100 Places To See In Your Lifetime-#64-Machu Picchu, Peru-"Set high in the Andes between two sharp peaks is a pre-Columbian fortress city that is an Incan mystery for the ages. Created in the 15th century as a royal estate, it was unknown to the outside world until an American discovered it in 1911. The isolation was indeed a boon in preserving the exquisitely executed granite masonry." Beautiful place, but of course I've said that about everything, and will always keep saying it...So today was the dreaded day for everyone who remembers 9/11...I was still in the states then....What I kept hearing after that day was "this isn't supposed to happen here, things like this just don't happen in the United States..." but it can and it did. That wasn't the first time, the other time, if anyone else rememebers it was in my hometown back in 1995.. we had a blast go off that sounded like thunder, a great big boom of thunder...We looked out, and it was a clear, sunny day..Then we heard there had been a bombing in our downtown area. The whole side of a building had been blown out...a building that I had just been in a week before that happened...A building that I had never had any reason to go to before then, and then finally did, and the very next week, it was blown up...I know what a blast sounds like, I still can't watch 9/11 programs and things like that..I can hardly stand to read about them...Not very much was mentioned here about this, or anything went on like memorial services or anything like that....I'm sure there are plenty of things going on in the states though,and other places....This still puts a knot in my stomach just bringing it up...still hard to talk about either one of them after all this time, but I still remember it so vividly....Well, anyways, I come home tonight, after enjoying an evening out, only to come home and open the door then staning in a huge puddle of water ankle deep...there is this drain thing in the laundry room here and it flooded everything...there is standing water all over at

the front...I thought this was a better place, but apparently not....Everything is still old here, and only made to "look" nice....So after spending a good hour or so of my morning cleaning house, none of that is any good now since half my house is flooded, and I have no idea when that can or will be fixed...It's a complete mess, and we leave here in 2 months and 2 weeks and all these problems keep happening now...They also lost one of my packages at this worthless post office here..That is like the 5th time so far since I've been living here... My friends have sent me things from their countries that I never got, I ordered a pink laptop computer that just came out on the market, never got that, got the refund, but never trusting stupid UPS again, and this time, I don't even know what it is that they "lost" or "misplaced..." yeah right...probably shoved it in their bag and walked out the door with my stuff and are just saying that....I wouldn't doubt it...It's been driving me crazy, and I don't even know what it is they lost cause I order different things like every week....movies and things like that cause we have nothing here but empty shelves in the 2nd largest shopping area in the world....I still don't understand that...totally pathetic if you ask me.....(?????????????????) I soooo need to get out of here I really can't take this place anymore.....flooded house, loosing my mail,and everyone is always acting like they are going to die any mintue, or only have a few more days left to live...always miserable, always complaining, always frowning....I've never met such miserable people in my entire life until I entered this life style...I definately don't want to keep being a part of it cause I am nothing like that!!! I hope the flooded parts go away soon cause its so gross to walk through!!! good night everyone talk with u all tomorrow, hopefully the maintenance people will be here then!!!

First Person: The shared stories of 9/11-http://news.yahoo.com/s/ynews/20100910/ts_ynews/ynews_ts3590-Not all of the people affected by the Sept. 11 attacks were in New York and D.C. In Norfolk, Va., where I worked for the American Red Cross, the local schools shut down and children were sent home. Two hours after Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon, I answered a call from a 12-year-old girl during my shift.

Her voice shook with fear. Sniffles came through the line and my own eyes misted. Both of her parents worked at the Pentagon. She couldn't reach them.

I had no idea if her parents survived and the Pentagon casualty list was rising. For a moment, my throat clogged with fear for her, then my training kicked in. I advised her to go to a friend's house. Stay there, but to leave a note for her parents. I also advised her to leave messages on their voicemails whenever she could get through.

After what felt like years, her voice strengthened as she calmed. I made her promise to call me after she spoke with her parents. When the call ended, I shared her information with the volunteers answering the phones. I waited at the office for her call until I was ordered home to rest. At 5 a.m. I returned to find myself being hugged by two volunteers, as they told me the girl's mother called. She and her husband had escaped the disaster without injury.

