A feast was held during Mrs. Seacord's class for their Beowulf project. Here are some interesting pictures.
Monday, November 30, 2009
When Literature Comes Alive Pictures
A feast was held during Mrs. Seacord's class for their Beowulf project. Here are some interesting pictures.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Nick Wigger's Memorable Middle School Memory
It was the 8th grade and I was in a lot of pain. I am an avid snowboarder and with it comes injuries. In the 8th grade I got the worst injury I have ever had.
It was nighttime at Nubs Nob ski resort and my friends and I were in the terrain park. I am a pretty good snowboarder but that night I felt a little off my game.
I had fallen hard a couple times that night, but nothing bad enough to stop me. Then, the moment came. I was doing a spine transfer when it happened. Right before the lip of the jump I caught my edge. I knew right away it was going to end badly.
I flew through the air and landed square on my butt. Instant pain ran through me. I laid on the hill for at least a half an hour. When I finally got up I could barely walk. I sat in the main lodge for another hour waiting for my mom.
As soon as my mom picked me up I told her what happened. Shortly after getting home I decided that I had to go to the hospital. The worse decision of my life!
After getting into the E.R., I was taken back to a room. The doctor proceeded to talk while he was getting ready. At the last moment he told me what was about to happen. That was the first time I experienced a rectal exam, and the only time.
When I tell you this it is not a joke and it is not funny. I literally cried and was in ten times as much pain. Supposedly he was making sure my tail bone was still in one piece. And what really made me mad was I got X-Rays right after all of that.
I was given some pain killers for the night and that was it. I had to go to school with my fractured tail bone and I could barley walk without it hurting, let alone sit down for long periods of time. I carried a pillow with me for two weeks, but my tail bone hurt for at least a half a year.
I remember that because it was the worst injury and one of the worst pains I have felt.
It was nighttime at Nubs Nob ski resort and my friends and I were in the terrain park. I am a pretty good snowboarder but that night I felt a little off my game.
I had fallen hard a couple times that night, but nothing bad enough to stop me. Then, the moment came. I was doing a spine transfer when it happened. Right before the lip of the jump I caught my edge. I knew right away it was going to end badly.
I flew through the air and landed square on my butt. Instant pain ran through me. I laid on the hill for at least a half an hour. When I finally got up I could barely walk. I sat in the main lodge for another hour waiting for my mom.
As soon as my mom picked me up I told her what happened. Shortly after getting home I decided that I had to go to the hospital. The worse decision of my life!
After getting into the E.R., I was taken back to a room. The doctor proceeded to talk while he was getting ready. At the last moment he told me what was about to happen. That was the first time I experienced a rectal exam, and the only time.
When I tell you this it is not a joke and it is not funny. I literally cried and was in ten times as much pain. Supposedly he was making sure my tail bone was still in one piece. And what really made me mad was I got X-Rays right after all of that.
I was given some pain killers for the night and that was it. I had to go to school with my fractured tail bone and I could barley walk without it hurting, let alone sit down for long periods of time. I carried a pillow with me for two weeks, but my tail bone hurt for at least a half a year.
I remember that because it was the worst injury and one of the worst pains I have felt.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Kylah's Middle School Memory
I had never played a musical instrument before. I had never read notes before. I didn’t know the first thing about being in a band.
Yet there I was, standing in the band room. The hot lights beat down on my forehead, but not nearly as hard as the director, Jeff Bennett’s questionable glare.
Well of course he was questionable. I hadn’t started band in fifth grade with all of my classmates. I decided to start a year later, which led me to spending my summer with Bennett.
At the end of the school year, I was told to choose an instrument. I had a strange draw to the saxophone, and chose it immediately.
I opened the case and stared at the instrument. The gold and silvers glimmered in the light. To me, it seemed as though it was severed in three pieces. I sat there, trying to figure out how to put it together. The phone rang. It was the director.
Bennett had wanted to meet with me, so I closed the case, and head off to the middle school.
Bennett was known as an insanely crazy director. I’d heard stories about him snapping metal batons and throwing trumpets across the room more than once. He was amazing at his job, but intimidating and demanding at the same time.
I knew that the second I stepped foot into that band room, there would be no turning back from this musical journey. It felt as though I was walking to my death.
I entered. Bennett was sitting at his desk, drinking a Diet Coke. He had been waiting.
“You must be Kylah,” he said. “I’m Jeff Bennett. Let’s get started.”
