell transplant. When I got better, we went back on the road. In fact, we just finished another tour about a month ago, and seeing all our fans being so supportive felt great.

Something I'm planning on doing soon is visiting hospitals to talk to kids who are going through what I went through. Maybe hearing my story will help them in some way. But I don't think of myself as a hero at all--there are many kids out there who are fighting cancer. I just look at it this way: I was psyched to be able to make a living being a musician and touring the world. But now I have even more reason to celebrate life.

Check out Andrew's music and learn about the Dear Jack Foundation at

--Kristen Sardis

"I racked up $15,000 in credit card debt"

Alina Schall, 24, got her first credit card six years ago. Now she's digging her way out of a deep hole of debt.

You'd think that at 24 I'd be an independent person, able to take care of myself. But I'm not. While I have a job and live on my own, I can barely pay my rent each month. I have to borrow my parents' car when I need to go somewhere because I can't afford one of my own, my mom has to buy my groceries, and going out with my friends is a luxury. This is all because every single penny I earn goes toward paying off my credit cards.

When I was in high school in Allport, Pennsylvania, I didn't really worry about money. My parents would always give me cash if I wanted to go to the movies or something. I wasn't a big shopper at the time, so aside from school clothes, which my parents bought for me, there was nothing I really needed.

When I started college at Penn State, though, things changed. Suddenly I found myself wanting new outfits for parties and nights out with my friends. My parents hadn't been able to save much for my college education, so they couldn't help me out with spending money. I felt like I never had enough cash to do anything.

But soon I started getting mail from companies saying that I was "pre-approved" for their credit cards. I had no idea how they got my address, and I just figured it was junk mail. But then one of my friends sent in an application for a card and actually got one--even though she didn't have a job. With her card, she started buying whatever she wanted, and I got really jealous. We'd go to parties and she'd wear her latest cute purchase, while I had to settle for the same old stuff I had in my closet.

Toward the end of my first semester, I went online to try to find a credit card and saw that a bank called MBNA was promoting their new Visa card. I thought that if my friend could get a credit card, maybe I could too. So I called MBNA and said I'd like to apply for a Visa card. When the woman asked me how much money I made, I said, "I don't make anything. I don't have a job." But that didn't matter. Without asking me how I would pay off my charges, she took the rest of my information and told me I was approved. Within a week, I received my new. Visa card in the mail--with a $1,000 limit.

I felt like I'd been handed a fortune. All I had to do was swipe the plastic, sign the receipt, and walk away with my brand-new goodies. I was spending around $400 a month of my "free money." And the more I shopped, the more credit cards I got. I signed up for cards at my favorite, stores--J. Crew, Express, Victoria's Secret, Abercrombie & Fitch--thinking, Cool! More money!

I always thought I'd somehow come up with the cash to pay my bills each month. And for the first year, I was okay because I had some money saved from my summer job at Uni-Mart. But when that money ran out, I was stuck. I couldn't afford my minimum payments of $40 a month, but instead of trying to figure out a way to come up with the money, I went into denial about my debt. I thought, I already have school loans to pay back--what's a few more dollars? I started spending $1,000 a month on clothes and ignoring my bills completely. Whenever I'd max out one card, I'd just sign up for another. By my junior year, I had four store cards, two Visas, an American Express, and a Discover card. The high interest rates on my balances and all the late fees for missing payments were adding up--by my junior year, I owed a total of $15,000. I was in way over my head.

The credit card companies started calling me several times a day, threatening legal action. So senior year, I broke down and told my mom what was happening. There I was, 22 years old, and I was running to my mom to dig me out of a mess I'd created by being irresponsible. It was humiliating.

As much as I hated having to involve my mom, she helped me get a bank loan so I could start paying off some of my cards. So far, with her help, I've been able to pay off four cards. But I still have almost $5,000 in credit card debt--plus, I have to pay back the $9,500 bank loan. The bank loan has a much lower interest rate than credit card companies, though, so I'm still in better shape than I used to be.