For those brief seconds, there was joy in hell.

As a disaster services coordinator in Norfolk, until 9/11, out of the hundreds of residential fires, half-dozen hurricanes, two small tornadoes and one wildfire I responded to, there were only four deaths.

My children, who weren't born when the attacks occurred, know that something terrible happened because they're required to observe a moment of silence in school. My 7-year-old wants to know why they do that. My 5-year-old wants to know why that day makes his mommy sad.

As a mother and a writer, my life is very different today than nine years ago. My family is my first priority. I'm still part of the American Red Cross, just not on the same level of commitment.

As I type this, a familiar tension invades my shoulders. It's hard not to think of that time without a visceral reaction to the memories. While for many people, Sept. 11 represents a day in time, for me it's much longer.

The disaster relief volunteers I helped recruit to drive to New York and the Pentagon to provide needed assistance after the attacks were my friends. The phone in my office rang for weeks with people frantically searching for information about their missing loved ones. And the American flags that popped up stayed out for years in my military neighborhood.

The bond forged during a disaster between relief workers is different from any other type of friendship. We're closer... even when apart for years


Back then, I watched and prayed for safe journeys as my friends headed out to help. When most Americans struggled to find something useful to do, we knew what was needed and we did it. For some, it was to return to their old stomping grounds. For others it meant taking an up-close look at a damaged edifice they'd largely ignored over the years.

It's easy to burn out when doing volunteer work, especially in disaster services. Often, people remember to complain but forget to express their gratitude. I never burned out, but I did grow to understand that my future meant deciding between my wants and my family's needs.

I couldn't be an attentive, full-time mother and run the disaster services department at the same time. Both required someone with undiluted focus or one would suffer from neglect. Because there were others who volunteered in disaster, I made the right choice for me.

Today, I'm a mom of two healthy, beautiful and happy boys. Sept. 11 taught me to cherish my family, to never underestimate how quickly life can change. It also taught me to prepare for the worst. I have a legal document indicating who should raise my children in the event of the deaths of my husband and me. I doubt I would have ever considered that before 9/11.

When I'm busy at my computer writing and tempted to tell my children, "We can do it later," I remember that frightened child. Then I ask myself, "Will this really matter if there is no tomorrow? What do I want more? To be published or to have my children remember being loved when they're grown?" Then I get up and play basketball or baseball with my sons.

On the anniversary, I know some of my old friends will continue the tradition of gathering together to commemorate what happened. I've since moved away and can no longer join them, but my husband and I find our own way to remember. I wear my American Red Cross pin. Then I view the pictures, read the articles and watch the newscasts from that time. This year, since they've started asking questions, I'll talk to my children a little more about the attacks. They're old enough now, to understand—at least as well as any of us can—about that tragic day.



First Person: A Proud Muslim and American-It has been nine years since the Sept. 11 attacks on America, yet I remember them as if it were yesterday. I was a senior in high school. I remember my teacher immediately turned on the television. The first thing I saw was the media showing a group of Muslims celebrating the attacks. I got a sick feeling in my stomach and I began to cry.

I am an American Muslim. That day, I was praying that the terrorists did not invoke Islam in the attacks, but I was wrong. The terrorists who called themselves "Muslims" took responsibility for the attacks and because of that, my life has changed ever since.

Now, nine years after 9/11, I have learned to stay true to my religion while showing my patriotism. I have gone to rallies for peace, walking side-by-side with people from all races and religions. I hold the American flag in one hand while wearing my head scarf proudly. I only wish to be accepted as an American Muslim and live free in this country, as it is my right. I am proud to stand up and say I am a Muslim American.

I was born and raised in the small town of Kingston, Pa. There, little or nothing was known about Islam. My high-school principal did not know much about Islam -- only that he had three Muslim senior girls in the school who wore head scarves. Before 9/11, we were accepted by all in our school, even though we stood out because of our dress. Students were interested in learning about Islam and accepted our traditions and religion. However, with 9/11, I saw an extreme change.