He watched me struggle to put my instrument together for 30 painful seconds until he snatched it from my hands and did it himself.
The instrument, now assembled properly, was placed back in my hands. He told me to blow.
I blew. No sound was heard. I blew again. Still, nothing but air came from the saxophone. The third time I blew as hard as I possibly could, which came out as a quiet squeak.
“Better,” said Bennett, “but you have a lot of work to do to catch up with the rest of the band.”
Every week I would walk to the middle school band room, and an hour later I would walk back with a little more knowledge on my newly found instrument. I learned new notes, musical terms, and how to get the right noise out of the saxophone.
Even as I improved, the fear and panic of Bennett never lessened. As I got better, his expectations increased. Every time I entered the band room I took a deep breath, and prepared for what would follow.
As the days went on, the first day of school approached. That suspenseful day was of little importance for my friends and classmates, but for me, it was like a test.
It was the day I would find out how much I really had learned over the summer. I would find out how far I had to go until I reached the standard. That same high standard of excellence that sat next to Bennett’s awards on the top shelf.
I arrived at the band room, and it begun.
We had to test for our chairs. First chair was the best, that same standard of excellence. As the number of the chair increased, the playing ability decreased. It was time to play.
The flutes went first. One by one, he weeded them out until there was one at the top, and the rest followed. The clarinets were next. Then the trumpets. And then, the saxophones. I played last in our section.
“Johnston, first chair.” I couldn’t believe those words had come out of my director’s mouth. Yet they had.
Two months before, I had never played an instrument. I had never read notes, and I hadn’t known the first thing about being in a band. Now, I did
Yet there I was, standing in the band room. The hot lights beat down on my forehead, but not nearly as hard as the director, Jeff Bennett’s questionable glare.
Well of course he was questionable. I hadn’t started band in fifth grade with all of my classmates. I decided to start a year later, which led me to spending my summer with Bennett.
At the end of the school year, I was told to choose an instrument. I had a strange draw to the saxophone, and chose it immediately.
I opened the case and stared at the instrument. The gold and silvers glimmered in the light. To me, it seemed as though it was severed in three pieces. I sat there, trying to figure out how to put it together. The phone rang. It was the director.
Bennett had wanted to meet with me, so I closed the case, and head off to the middle school.
Bennett was known as an insanely crazy director. I’d heard stories about him snapping metal batons and throwing trumpets across the room more than once. He was amazing at his job, but intimidating and demanding at the same time.
I knew that the second I stepped foot into that band room, there would be no turning back from this musical journey. It felt as though I was walking to my death.
I entered. Bennett was sitting at his desk, drinking a Diet Coke. He had been waiting.
“You must be Kylah,” he said. “I’m Jeff Bennett. Let’s get started.”
He watched me struggle to put my instrument together for 30 painful seconds until he snatched it from my hands and did it himself.
The instrument, now assembled properly, was placed back in my hands. He told me to blow.
I blew. No sound was heard. I blew again. Still, nothing but air came from the saxophone. The third time I blew as hard as I possibly could, which came out as a quiet squeak.
“Better,” said Bennett, “but you have a lot of work to do to catch up with the rest of the band.”
Every week I would walk to the middle school band room, and an hour later I would walk back with a little more knowledge on my newly found instrument. I learned new notes, musical terms, and how to get the right noise out of the saxophone.
Even as I improved, the fear and panic of Bennett never lessened. As I got better, his expectations increased. Every time I entered the band room I took a deep breath, and prepared for what would follow.
As the days went on, the first day of school approached. That suspenseful day was of little importance for my friends and classmates, but for me, it was like a test.
It was the day I would find out how much I really had learned over the summer. I would find out how far I had to go until I reached the standard. That same high standard of excellence that sat next to Bennett’s awards on the top shelf.
I arrived at the band room, and it begun.
We had to test for our chairs. First chair was the best, that same standard of excellence. As the number of the chair increased, the playing ability decreased. It was time to play.
The flutes went first. One by one, he weeded them out until there was one at the top, and the rest followed. The clarinets were next. Then the trumpets. And then, the saxophones. I played last in our section.
“Johnston, first chair.” I couldn’t believe those words had come out of my director’s mouth. Yet they had.
Two months before, I had never played an instrument. I had never read notes, and I hadn’t known the first thing about being in a band. Now, I did
The Windy City by Shelby Flemming
The day had come. My bags were packed, and I was in the car waiting to leave. It was the summer of my eighth grade year and I was off to the windy city, otherwise known as Chicago. Little did I know, I would take a lot more out of these 5 weeks than I had imagined.