I'm hoping that in a few years, I'll be completely debt-free. Unfortunately, though, by spending money I didn't have, I ruined my credit. That means that if I try to buy a car or even rent an apartment, I'll get rejected once they see my credit history. And bad credit doesn't just disappear. It's like a criminal record--it stays with you for years. So now I'm facing the consequences of what I did. In the meantime, I'm trying to live by a new rule: From now on, I only buy something if I have the cash to pay for it.

Are you in debt and don't know how to get out? Check out American Consumer Credit Counseling at

Katie L. Connor

"i had leg surgery to make me taller"

Amanda Folga, 18, hated the way her body looked. But what she went through to change it was almost unbearable.

I've spent so much time at the Shriners Children's Hospital in Oak Park, Illinois, that most of the staffers know me by name. My visits started back when I was 5. While my mom was giving me a bath, she noticed that my left leg was a bit shorter than my right. She'd never noticed it before, but apparently there had been signs. Back then I used to stand with my hands on my hips leaning off to the side--like I had an attitude. My parents tell me they didn't really think much of it at the time, figuring it was just my personality. But it turns out, it wasn't. I was standing that way because my legs were uneven.

Once my mom noticed the difference in the tub that night, my parents took me to the doctor; X-rays confirmed my left leg was three inches shorter than my right. Apparently, the meningitis I'd had when I was a baby caused the plates in my knees and ankles to fuse, so I didn't grow normally. The doctor said eventually my legs would become so uneven, I wouldn't be able to walk. He suggested surgery to lengthen my left leg, and my parents decided to go for it. During surgery, the doctor had to break the bones in my left leg and put on a metal fixture that went from my ankle to my hip. There were 21 pins connected to three rings, and the pins went straight through my skin and bones and out the other side. Every day, my parents had to turn these clickers that would re-break my leg, leaving space for new bone to grow. I was so young, I don't remember much about it, but it worked--after nine months, my legs were even.

But a few years later, my right leg outgrew the left again; the doctor had warned my parents that might happen. So at 9, I had surgery again. Then again. And again. By the time I was 13, I'd probably had a dozen surgeries. Every one of them was horrible: I had to be in a wheelchair for months after and was in a lot of pain. And being in junior high for most of those months was pretty humiliating. I had to have an aide bring me from class to class. I couldn't exactly look cool with this lady following me around, making notes on a clipboard. I also missed a ton of school, so I didn't make any real friends. I basically spent junior high going to school, then heading straight home.

When I was 13, my legs were even again, but there was one problem. I was only 4′2″. It wasn't just that I was short; I was disproportionate. My legs appeared abnormally short compared with my upper body, which was normal size. So when my doctor told me he could do the surgery again, this time on both legs to make me taller, I decided to do it. I figured, I've already done this so many times, what's once more?

My doctor wanted me to be absolutely sure I was making the right decision, so he made me wait a couple of years before he'd do it. When I was 15, I was still sure. So in May 2005 I had the double leg procedure. This time, though, when I woke up after surgery, the pain was unbearable. Having both legs operated on at once was so much worse. Even the pain medication didn't do much. It felt like I was being stabbed every time I tried to move. And this time I had nerve pain too, which felt like I was being electrocuted. I didn't sleep through the night for months.

I spent the entire summer before my senior year in bed, watching TV or reading. I was so depressed, I started regretting my decision--and blaming my parents. "Why didn't you talk me out of this?" I'd yell. I felt I'd made the worst mistake of my life.

Even though I was still in a lot of pain, I went back to school in the fall. And by January 2006, the pain was gone. I'm almost five feet tall now, and I'm happy with my body. I don't look different anymore; I just look short. The sad part is, though, I thought this would be the end of the surgeries--but it's not. It turns out my fight leg is now about two inches shorter than my left, So I have to have another surgery next year. I feel like this saga will never end. And honestly, if I'd known it was going to be like this, I don't know that I'd make the same decision again. But there is a positive side to my whole experience. I don't get stressed out about little things. Like, if a guy doesn't call me, I don't worry about it because I know that in a few weeks or months, I'll be over it--just like when I thought my pain would never end and then it eventually did. Still, my advice to other girls considering this surgery is not to go through with it unless you're so short that it's really making your life difficult. Otherwise, just try to accept yourself as you are.