It started with the day of the attacks. My principal gathered me and the other two Muslim girls and told us to go into the library for our own safety. I was very scared. I didn't do anything wrong and did not understand why I would be targeted. I am American, I thought, and I am affected by the attacks as well.

During my senior year, I was looked at much differently than I was in my junior year. Students whom I called my friends one year looked at me as a different person after 9/11. I remember one day in particular when a neighbor I went to kindergarten with yelled at me down the school's stairway. All I heard from him was "******* towel head." I was shocked. I never had a problem with him in the past. He laughed and walked away.

The verbal abuse continued after high school and in my career. During a phone interview for job, the person doing the hiring seemed interested. But when I went into the office for the actual interview, I was looked at like an alien. An example question during the interview: "If we ordered pizza and it had pork on it, would you be able to pick it up?" I nearly started laughing out loud, as I did not understand how picking up a pizza would qualify me for an office management job. It is amazing how over the years I still get treated differently because of my faith.

My mother is an American Christian, and she had every right to fear what people would do to her children. I used to have a bumper sticker on the back of my little white Honda Civic with the sign of Islam (a crescent and star) stating that "I Love Islam." When I got home from school on Sept. 11, my mom was waiting outside and told me to get rid of the sticker.

Since the attacks, I have experienced much harassment. While I walk down the street, I've heard people scream out their windows for me to go back to where I came from. On Memorial Day this year, I was walking my son when a man screamed those exact words from his car. I was extremely hurt and continued walking with tears in my eyes. I fear that my child will have to grow up with this prejudice simply because of one tragic day in America.

I am an American, a Muslim, a daughter, a mother and a sister. Islam teaches peace and respect for all religions. I am sick of apologizing for the people who took Islam and turned it into a hated religion. These people are not Muslim, in my eyes. They go against everything that Islam teaches. I hope that one day we are accepted once again and I no longer have to live in fear just because of the faith I practice.




First Person: Military Served as an Outlet After Terror Attacks

I've been a civilian since 2007, and the memory of the 9/11 terror attacks and the experiences of the years that followed continue to shape me to this day. From the start of Operation Enduring Freedom (called OEF) in October 2001 to the time I separated from the military in 2007, I would ultimately spend nearly three years in Iraq, Afghanistan, Qatar and Saudi Arabia to help to execute the War on Terror. And while it was my job to do just that, I found that my time away from the combat theaters was tinted with guilt and anxiety while so many of my comrades-in-arms remained in harm's way.

I don't think anyone can say that what happened on Sept. 11, 2001 made them "a better person." But I do think that, as has happened so often when our nation is tried by tragedy, we faced choices that would lead us down noble or treacherous paths. We chose the noble path in 2001, and we became stronger as a nation. On a personal level, like everyone else, I struggled with hate and fear as we were plunged into war. While I think I was able to ultimately turn away from those more corrosive emotions, I struggled with them for years.

When al-Qaida terrorists first attacked the World Trade Center, I was a young lieutenant serving on a base in the Middle East, preparing to go on shift at the Watch (part of the effort monitoring Iraq's compliance with the United Nations' Southern No Fly Zone). While my teammates and I ate in the dining facility, the images of smoke coming out of the first tower started broadcasting across the large-screen TVs. Slowly, all eyes started watching, wondering what kind of accident could have caused it.

When the second plane hit the towers, we knew what was happening, and the next few hours are still vivid in my memory. At once, dozens of soldiers, sailors and airmen leaped up and charged out of the facility. We jumped into our vehicle and raced to the Watch. Upon arriving, we were greeted with a human tempest as men and women surged throughout the building, desperately trying to assess the attacks. While we stood there getting our bearings, a captain called out to us: "They hit the Pentagon!" and then he disappeared into the maelstrom. I bolted to my station to join the new war.