Throughout my childhood, I always focused on something, giving it my all until I was burnt-out from it. I was an avid gymnast, figure skater and then dancer. I had only started dance a year before, but my pure devotion to the art helped me catch up quickly. When I had auditioned for Ballet Chicago, I was the only dancer without pointe shoes. I had not been dancing long enough for my muscles to handle all of the weight that would be put on my ankles when standing on my tippy-toes, but my amount of experience did not stop me from giving It my all at this audition.
I was in high spirits the day I checked the mail to find that trusty envelope. I had been accepted! I was put on pointe shoes only weeks before I left for this summer intensive, but I knew my persistence would guide me through, and it did.
My strong focus on various activities such as this had given me a narrow mind. Thinking beyond my next class or performance did not happen often, but this all changed when I left my home that day.
The dorms I stayed in were smack dab in the middle of Chicago, a block away from Michigan Avenue. Other than a resident advisor living on my floor, I was alone in this big city. Dance class was everyday from nine to six, so we did not have much free time. Going from the small, guarded town of Harbor Springs to Chicago was a bit of a wake up call.
Homeless men and women would follow me down the street to class begging me for money. Garbage littered the concrete jungle. Nights were always alive, and not a star could be seen at with all of the light pollution. This was a sight that I had never seen before, and it hit me. The world is not all about me. My world is not all about dance, figure skating, or whatever sport I am involved in at the time. My world is about everything and everyone around me and what I do indirectly effects it all as a whole. That is, if I want it to. Before these five weeks, I was completely dependant on my parents, but I would never be again.
A week was the longest time I had ever been away from my family. I had not had to make new friends since second grade. I had also never had to devote myself and almost all of my time to one thing this way, dancing almost everyday of the week all day long. This entire experience made me realize how insignificant these things were to me. I did not want to spend 9 hours a day working my butt off. If I would have kept it up, I would not be able to walk by the age of thirty. I simply was not devoted enough to keep up with dance.
The city made me realize more about myself than anything before. My possibilities felt endless, and being stuck in that studio all day killed me. I wanted to get out. I wanted to experience the sights, sounds and smells, no matter how polluted the air was. I wanted to see different people, to hear their stories, and most of all, I wanted more. I realized that the world is all around me. The world is at my fingertips. That is, if I want it to be. There are so many other sights and sounds to experience, so many other cultures to see.
Since these five weeks, I realized more than the fact that dance was not for me. I was humbled and inspired. I was ecstatic and homesick. I was ready to look forward to things other than myself, things bigger than a dance performance or skating competition. I was ready for the world, and I knew it was ready for me.
Throughout my childhood, I always focused on something, giving it my all until I was burnt-out from it. I was an avid gymnast, figure skater and then dancer. I had only started dance a year before, but my pure devotion to the art helped me catch up quickly. When I had auditioned for Ballet Chicago, I was the only dancer without pointe shoes. I had not been dancing long enough for my muscles to handle all of the weight that would be put on my ankles when standing on my tippy-toes, but my amount of experience did not stop me from giving It my all at this audition.
I was in high spirits the day I checked the mail to find that trusty envelope. I had been accepted! I was put on pointe shoes only weeks before I left for this summer intensive, but I knew my persistence would guide me through, and it did.
My strong focus on various activities such as this had given me a narrow mind. Thinking beyond my next class or performance did not happen often, but this all changed when I left my home that day.
The dorms I stayed in were smack dab in the middle of Chicago, a block away from Michigan Avenue. Other than a resident advisor living on my floor, I was alone in this big city. Dance class was everyday from nine to six, so we did not have much free time. Going from the small, guarded town of Harbor Springs to Chicago was a bit of a wake up call.
Homeless men and women would follow me down the street to class begging me for money. Garbage littered the concrete jungle. Nights were always alive, and not a star could be seen at with all of the light pollution. This was a sight that I had never seen before, and it hit me. The world is not all about me. My world is not all about dance, figure skating, or whatever sport I am involved in at the time. My world is about everything and everyone around me and what I do indirectly effects it all as a whole. That is, if I want it to. Before these five weeks, I was completely dependant on my parents, but I would never be again.
A week was the longest time I had ever been away from my family. I had not had to make new friends since second grade. I had also never had to devote myself and almost all of my time to one thing this way, dancing almost everyday of the week all day long. This entire experience made me realize how insignificant these things were to me. I did not want to spend 9 hours a day working my butt off. If I would have kept it up, I would not be able to walk by the age of thirty. I simply was not devoted enough to keep up with dance.