The kind of surgery that Amanda had is rare in the United States, but it's not uncommon in China. With the average Chinese woman standing 5′2″, anyone taller than that is admired as a rare beauty. Height is held in such esteem by the Chinese that they even list height requirements in their classified ads for job openings! In the U.S., though, most doctors limit who they'll operate on. And many groups, including the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery and the American Academy of Orthopedic Surgeons, are opposed to the practice. For more info, go to

--Josie Swindler

"my parents tried to tear my boyfriend and me apart"

Suzy(*), 18, was only allowed to date within her Vietnamese culture. So when she fell in love with a Mexican guy, her world turned upside down.

I was born and raised in the U.S. by my parents, who immigrated here from Vietnam before I was born. My 14-year-old sister and I were taught to excel in school, to respect elders, and, most importantly, to only date Vietnamese guys. When I was younger, my parents' rules were like law to me, and I was okay with them. I was the perfect Catholic Asian girl who played piano, got straight A's, and had her life planned out for her. But that last part changed when I met Marc*.

In February of 2004, my sophomore year of high school, Marc moved to my town from Mexico. He was in my history class, and my friends and I thought he was cute and funny. He had the same sarcastic sense of humor that I had. But since we sat on opposite sides of the classroom, we hardly talked. Later that month, a fire broke out at school and everyone was evacuated. My friends and I were hanging out by the running track and Marc came over and said hi. I was wearing new pants that day and saying how I didn't want to sit on the dewy grass and ruin them. I couldn't believe it when Marc took off his sweatshirt and put it on the ground for me to sit on! I was embarrassed because all my friends were giving me the oh-my-God look--but secretly, I was thrilled!

After that day, Marc and I talked more during school. I never thought anything serious would come of it because of my parents' rule--my only real boyfriend so far had been Vietnamese--but I liked him, so we exchanged phone numbers. Our phone conversations lasted for hours, sometimes until five in the morning. We talked about everything, from our favorite colors to our career goals. He told me how he plans to become a lawyer; I shared with him how much I want to be a doctor. I'd never met a guy I felt so comfortable with. Marc didn't judge me or want me to be anyone other than who I was. He made me feel happy and free.

When he asked me out on a date in April, I was so excited. I knew my parents wouldn't let me go, so I told them I was hanging out with friends and instead went to a dance show at my school with Marc. We sat in the back of the auditorium, and at one point I leaned over to say something and my face accidentally brushed his lips. When I turned to say sorry, he kissed me. It was awkward--but so cute! We went out a few more times that month, and by May we were a couple.

At the end of the school year, we got some bad news. Our class was going to be split into two schools in the fall, and we found out that Marc and I had been assigned to different ones. We were really upset, and I thought that getting my parents' blessing would help us stay strong during the split. One night my parents were throwing a party and I told them I was inviting a boy I wanted them to meet. I knew they wouldn't approve of Marc not being Asian. But being Mexican was even worse because for some reason, my dad had always sort of disliked Mexicans. So I blurted out that Marc was Italian. When he came to the party, my parents loved him and thought he was polite. My room even suggested he meet us at the mall the next day so they could get to know him better, I'd forgotten to tell Marc about my lie, though, and during dinner at the food court he mentioned that his parents were from Mexico. My parents didn't say anything just then, but after Marc left, everything exploded. "I didn't raise you to date a Mexican!" my dad yelled, as if it were a dirty word. I couldn't believe he was changing his opinion about Marc just because of his ethnicity. I argued with him for days, but he just kept saying things like Mexicans are lazy and vulgar and I could do better.

After a couple of weeks, I started questioning my relationship with Marc. I just wasn't sure it was worth all the stress my family was putting me through. I started treating him differently too. Like, when he'd put off doing his homework, all of a sudden I saw it as laziness. And if he told a rude joke, I'd say, "You're so crude!" Marc was like, "What's going on? Why are you letting your dad brainwash you?" But I didn't see what was happening. All I knew was that I was miserable. I was always exhausted because I'd be up crying all night. I had no appetite and was losing a lot of weight. It was just too much to handle, so in June I broke up with Marc.