As with everyone who was affected by Sept. 11, the following weeks were traumatic. But I had an outlet that many did not. Our base became the command center that directed combat air operations over Afghanistan as OEF began. I poured myself into our new mission, and although I was only one small part of a much greater effort, I was able to watch as the Taliban and the al-Qaida terrorists they harbored were routed from Afghanistan. By the time I redeployed back to my home unit in December, the country had been liberated, and al-Qaida has been on the run ever since.

From that point on, however, I became obsessed with staying in the fight. Driven by anger, and even guilt, I volunteered to deploy to Afghanistan the following winter. The deployment only lasted a couple of months, so before I had even returned to my home base, I volunteered to join a deployable combat unit that promised to send me with the troops into combat zones.

Instead of Afghanistan, I wound up doing over a year in Iraq, which had become the next front of the war. My unit would deploy for four or five months, return for about six months and then off we'd go again. When I was finished with that tour, I volunteered to serve a year in Qatar, serving as an analyst for the operational commander overseeing air operations in both Iraq and Afghanistan. Finally, I decided I needed to move on, and so following this last tour, I left the Air Force.

Since then, I've tried to channel that post-9/11 drive into other ways to serve my country. After leaving the armed services, I've spent more time with my church and tried to involve myself with community services. I've become a husband and a father, which seemed like a remote possibility at best while I was deployed. My love for my country has never been greater, and I can't describe how much I appreciate the riches that our nation enjoys.

No one can take away the pain and outrage of that day in 2001, but we can overcome it. The truth is, though, that I still feel a certain amount of guilt that I'm not out overseas with those who still sacrifice today. I doubt I'll ever get past that. In fact, I hope I never do.
First Person: Lives of American Airlines Pilot and His Family Changed Forever-
It was a cool September morning in 2001 as I settled down at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and the morning paper. Our old golden retriever was at my feet; head on his paws with eyes vigilant in the event a morsel came his way. The new school year was still fresh and the morning had gone well despite the rushed get-out-the-door pace set by the children.

When the phone rang, I was stunned to hear my sister, Kathy, on the line. "Where's Mark?!" she screamed. I started to tell her he was upstairs sleeping, but she interrupted and hollered for me to turn on the television. She was crying. I soon saw a burning building fill the TV screen; a jet had slammed into one of the World Trade Towers. I bid my sister a hasty goodbye and shouted for my husband. Shortly after he came down the stairs, another aircraft tunneled into the second building. My heart stopped and our family life changed in an instant.

As the reports unfolded, my husband, a pilot for American Airlines since 1991, and I tried to sift through the jumble of facts and theories pouring from various networks. There was a sense of disbelief in the house, and our dog paced between us in an effort to offer comfort. As information became clearer, we were sickened by the knowledge of the loss of an American Airline airplane in this tragedy, stunned to hear of another hitting the Pentagon. Added to our agony was the loss of United Airlines' two jets; the death of so many crew members and passengers in such a short period of time was beyond comprehension. What was happening to our world?

Mark spent the next few days watching the news, talking with other airline employees and worrying about our future. Would he still have a job when this was over? Would American Airlines survive the tremendous loss of income due to the grounded flights? Could we manage if he lost his job? He had been in the aviation industry his entire adult life, first as part of the ground crew, then as an aircraft mechanic and finally as a pilot. Now we watched as airline stock value crashing down. When the government finally allowed flights to resume a few days after 9/11, Mark noted that his first flight to London was almost overwhelmingly stressful with tension and fear visible on the faces of both crew and passengers. Flight crews armed themselves with fire axes "just in case," and the children and I feared for Mark's safety each time he drove off to catch a flight. The fate of American Airlines and the entire aviation industry was in jeopardy as passengers stayed home rather than risk being caught up in another hijacking.

In the past few years, our has life returned to normal -- or, rather, the "new" normal. Gone are the days when aviation travel was considered an adventure, replaced by long lines at the more vigilant and intrusive security check-points and passengers looking at fellow travelers with distrust. Once my husband's passion, flying is now a grueling and difficult job filled with tension and added layers of security and responsibility. Shortly after 9/11. he and other employees took voluntary pay-cuts to help their company remain solvent. The resulting loss of our financial safety net, which we are just now regaining, is still a burden on the thankfully strong shoulders of my husband.