The city made me realize more about myself than anything before. My possibilities felt endless, and being stuck in that studio all day killed me. I wanted to get out. I wanted to experience the sights, sounds and smells, no matter how polluted the air was. I wanted to see different people, to hear their stories, and most of all, I wanted more. I realized that the world is all around me. The world is at my fingertips. That is, if I want it to be. There are so many other sights and sounds to experience, so many other cultures to see.
Since these five weeks, I realized more than the fact that dance was not for me. I was humbled and inspired. I was ecstatic and homesick. I was ready to look forward to things other than myself, things bigger than a dance performance or skating competition. I was ready for the world, and I knew it was ready for me.
Alex Fisher's Middle School Memory
6th grade. The time of my life. It was almost summer. My plan was to hang out with all my friends from Concord, “my old school”. Then my mother told he I was going to Harbor Schools the next year. I was torn inside all my friends that I ever made were at Concord and I was going to leave.
Harbor Springs Schools? Most people think it’s a preppy school. Well it is. It was 7th grade and everyone looked at me if I were a social outcast. All the jocks were pricks and were just asking for it. I remember the multiple times I ate lunch all by myself, all the times the teacher asked if I was in class and no one even knew who I was. They say, “silence is Golden”, well it is, but gold rusts.
It wasn’t until 8th grade that I made friends at this new hellhole. Even then, I only hung out with them at school. I remember going back to Concord to hang out with my old friends. I remember telling them that Harbor is the worst school. Everyone is preppy and if you don’t fit in then you wont survive. They all wanted me to come back. I wanted to go back.
I used to nag to my mom for hours upon hours. It never worked. I had to suffer this Harbor Springs life.
I remember in 7th grade not going on a field trip. I hung out with the 8th graders. They were the first kids that were nice to me. But it was only for two days, and then things went back to normal. I remember in eighth grade not going on the class trip. I had to stay in the office all day “ to not get any unexcused absences”. The long quiet days of homework I had to do, the nagging voice of the office lady talking to parents, it made me want to cut my ears off just so they wouldn’t hurt anymore.
It was the big summer. My last summer of being a kid. My last summer with no worries. My last summer before high school.
I still didn’t have any good friends in Harbor, so I spent all my time in Petoskey. My old friends are still as chill as they ever were. I used to skateboard and just run around. I thought the fun would never end. Then came high school.
Harbor Springs Schools? Most people think it’s a preppy school. Well it is. It was 7th grade and everyone looked at me if I were a social outcast. All the jocks were pricks and were just asking for it. I remember the multiple times I ate lunch all by myself, all the times the teacher asked if I was in class and no one even knew who I was. They say, “silence is Golden”, well it is, but gold rusts.
It wasn’t until 8th grade that I made friends at this new hellhole. Even then, I only hung out with them at school. I remember going back to Concord to hang out with my old friends. I remember telling them that Harbor is the worst school. Everyone is preppy and if you don’t fit in then you wont survive. They all wanted me to come back. I wanted to go back.
I used to nag to my mom for hours upon hours. It never worked. I had to suffer this Harbor Springs life.
I remember in 7th grade not going on a field trip. I hung out with the 8th graders. They were the first kids that were nice to me. But it was only for two days, and then things went back to normal. I remember in eighth grade not going on the class trip. I had to stay in the office all day “ to not get any unexcused absences”. The long quiet days of homework I had to do, the nagging voice of the office lady talking to parents, it made me want to cut my ears off just so they wouldn’t hurt anymore.
It was the big summer. My last summer of being a kid. My last summer with no worries. My last summer before high school.
I still didn’t have any good friends in Harbor, so I spent all my time in Petoskey. My old friends are still as chill as they ever were. I used to skateboard and just run around. I thought the fun would never end. Then came high school.
Annie's Middle School Memory
I was lucky enough to find a soul mate in the early years of my life.
In middle school, I met a strange girl by the name of Jayde. We got along like two peas in a pod. We were attached at the hip. We were anything that best friends could be and more. We were two halves that had met to make a whole; to make each other better; to learn and grow from one another. Unfortunately our friendship has ended, and I have been left with a whole in my spirit. What counts is the time when we were friends, when we were the happiest.