I thought I'd feel better afterward, but even though my parents were happy, I was more depressed than ever. It felt like something was missing from my heart. So without telling my parents, I went to see Marc a week later and asked him to take me back. We were both so happy, we were in tears. I couldn't believe he forgave me after how badly I'd treated him. But that just goes to show what an amazing person he is.

Marc and I have been together for two and a half years now, and my family still has no idea. They just think I haven't met a guy I like yet. But Marc's family has been so supportive. They've helped us keep our cover, and senior year, we saw each other practically every day. I do feel conflicted, like I'm living two lives. But I know in my heart I'm doing the right thing. Choosing to be with Marc was the moment I became my own person.

This September, Marc and I started college an hour and a half apart. It's so nice not having to sneak around to see each other on weekends. My parents have gotten used to the idea that I may want to date outside of my race, but I just don't feel ready to tell them about Marc and me yet. I'm waiting until they see me as more of an adult. Through all of this, though, I've learned something important: Love really is color-blind. And no matter what you're raised to believe, your heart always tells you the truth.


"i was molested in my high school bathroom"

Nikol Castro, 18, had always felt safe in her small town. But one day a strange man appeared in the least likely place--and left her terrified.

In September 2005, I'd just started my senior year of high school in Satellite Beach, Florida, a quiet retirement town about an hour east of Orlando. I'd worked hard to graduate a year early and planned to take classes at the Paul Mitchell beauty school. My goal is to own my own hair salon one day--but first I wanted to enjoy my last year of high school. I was looking forward to hanging out on the beach a lot with my friends and my boyfriend, Nathan. He was already in college, but we'd been dating for about seven months, and I was really excited to take him to my senior prom.

But just a few weeks into the school year, something happened that I never would have expected. At 9:55 a.m. on September 12, I asked my geometry teacher for a bathroom pass. I walked to my school's outdoor portable bathroom, which is basically a trailer with five stalls inside. I went into the first stall and had just started texting Nathan when I heard a thump on the floor outside of my stall. When I leaned down to take a look, my heart stopped. Four stalls over, there was a man staring right back at me--and he blew me a kiss. I had no idea what he wanted, but I knew I had to get out of there fast. But before I could, the man's head suddenly popped in from under my stall door. Within seconds, he'd crawled under and was standing in the stall with me.

I was terrified--I thought he was going to rape or kill me. But I thought if I screamed I'd just make him angry, so I tried to stay calm. He didn't speak very good English, so he signaled me to lift up my shirt. When he started kissing me and touching my breasts, I felt disgusting. I tried to get him to stop by saying that my teacher was going to come looking for me soon, but he didn't listen to me. He just kept kissing me and saying things like "shhh," "beautiful," and "yum."

He was standing in front of the stall door, blocking it so I couldn't get away, when all of a sudden he ripped my gold charm necklace from my neck. It was a gift from Nathan, but I said, "This is my mother's, and it's really important to me," hoping he'd feel bad and let me keep it. Luckily, it worked--he dropped it to the floor. But then things got worse. He told me to pull my underwear down, and then he tried to stick his fingers inside of me. I backed away and curled up within myself to keep his hands from touching me, but the stall was so cramped, it was hard to keep away from him. When he started to undo his pants, I freaked. I was afraid if I screamed he'd get mad and act more violent, so instead I shoved him. That seemed to shock him a bit--he kissed me once more and said, "Don't tell anyone. Thank you. I love you." Then he crawled back under the stall and left.

Once he was gone, my first thought was to get dressed--but I was so shocked, I just started crying. After a few minutes, though, I managed to pull my pants up, fix my shirt, grab my necklace, and leave. As I walked back to the main school building, I felt so violated, humiliated, and disgusting. And I just couldn't believe that this had just happened in my school bathroom.

There was another girl walking toward the bathroom as I was leaving, and I grabbed her arm and screamed, "Did you see that man?" She said, "Yes," so I yelled, "He touched me! Come with me!" as lied her to the dean's office. Then I told the dean everything that had happened.

The dean alerted the school police officer, who immediately called for backup to help find the guy. I was relieved that the police were there, but I was still so shaken up that I couldn't stop crying. Over the next hour or so, the police focused on trying to catch the man who had molested me. I gave them a description of my attacker, and they flew a helicopter over the area to try to spot him. But they didn't find him.