Despite the financial and work difficulties, the hardest thing to face has been our feeling of guilt. Why wasn't Mark in the cockpit? Could he have changed anything? Probably not, but the question still lingers as my husband and I share a form of survivor's guilt with other airline employees and their families. It is a strange sort of guilt; we didn't lose anyone in our family, we didn't cause the tragedy and there was absolutely nothing we could have done to prevent the attacks. But the guilt remains in hidden corners coming to light at odd times. Lee Greenwood's heart-clenching song "God Bless the USA" still brings tears to my eyes, and the hours of tapes we recorded that dreadful day have yet to be watched.

I am so thankful Mark was safe, but I am so utterly sad that other husbands, dads, wives, moms, brothers and sisters will never come home again. Shortly after the attacks, we attended the funeral of John Ogonowski, captain of American Flight 11. My husband had flown with him in the past and described John as one of the best men he had known, a good man in all ways.

I remember sitting outside the church in a tent overflowing with people in airline uniforms wondering where the casket was. The realization that his family and the families of so many other victims would be denied the opportunity to lay their loved one to rest slammed into me. Now, it is in their memory and honor that Mark continues to do his job to his utmost ability, vowing to protect the passengers in his care, and to be like John, a good man in all ways. And every day, I say a silent prayer when I see a plane pass overhead, asking for the safety of all aboard. For now that will have to be enough..


First Person: Sept. 11 Attacks Intensified Sisters' Relationship-On Sept. 11, 2001, I was working from home in northern Michigan when my husband called and told me to turn on the news. I tuned in just in time to see the second plane hit. When I realized it was not an accident, I called my sister. I'm sure many called family members to share the news, the grief and the fear.

My sister, however, was not in Michigan with me. She was not in Chicago with her friends. She was not in Tennessee with our mom. She was 30 miles from the Afghanistan border. I was terrified. I didn't care if the world was coming to an end; I could handle that. I just wanted my sister home with me.

My sister works for international aid organizations and travels the world to help after natural disasters. On Sept. 11, she was working in Turkmenistan, just north of Afghanistan, helping to distribute food to TB patients. She had no idea what had happened. News is not exactly instantaneous there. When I called her and told her that terrorists were attacking the U.S., she was shocked. She kept asking, "What?"

I don't think it was real for her because she was so far away. TVs are few and far between, so it wasn't until much later in the evening that she was able to go to another expat's home and see the horror for
herself on CNN. Everyone piled into that home, huddled around the only TV and waited for updates, just like we were in the U.S. The aid organization she was working for at the time was concerned, but it did not feel the need to remove their workers. The area was very remote and the likelihood of that particular small group being attacked was slim. They were, however, to stay on alert and be ready to move if the situation worsened. It was sheer agony for me.

People who know my sister are always amazed she does this for a living. One friend says my sister is living the life she always wanted. I thought it was a kind of cool, too. Until Sept. 11.

I never worried about her before that day. The Cold War was over. The Russians were our friends. Everything was fine. Right? It all changed for me after that day. Now I live in constant fear for her safety. She is always protected, but I am still afraid. Will she be a target overseas? Will she be safe? Can they get her out fast enough if something does happen?

My sister is my best friend. At only 13 months apart, we were close as children, but we have grown even closer as adults. We haven't lived together since before college. She left for the Peace Corps the day after graduation and has been traveling the world ever since. We talk at least once a week, sometimes daily. I called her in Sri Lanka shortly after the tsunami to announce that I was pregnant with my long-awaited first child. I just called her in Haiti to tell her that my youngest took her first steps.