We were friends when we slept in a tent in my backyard. We would stay up all night playing Mad-Lib. We could go through more than five books. The tent was full of pillows, stuffed animals, and blankets. Our rooms had basically been re-located into that tent. If one left to use the restroom, you would have to know the secret password to get back in. We wrote in each other’s diaries and talked about boys.
We were friends when her family brought me on their yearly boat trip. It was three days out on the water. We swam for hours and played in the sand dunes. Her parents met up with their friends. They drank and we made fun of their intoxicated antics.
At night, we would swim and her father would pretend he saw something in the water. The long seaweed nipped at our feet and scared us back into the boat. After anchoring for the night, the radio was left on and we fell asleep to “California” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The morning after we saw turtles. One kept reappearing by us. We knew this because he had a peculiar red spot on his shell. We called him Grandpa Turtle.
Whenever the boat was going really fast, Jayde and I would sit underneath on the master bed. This was for the maximum enjoyment of the jumps the boat would hit on the waves. Sometimes we would lift off the bed by 2 feet.
We were still friends when we played video games all day long. The game was called Silent Hill 3. It was a scary video game, with monsters, and I was too afraid. Whenever a monster came along, I would make Jayde fight it before playing again.
After finishing a game, we wanted to rent the next one, Silent Hill 4. Unfortunately, Jayde’s father had left for errands, leaving us without a ride. We decided to walk to Family Video. It took us a full hour to walk in 3 feet of snow in the middle of winter. We were marshmallows walking on the sidewalk with all the layers we put on.
We were friends when Jayde, her brother and I, rode our bikes all the way to her mom’s work. It was forty-five minutes through Petoskey. We stopped at the Grain Train to get vegan brownies. Neither of us were vegan, they just tasted really good.
We got lost about three times. Taking the back roads wasn’t the smartest of ideas. Eventually we figured out where we were and continued on past Wal-mart.
When we finally arrived, we waited for her mom to get off work by sitting underneath the desks in the reception office. She sat under the desk across from me, and we made faces at each other for fifteen minutes.
When her mom was done, we had to find a way to get all three bikes into the back of the suburban. When we got home, we had to find a way to get all three bikes out of the suburban.
We weren’t friends after the second year of high school. We had grown apart as we aged and no longer got along. To this day I still miss her and there are so many things I want to ask her.
Since my friendship with Jayde I have not been closer with anyone else. I have made other friends but to be honest, I have not laughed harder or been happier than the moments I shared with her. I hope I can find someone like her again, and be able to have a friendship that was just as amazing. Maybe there will be another soul mate for me, somewhere out there.
In middle school, I met a strange girl by the name of Jayde. We got along like two peas in a pod. We were attached at the hip. We were anything that best friends could be and more. We were two halves that had met to make a whole; to make each other better; to learn and grow from one another. Unfortunately our friendship has ended, and I have been left with a whole in my spirit. What counts is the time when we were friends, when we were the happiest.
We were friends when we slept in a tent in my backyard. We would stay up all night playing Mad-Lib. We could go through more than five books. The tent was full of pillows, stuffed animals, and blankets. Our rooms had basically been re-located into that tent. If one left to use the restroom, you would have to know the secret password to get back in. We wrote in each other’s diaries and talked about boys.
We were friends when her family brought me on their yearly boat trip. It was three days out on the water. We swam for hours and played in the sand dunes. Her parents met up with their friends. They drank and we made fun of their intoxicated antics.
At night, we would swim and her father would pretend he saw something in the water. The long seaweed nipped at our feet and scared us back into the boat. After anchoring for the night, the radio was left on and we fell asleep to “California” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The morning after we saw turtles. One kept reappearing by us. We knew this because he had a peculiar red spot on his shell. We called him Grandpa Turtle.
Whenever the boat was going really fast, Jayde and I would sit underneath on the master bed. This was for the maximum enjoyment of the jumps the boat would hit on the waves. Sometimes we would lift off the bed by 2 feet.
We were still friends when we played video games all day long. The game was called Silent Hill 3. It was a scary video game, with monsters, and I was too afraid. Whenever a monster came along, I would make Jayde fight it before playing again.
After finishing a game, we wanted to rent the next one, Silent Hill 4. Unfortunately, Jayde’s father had left for errands, leaving us without a ride. We decided to walk to Family Video. It took us a full hour to walk in 3 feet of snow in the middle of winter. We were marshmallows walking on the sidewalk with all the layers we put on.
We were friends when Jayde, her brother and I, rode our bikes all the way to her mom’s work. It was forty-five minutes through Petoskey. We stopped at the Grain Train to get vegan brownies. Neither of us were vegan, they just tasted really good.