I finally called my mom and told her what had happened. She rushed over to the school to pick me up, and when she got there I just felt so ashamed. Somehow, I felt like this whole thing was my fault for asking for a pass out of class to begin with. All I wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and sleep.

I realized Nathan was probably wondering where I was, since I'd suddenly stopped texting him in the bathroom earlier. But I was too upset to call him. Later that night, he got worried and called my mom's cell phone. She told him what had happened--but I just couldn't bring myself to talk to him. I still felt so dirty, So around 8 p.m., I crawled into bed.

The next day, I slept in and didn't go to school. My mom was nervous about me going back so soon, and I was too--especially since my attacker was still on the loose. Nathan came over later that day, and it was good to see him. We didn't talk about what had happened--l just wanted the memories to go away. For a few days, it was hard to hug or kiss him. I couldn't even tell him everything until a week later. But he was so supportive from the start, and I felt so secure being with him. He and my mom helped me build up the strength to return to school. It was about two weeks after the attack that I woke up and told myself, "Listen, I have to graduate. I can't let some man ruin my senior year." I went back to school, and by mid-October, things seemed to be back to normal. I still took a friend with me every time I went to the restroom, though, and I never used the portable bathrooms again.

Later that month, the Satellite Beach police called. They'd had a hunch that my attacker might have been working at one of the construction sites near my school, so they'd gone through the work logs of those sites to identify employees who hadn't shown up at work the day of my attack. They had pinpointed one who matched my description--Oscar Perez. The 35-year-old had a friend drive him to Miami after he saw the police sketch of him on the news. From there, he flew to Kingston, New York, where cops found him. It turns out Perez had been living in the U.S. illegally, and he was arrested on the spot.

My mom and I rushed to the station, and I looked at. a photo lineup. As soon as I saw number six, I knew it was the guy who had attacked me. It was Perez. When police questioned him about the attack, he confessed. He said he'd wandered onto my campus while working construction nearby. I was so relieved that he was caught and that I didn't have to worry about him lurking on the streets anymore.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to speak at Perez's plea agreement meeting in February 2006 because I had to work that day. There were some things I wanted to say to him, though, so I wrote a letter for the judge to read out loud in the courtroom. I wrote about how difficult it was to have to doubt the safety of my own school--a place where I should have felt protected. I told him how much pain he caused me and how I feel like always have to watch my back now. I have no idea how Perez reacted to my letter, but the state attorney called me later that day to tell me that he was going to get at least five years in prison. That day, February 17, also happened to be my one-year anniversary with Nathan, so we made dinner to celebrate. It was the end of that chapter of my life. Now it was time to begin a new one.

Perez ended up getting 10 years in prison, which made me so happy. It's been a year since I was attacked, and I rarely think about that awful day anymore. I'm a student at the Paul Mitchell beauty school now, and Nathan and I are still going strong. I admit, my arm hair still rises when I'm using a public bathroom and I hear a strange noise. Most of the time I have Nathan stand outside of the bathroom and wait for me, which makes me feel better, but I know I won't need him to do that forever. I'm getting stronger every day. And I'm not going to let Oscar Perez--or anyone else--take away my independence.


Wednesday, November 01, 2006

10 Tips For Higher Test Scores

With these surefire guidelines, students can boost their scores on the new generation of standardized assessments

Today, many standardized tests require more than multiple choice; students are asked to provide written answers to open-ended questions. Integrate these 10 test-taking strategies into your regular curriculum, and get students prepared to take on the tests and come out on top!

1. Read all directions carefully to make sure you know what you are supposed to do. In language arts tests, for example, some directions will tell you to find the sentence that is written correctly. Others will tell you to pick out the mistakes or errors yourself.

2. Take a quick look at the questions before you read a story or article so you know what to look for in the text. If, for example, all the questions about a story are concerned with the characters and the sequence of events, then you must pay closer attention to those two elements as you read.

3. Look for key words (such as who, what, when, where, why) to help you decide how to answer the question. For example: Why did Randall go back to the railroad station? The key word here is why. It tells you to look for a cause or a reason.
How are zebras different from horses? The key word in this question is different. You will need to concentrate on explaining how the creatures differ.