In this high-tech world, she and I have created a sense of proximity. With the use of satellites, cell phones, e-mails and Skype we are able to share the day-to-day events of our lives and stay in constant contact. I need that. She thinks I am the dependable one who doles out advice and wisdom, but I need her more. She is my touchstone, my strength and my cheering section. She gets me. My husband and my friends know me, but it is different with a sister. Sometimes I don't have to say anything; she just knows.

I don't want anyone to take that away from me. We've lost both our parents already. She's all I have left from that part of my life, my childhood, my family. But nothing has changed in my sister's world. She and all her friends, the Peace Corps alums, the expats and the aid workers aren't letting this change their plans. Sept. 11 doesn't factor into their decision-making process. They go were they are needed when disaster strikes. Some go for the humanitarian aspect, some go for the adventure and some go for the money. Whatever the reason, they all still go. Sri Lanka, China, Haiti, Pakistan -- it doesn't matter. The political issues are for other people to worry about. Nothing is stopping them. The only thing that has changed is that their families worry more. I worry more.

I thought Sept. 11 was a distant memory for me. I thought that I had moved on and put it behind me. But I cried the entire time I wrote this. I cried with each word and each punctuation mark. The fear, the overwhelming dread, the images on the television screen are all just below the surface for me. I don't think I'll ever truly heal or ever truly forget. I'll just do what I always do: Smile. Try not to think about it. Try not to re-live the day our nation was attacked, the day so many people lost their lives and the day I started fearing for my sister.

First Person: 9/11 Fundraiser Underscored Unity that Emerged After Tragedy-On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, I sat stunned in my Baltimore hotel room as I watched the first World Trade Center tower collapse. Then the second plane hit the second tower.

I was in Baltimore's Hyatt in the Inner Harbor, ready to attend a Sylvan Learning Systems fall conference. I knew instantly what I was viewing would eclipse anything going on downstairs. For hours I sat transfixed and mesmerized, and only a phone call from my assistant director, Chris, who was in the lobby, woke me from my daze.

"Aren't you coming down?" she asked. It was noon.

I told her there wasn't a class or presentation in the world that we could give to match was what playing out on television. But Chris told me they'd already evacuated the hotel above the fourth floor, and I was on its 38th floor, in the tallest building in Baltimore, directly across the street from the city's version of the World Trade Center. I hurried downstairs.

The area across from our hotel had yellow crime scene tape fluttering around it. National Guardsmen were in place with weapons, just in case there was an attack planned for this city, too. The entire Inner Harbor area, normally a tourist Mecca, had closed. We asked one of the ubiquitous policemen where we might find a restaurant that was open. He directed us to Hooters, the only restaurant we could find on the pier that was open and an incongruous choice for such a serious time. We listened to George W. Bush talk about the 9/11 attack while girls in short shorts asked us if we'd like fries with that.

I suggested to Doug Becker, president of Sylvan Learning Systems, that we all volunteer to give blood. Calls were going out on television for emergency blood donations for the victims in New York City.

There was an incredible feeling of wanting to do something to help. It went hand-in-hand with a sense of powerlessness. No one knew who had committed this senseless act, how widespread it was or what the consequences to our nation might be. I stayed up all night trying to think of some way ordinary people like me could help.

In 2001, there was a sensation that we all wanted to help somehow. I resolved to make a united effort to find a way to help the affected families.

In the hours and days immediately following 9/11, we were all Americans, indivisible, united in grief and shock by this attack that had taken place on our nation's soil. I called home when the cell phone circuits finally cleared and reached my then-14-year-old daughter. I told her to write down everything she was thinking and feeling and experiencing and save it. I told her that the world would never again be the same.

She was a high school freshman. I had been a college freshman when I recorded my own innermost thoughts and feelings following the assassination of President John Kennedy in 1963.

We reported to the airport for our flight back with no idea if we would be allowed to fly. The Baltimore airport had the longest lines of would-be travelers queued up that I have ever seen in any airport anywhere. Behind me was Rep. James Leach, the GOP representative of Iowa's 1st Congressional District.

I ran through several of the ways to help that I had considered during my sleepless night. I asked for Rep. Leach's reaction to my list.

"You're way ahead of me," he laughed.