We got lost about three times. Taking the back roads wasn’t the smartest of ideas. Eventually we figured out where we were and continued on past Wal-mart.
When we finally arrived, we waited for her mom to get off work by sitting underneath the desks in the reception office. She sat under the desk across from me, and we made faces at each other for fifteen minutes.
When her mom was done, we had to find a way to get all three bikes into the back of the suburban. When we got home, we had to find a way to get all three bikes out of the suburban.
We weren’t friends after the second year of high school. We had grown apart as we aged and no longer got along. To this day I still miss her and there are so many things I want to ask her.
Since my friendship with Jayde I have not been closer with anyone else. I have made other friends but to be honest, I have not laughed harder or been happier than the moments I shared with her. I hope I can find someone like her again, and be able to have a friendship that was just as amazing. Maybe there will be another soul mate for me, somewhere out there.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Tennis Team on the way to STATES
Back Row: Coach Chamberlin, Ashley Rautio, Maggie Kane, Shelby Flemming, Grace Carbeck, Sarah Knoodle, Kenzie Brown, Kallie Hansen, Lily Dart, and Elle TompkinsFront Row: Emily Miller, Anna Asbury, Thora Ottenhausen, Nicole Sheppard, and Lauren Kopka
Forget Somalia, Piracy is worldwide
By: Kallie Hansen
Not every pirate has a peg leg, a parrot on his shoulder or a knack for commandeering ships. Some are even prepubescent boys searching for files to download as they listen to death metal in their basement. Others are people just like you and me, mostly honest consumers that occasionally take the risk of piracy.
As the pirate problem increases off the coast of Somalia, technology pirates all around the world seem to have found the borderless treasure. Illegal, free music services such as Bittorrent, Limewire and Pirate Bay enable music lovers everywhere to download their favorite tunes.
Although the music industry has tried to throw this problem over-board by creating commercials, filing lawsuits, and raising the fines, Davy Jones' locker is still unoccupied. Despite the ad campaign by the Motion Picture Association of America to help stop the piracy, there is still an estimated 35 million pirates at large.
“I can’t say I’m a full-time pirate, but free music downloads save a lot of green. But I guess it is slightly dangerous,” said sophomore Emily Ford, the good girl gone pirate.
Pirating music is illegal, but is it a bad thing? A recent study at the BI Norwegian School of Management showed that people who download illegally are more likely to buy a greater amount of music than traditional downloaders. With more technology shifting to the Internet, vinyls and even CDs have died due to online stores such as iTunes and Amazon.
BI’s study also showed that pirates bought ten times more illegal music than those who never download illegally. Who said all pirates are dreadful? These modern age bandits have even helped online music stores increase in revenue. Although the record stores have declined, so have the malls simply because we have become a technology-driven society.
Former Beatle Paul McCartney isn’t so laissez-faire about illegal file sharing. “If you get on a bus, you’ve got to pay,” he said, creating an inventive metaphor. “And I think it’s fair, you should pay for your ticket,” he concluded in a BBC interview. Musicians, especially, think that file sharing should be considered a sin because the million dollar checks that were once plentiful have now ceased.
A report from the Business Software Alliance and the International Data Corporation has found that losses to the industry from pirated products have reached the 50 billion mark, making the art of pirating an industry in itself.
Pirates are lurking everywhere, from the treacherous seas to major urban cities. In the New York suburb of White Plains, teenagers Michelle and Robert Santangelo have been caught with the loot, or rather a library of illegal shared files on their computer. After a rough 4-year battle, they have settled out of court for a fine of $7,000. And there are similar cases like this springing up everywhere. Pirates worldwide might need to learn to start buying their treasures. It may not be worth the risk, especially on such a grand scale.
“I always buy my music,” said fickle freshman Grace Carbeck. “I’m scared to illegally download.”
As much as people think that pirates are swashbuckling sailors, the truth of the matter is that we are all potential pirates. We may not don the eye-patches and leather boots just yet, nor associate with the Somalians, but the lure of piracy sure has us hooked.
Not every pirate has a peg leg, a parrot on his shoulder or a knack for commandeering ships. Some are even prepubescent boys searching for files to download as they listen to death metal in their basement. Others are people just like you and me, mostly honest consumers that occasionally take the risk of piracy.