4. Use the parts of the question to help plan your answer. For example: Choose the person from the story whom you admire most. Write a paragraph telling why you admire that person. Use details from the story to support your answer. To answer this problem, think about its three parts. First, choose the person you admire. Next, jot down reasons why you admire the person. Then, go back to the story to find details to support your ideas.

5. Look back at the text (or other material) to find the information you need. For some reason, many students seem to think that once they have read a selection they cannot go back to it. This is not true. Feel free to go back to the text (or picture, chart, table, etc.) to find the answer to each question.

6. Think first, then write. Especially with essay questions, planning your response is helpful. Jot down notes before you write your response. Use prewriting strategies (such as brainstorming, note taking, and outlining) to organize the information you need and help decide how to present it. This approach will save valuable time by improving your focus–clarifying your thoughts before you record them on paper.

7. Write clearly and legibly. You will not receive any credit for an answer if the person scoring the test cannot read it. Also, be direct and concise. Using more words than necessary will not earn more points.

8. Pay attention to how the test will be scored. Many short-answer items, for example, are scored 1 (correct) or 0 (incorrect) for content only. For these, write the correct answer and move on. For questions that are scored on a scale (such as 0-2, 0-4, or 0-5), you can earn more points for answers that are more complete and are written with correct grammar, punctuation, capitalization, and spelling.

9. Manage your time. Many tests must be completed within strict time limits. To score as well as you can, you need to answer as many questions as possible. Before you begin working, think about how much time you have for each question. Keep track of the time as you work, and stick to the schedule. If you come to a question that seems too difficult, skip that question and come back to it later.

10. Check your work. When you have finished answering all the questions, go back and check to make sure each answer is written clearly and correctly. Don’t hesitate to make changes if you have time to do so, but make sure your corrections are clear and easy to read.

By: Michael Priestley, Instructor

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Joke of the Day

A woman went to the doctor's office, where she was seen by one of the new doctors.

But after about four minutes in the examination room, she burst out, screaming as she ran down the hall.

An older doctor stopped her and asked what the problem was, and she told him her story. After listening, he had her sit down and relax in another room.

The older doctor marched down the hallway, found the first doctor, and demanded,

"What's the matter with you?"

"Mrs. Terry is 63 years old, she has four grown children and seven grandchildren, and you told her she was pregnant?"

The new doctor continued to write on his clipboard and without looking up said,

"Does she still have the hiccups?"

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Fifteen Easy Ways to Save Fifteen Bucks

Fifteen dollars isn’t that much, but it’s so easy to make minor adjustments like these, and doing them regularly can mean extra money to go toward debt, emergency savings, investing, or retirement. Some of these tips even let you continue to have a lifestyle that’s far from Spartan.

  • If you’re a coffee drinker, brew your own rather than buy it on the run. If you have two cups a day at $1.50 each workday, that’s $60 over a month. You can buy a decent coffee maker, really good bean or ground coffee, and a Stanley stainless steel insulated thermos for about $45 and come out $15 ahead after the first month!
  • Switch to water when dining out. Drinks are where restaurants make a killing, and after five dinners with your spouse/SO you’ll be $15 ahead.
  • Try some generic brands on your next grocery shopping trip. It’s not hard at all to save $15 on a $100 grocery trip this way.
  • Unless the movie absolutely needs to be seen in a theater, wait for it to come out on DVD and rent it. At $18 for two tickets, plus that much for popcorn and drinks, you can save $15 easily. Bonus: no stepping in dried puddles of sugary soda!
  • Cancel a magazine that you don’t read anymore. The reduced visual noise is priceless.
  • Head to the library rather than buy a new hardcover book in the store. Your mileage may vary depending on how well-stocked your library is. With new hardcovers $20 and up, you can read it for free when your library gets it. Besides, will you read it again?
  • Get a $25 dining gift certificate for $10 at Your favorite restaurant may be in the network!
  • Bring in your lunch for a week. Three dollars a day is doable, and it will probably be healthier.
  • Try a water filter instead of bottled water. A Brita pitcher filter will purify about 35 gallons. With bottled water more expensive than gasoline, $15 in savings is a no-brainer.
  • Drop extended cable TV service. See if you miss CSPAN2 and the Golf Channel.
  • Take your kids to the park for a picnic instead of to Chuck E. Cheese.
  • Bring in your snacks instead of feeding the vending machines. Depending on how much you normally eat at work you could save $15 in a couple of weeks.
  • Visit a thrift store. People give away some really nice stuff! We got a bread machine for $5 that I know cost more than $20 new.
  • Eliminate a couple of trips into town by planning ahead a little. $15 in gas is only about 100-150 miles now.
  • Don’t buy flowers on your wedding anniversary. Just kidding on this one — sometimes saving $15 is very costly!!