My partner, Chris, who had heard my idea of holding a "Celebrate Citizenship" sing-a-long fundraiser to collect money for the families of the victims of the WTC bombing, said, "You should ask Jim Leach if he would speak."

I literally ran the length of a long airport corridor and extracted his bemused promise that, yes, he would speak at such an event, even though he had five prior speaking engagements on the day we ultimately chose.

So we set about making the "Celebrate Citizenship" idea into a reality, mounting a fundraiser to collect scholarship money for the children orphaned by the WTC bombing. Our corporate parent company had promised to match any money raised.

We selected Veterans Day, Nov. 11, 2001, exactly two months from the date of the tragedy. Many from the Quad Cities of Iowa and Illinois pitched in to help. We raised $5,000 for college scholarships to be overseen by Sylvan Learning Systems.

The best junior high band in the state of Illinois (Glenview Jr. High of East Moline) played. All three nearby TV networks sent speakers. The (Moline, Ill.) Daily Dispatch pitched in with free flyer distribution and columnist, John Marx, spoke.

Rep. Leach drove 120 miles from Iowa City after giving four other speeches to serve as our keynote speaker. Happy Joe Whitty of the local Happy Joe's pizza franchise talked about tolerance; his son-in-law is a Muslim. We sold red, white and blue popcorn, Krispy Kreme donuts, ice cream, patriotic items and accepted donations. "Celebrate Citizenship" on Nov. 11 was a time of unity and one of the last times that it appeared that we were all pulling together to bring our country together.

The time after the 9/11 attacks was a time of unity in the country. It was like the aftermath of the November 1963 assassination of JFK when we mourned as a nation. A sense of national grief overrode petty party distinctions. Americans acted in concert -- something we have not experienced recently.
**** i will continue on this later my wrists are killing me i've been at this for over 2 hours now....

Oklahoma City bombingThe Oklahoma City bombing was a bomb

attack on the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995 by Timothy McVeigh, an American militia movement sympathizer who detonated an explosive-filled truck parked in front of the building. McVeigh's co-conspirator, Terry Nichols, had assisted in the bomb preparation. It was the most destructive act of terrorism on American soil until the September 11, 2001 attacks. The Oklahoma blast claimed 168 lives, including 19 children under the age of 6,[1] and injured more than 680 people.[2] The blast destroyed or damaged 324 buildings within a sixteen-block radius, destroyed or burned 86 cars, and shattered glass in 258 nearby buildings.[3][4] The bomb was estimated to have caused at least $652 million worth of damage.[5]

Motivated by his hatred of the federal government and angered by what he perceived
as its mishandling of the Waco Siege (1993) and the Ruby Ridge incident (1992), McVeigh timed his attack to coincide with the second anniversary of the deaths at Waco.[6][7] Within 90 minutes of the explosion, McVeigh was stopped by Oklahoma State Trooper Charlie Hanger for driving without a license plate and arrested for unlawfully carrying a weapon.[8][9] Forensic evidence quickly linked McVeigh and Nichols to the attack; Nichols was arrested,[10] and within days both were charged. Michael and Lori Fortier were later identified as accomplices. Extensive rescue efforts were undertaken by local, state, federal, and worldwide agencies in the wake of the bombing, and substantial donations were received from across the country. The Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) activated eleven of its Urban Search and Rescue Task Forces, consisting of 665 rescue workers who assisted in rescue and recovery operations.[11][12]

The official investigation, known as "OKBOMB", was the largest criminal investigation case in American history; FBI agents conducted 28,000 interviews, amassing 3.5 short tons (3.2 t) of evidence, and collected nearly one billion pieces of information.[13][14][15] The bombers were tried and convicted in 1997. McVeigh was executed by lethal injection on June 11, 2001, and Nichols was sentenced to life in prison. Michael and Lori Fortier testified against McVeigh and Nichols; Michael was sentenced to twelve years in prison for failing to warn the U.S. government, and Lori received immunity from prosecution in exchange for her testimony. As with other large-scale terrorist attacks, conspiracy theories dispute the official claims and allege the involvement of additional perpetrators.