As the pirate problem increases off the coast of Somalia, technology pirates all around the world seem to have found the borderless treasure. Illegal, free music services such as Bittorrent, Limewire and Pirate Bay enable music lovers everywhere to download their favorite tunes.
Although the music industry has tried to throw this problem over-board by creating commercials, filing lawsuits, and raising the fines, Davy Jones' locker is still unoccupied. Despite the ad campaign by the Motion Picture Association of America to help stop the piracy, there is still an estimated 35 million pirates at large.
“I can’t say I’m a full-time pirate, but free music downloads save a lot of green. But I guess it is slightly dangerous,” said sophomore Emily Ford, the good girl gone pirate.
Pirating music is illegal, but is it a bad thing? A recent study at the BI Norwegian School of Management showed that people who download illegally are more likely to buy a greater amount of music than traditional downloaders. With more technology shifting to the Internet, vinyls and even CDs have died due to online stores such as iTunes and Amazon.
BI’s study also showed that pirates bought ten times more illegal music than those who never download illegally. Who said all pirates are dreadful? These modern age bandits have even helped online music stores increase in revenue. Although the record stores have declined, so have the malls simply because we have become a technology-driven society.
Former Beatle Paul McCartney isn’t so laissez-faire about illegal file sharing. “If you get on a bus, you’ve got to pay,” he said, creating an inventive metaphor. “And I think it’s fair, you should pay for your ticket,” he concluded in a BBC interview. Musicians, especially, think that file sharing should be considered a sin because the million dollar checks that were once plentiful have now ceased.
A report from the Business Software Alliance and the International Data Corporation has found that losses to the industry from pirated products have reached the 50 billion mark, making the art of pirating an industry in itself.
Pirates are lurking everywhere, from the treacherous seas to major urban cities. In the New York suburb of White Plains, teenagers Michelle and Robert Santangelo have been caught with the loot, or rather a library of illegal shared files on their computer. After a rough 4-year battle, they have settled out of court for a fine of $7,000. And there are similar cases like this springing up everywhere. Pirates worldwide might need to learn to start buying their treasures. It may not be worth the risk, especially on such a grand scale.
“I always buy my music,” said fickle freshman Grace Carbeck. “I’m scared to illegally download.”
As much as people think that pirates are swashbuckling sailors, the truth of the matter is that we are all potential pirates. We may not don the eye-patches and leather boots just yet, nor associate with the Somalians, but the lure of piracy sure has us hooked.
Jam Session
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Nicole's Photography.
Above: Even during a gloomy day, Harbor Springs High School sits proudly upon the bluff.
Above: Tourist are already appearing as the heat of Summer 2009 comes upon us.Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Nicole's Photography. 5/19/09
Seniors Cooper Dendal, Codie Steensma and Emily Miller pose for a picture with and 'out of the blue' whale hanging off the bus.
Junior Eric Hoffman jumps for joy after being sprayed with a fire hose.Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Robert's PICS
Sophomore Nick Cooper sits back and relaxes on the bluff during his lunch period.
Senior Sam Young helps her mentor group win the Manna
Food Project.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Kallie's Paparazzi Photos
Photo obviously edited..... sorry
Scandalous couple Evan Auten and Aaron Ross take a time out from their famous, hectic lives to enjoy a Harbor Springs sunset.
Scandalous couple Evan Auten and Aaron Ross take a time out from their famous, hectic lives to enjoy a Harbor Springs sunset.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Calloway's Creations
Raquel Kosloskey and her usual disbelief.
School Antics, messing around on the steps.
Pull my finger!
Friday, May 8, 2009
Emma's Photos 2
Fresman Maddie Buntin keeps her eyes on the prize (a large pepperoni pizza from B.C) during a recent race.
Stealthily creeping foot by foot up to the feeder, this Red Capped Finch had no idea what was going on when the flash went off.Nicole's Observations
Math teacher Steve Shultz hears yet another "we havea test today?"
No, its not Guantanamo Bay or Chinese tickle torture.
Seniors Kyle Hollingsworth, Traver Koehler and junior
Ben Gretzinger test sophomore Aaron Ross’ reaction
during a Psychology ‘Toe Test’.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The radio star is still at large
By Kallie Hansen
You may be cynic superstitious teen in a gang, a 12 year old with a serious gambling problem or a teenage homicidal maniac with an obsession with comic books. Don’t worry; if these options aren’t fantastical enough, there are plenty more outlandish stories to suit anyone’s fancy.