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

The man in the airplane lavatory...

A man traveling by plane and in urgent need to use the mens room is nervously tapping his foot on the floor of the aircraft. Each time he tried the mens room door, it was "OCCUPIED".
The stewardess, aware of his predicament suggested that he go ahead and use the ladies room, but cautioned him against using any of the buttons inside. The buttons were marked "WW, WA, PP and ATR".
Making the mistake that so many men make in disregarding the importance of what a woman says, the man let his curiosity get the best of him and decided to try the buttons anyway.
He carefully pressed the first button marked "WW" and immediately warm water sprayed all over his entire bottom. He thought, "WOW, the women really have it made!". Still curious, he pressed the button marked "WA" and a gentle breeze of warm air quickly dried his hind quarters. He thought that was out of this world! The button marked "PP" yielded a large powder puff which delicately applied a soft talc to his rear. Well, naturally he couldn't resist the last button marked "ATR".

When he woke up in the hospital he panicked and buzzed for the nurse. When she appeared, he cried out, "What happened to me?! The last thing I remember is I was in the ladies room on a business trip!"
The nurse replied, "Yes, you were having a great time until you pressed the 'ATR' button which stands for Automatic Tampon Remover... Your penis is under your pillow!"

Anna Kournikova

Anna Kournikova
Anna Kournikova
Anna Kournikova
Anna Kournikova
Anna Kournikova
Anna Kournikova
Anna Kournikova
Anna Kournikova
Anna Kournikova

Friday, August 04, 2006

Mother in Law

My mother-in-law is not known for her driving skills. So it came as no surprise when she was in another accident a couple of months back.
She came out of a side street and ran slam-bang into the town doctor's car.
"Oh Doc!" she exclaimed, "I'm so awfully sorry!"
"That's perfectly all right," he said, "It was all my fault."
"I don't know how you can say that. I'm sure it was entirely my fault."
"No, no, ma'am it was my fault. I'll take the entire blame."
"But why is it your fault? I ran into you, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did. But I saw you driving downtown half an hour ago, and I had plenty of time to take my car home and put it in the garage, but like a damn fool, I didn't do it!"

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Top 10 Vehicles Owned by Billionaires

If your pockets were as deep as Bill Gates’ what would you drive? A new Porsche or a seven-year-old one? Each year, Forbes magazine compiles a list of the world’s wealthiest people. While awaiting the release of the 2006 list, which will be published in March, wanted to give you a look at the vehicles driven by the billionaires at the top of the 2005 list. Check back in March when we update this list to reflect the Top 10 ranking for 2006.

The cars and trucks driven by those in the Top 10 of the 2005 Forbes list was, in short, shocking. You won’t find a Bugatti, Ferrari or BMW driven by these billionaires. But you will find a Lincoln, a Mazda, even a Dodge and Ford. It seems that for the super-rich, a vehicle is seen not as a status symbol, but as a means to an end in which to get from point A to point B. Status is something that these billionaires need not prove to others. In many cases, the people on our list prefer to live inconspicuously, avoiding the limelight at all costs. This might explain why many of their vehicles cost less than your own daily driver.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Just how small are we, here on Earth?

Now, THIS is really fascinating - I've never really given this any thought whatsoever, but it's rather dazzling to see it presented this way.

I certainly thought this was enlightening. Didn't even realize we knew much beyond our sun .... It's a big universe.

Antares is the 15th brightest star in the sky. It is more than 1000 light years away.