As a result of the bombing, the U.S. government passed legislation designed to increase the protection around federal buildings to deter future terrorist attacks. From 1995 to 2005, over 60 domestic terrorism plots were foiled due to preventive measures taken in response to the bombing.[16][17] On April 19, 2000, the Oklahoma City National Memorial was dedicated on the site of the Murrah Federal Building, commemorating the victims of the bombing. Annual remembrance services are held at the same time of day as the original explosion occurred.


Japanese Favourite Stories-"Why the Red Elf Cried" "No one knows now wher ethe mountain was, but once there was a red elf who lived on a mountain that overlooked a village. This red elf wanted to make friends with the people who lived in the village, so in front of his house he hung a sign that read: "Everybody is welcome to come to my house and eat good candy I will give them." One day two woodcutters passed the red elf's house and saw the sign. One of them said: "Let's go in and get some candy." But the other said: "No, no. That sign is only a trick so the elf can get us into his house and do something bad to us. Don't go inside!" The red elf heard what the men said and called out through the window: "No, no. It's not a trick. Please come in and have some candy and be my friends." But the two woodcutters were frightened by his bright red face and ran away as fast as they could. When the red elf saw that nobody would believe his sign he was very sad and started to take the sign down. Just then his good friend, the blue elf, came to visit him and asked why he looked so sad. After the blue elf had heard the story, he thought for a while and then said: " I have a good plan for you. I'll go down into the village and make lots of trouble. Then you come and catch me while I am doing bad things and give me a beating. Then everyone will know you're a good elf and will want to be your friend." So the next day the blue elf went down into the village and burst into a farmhouse. The farmer and his wife were so frightened they ran outside. Then the blue elf started breaking everything in the house. He had just broken the old woman's teapot and was just about to kick the farmer's dog when the red elf came running into the village. He grabbed the blue elf and pretended to give him a good beating. The blue elf cried with all his might. The frightened people of the village stood at a distance and watched all this. Finally they said: "That red elf is a good elf after all. And he has lots of sweet candy at his house. So, let's go and visit him often." So the village people started going to the red elf's house. He was very happy to have so many new friends and he always gave them sweet candy and delicious tea. But then one day he suddenly remembered that in all this time his good friend, the blue elf, had not once been to see him. "Perhaps the blue elf is in some trouble," he said. "I'll go and see him." Next day the red elf set out for the blue elf's house. It was far away in the mountains, but the red elf went there very quickly, riding on top of little cloud. To his surprise, he found the blue elf's house empty and all shut up. He walked around the house several times, wondering what was the matter, and finally saw a note pinned on the front door. This is what the note said: To my dear friend, the red elf: I am so lonely that I am going away on a long journey. If we should keep on visiting each other the way we used to, the people in teh village would know that we played a trick on them and that you didn't really beat me. So I will go far away and leave you with your new friends, the village people. Goodbye, Your friend, Blue Elf The red elf read this note in silence two or three times. Then he burst into tears and cried and cried. He had his new friends from the village and he knew he would be happy with them, but he also knew that he would always be sad when he remembered his lost friend, the blue elf, because it is good to make new friends, but it is also good to keep old friends. And this is why the red elf cried so hard."


20 Worst Drinks in America 2010-19. Worst Bottled Tea-"SoBe Green Tea (1 bottle, 20 fl oz)
240 calories
0 g fat
61 g sugars
Sugar Equivalent: 4 slices Sara Lee Cherry Pie

Leave it to SoBe to take an otherwise healthy bottle of tea and inject it with enough sugar to turn it into dessert. The Pepsi-owned company’s flagship line, composed of 11 flavors with names like “Nirvana” and “Cranberry Grapefruit Elixir,” is marketed to give consumers the impression that it can cleanse the body, mind, and spirit. Don’t be fooled. Just like this bottle of green tea, all of these beverages are made with two primary ingredients: water and sugar."