Young characters of the world unite though the infamous internet to share personal stories that may come with side effects (please ask your doctor before reading further). Nation Public Radio can’t seem to get enough of teenage angst, youthfulness and ingeniousness. The future journalists of the world, along with NPR have created a radio show prepared to dazzle, and quite possibly provoke thoughts, in order to promote intellectual growth.
Founded in 1990, the recognized radio show, Youth Radio, is quickly becoming the talk to the town and streaming live though the stereo of every soccer mom’s mini-van. Through this radio show, young writers share stories that could grace the cover of Newsweek, and possibly even The Onion.
Though the stories are part of their everyday lives, their accomplishments certainly are not. It has won various awards, including the Edward R. Murrow Award and the Peabody Award in 2001. Youth Radio is a non-profit show that hosts young people who in turn draw in the whopping 15 million listeners a year. With a station now available on iTunes, radio, especially for the youth, has come a long way since Edison's ideas came to life.
Youth Radio’s sole purpose isn’t just for entertainment, but to provide professional training and growth for teenagers with a potential career in commutations and fine arts. Very fine arts indeed, Youth Radio has even helped youngsters win awards, receive quality internships and even be featured in the pages of major publications with passionate stories and quirky anecdotes. With the youth in a harness, Youth Radio enables freedom to generate and animate with voice and personal expression.
So the only remaining question is did video really kill the radio star or did the 80’s just need another pop song?
Monday, May 4, 2009
Joe's Pics
Above: Harbor Springs High School's very own boy band warms up before an afternoon gig in the auditorium
Above: High School Physics Club members consider the possibility of an error in their human-slingshot blueprintsFickle Fudgies
By: Kallie Hansen
A giant sweatshirt with the words “Made in Michigan” sprawled across it, tan cargo shorts and an ostentatious pair of Crocs combine to create the ultimate tourist: The Fudgie.
Since the beginning of the fudge making century, people have been flocking to Northern Michigan for some fudge indulgence. No one is quite sure though how the remote area of Northern Michigan has become known to this many tourists.
Northern Michigan has it all: Ski hills, secluded beaches and most importantly, fudge. Fudgies come for this sweet confection and stay for the fun. Although locals may take this beautiful place for granted, Fudgies find it very appealing.
Thanks to these curious tourists, every summer Northern Michigan’s economy flourishes.
Local John Kohler is all about business. “Even though they over-populate the area in the summer, they really help our economy by their over-spending habits,” said the Harbor Springs businessman. “I even have friends who are Fudgies,” Kohler continued.
Even though they’re notorious for their atrocious driving, unfamiliar accents and addiction to fudge, thanks to their money Harbor Springs’ economy is unlike the rest of the state of Michigan’s.
Fudgies bring an influx of cash to Harbor Springs by staying at hotels, eating at restaurants and visiting sights. All of this results in jobs for us, the locals, and more income to the businesses. The more Fudgies that come, the more money follows. Spotting out a Fudgie within a sea may be easier than a Where’s Waldo? book, but let’s hope their compulsion for fudge never ceases to exist.
A giant sweatshirt with the words “Made in Michigan” sprawled across it, tan cargo shorts and an ostentatious pair of Crocs combine to create the ultimate tourist: The Fudgie.
Since the beginning of the fudge making century, people have been flocking to Northern Michigan for some fudge indulgence. No one is quite sure though how the remote area of Northern Michigan has become known to this many tourists.
Northern Michigan has it all: Ski hills, secluded beaches and most importantly, fudge. Fudgies come for this sweet confection and stay for the fun. Although locals may take this beautiful place for granted, Fudgies find it very appealing.
Thanks to these curious tourists, every summer Northern Michigan’s economy flourishes.
Local John Kohler is all about business. “Even though they over-populate the area in the summer, they really help our economy by their over-spending habits,” said the Harbor Springs businessman. “I even have friends who are Fudgies,” Kohler continued.
Even though they’re notorious for their atrocious driving, unfamiliar accents and addiction to fudge, thanks to their money Harbor Springs’ economy is unlike the rest of the state of Michigan’s.
Fudgies bring an influx of cash to Harbor Springs by staying at hotels, eating at restaurants and visiting sights. All of this results in jobs for us, the locals, and more income to the businesses. The more Fudgies that come, the more money follows. Spotting out a Fudgie within a sea may be easier than a Where’s Waldo? book, but let’s hope their compulsion for fudge never ceases to exist.
Emma's Photos
A perfect example of a Siberian Husky.
Freshman Ryan Cantrell throws a fast ball at one of the Sioux's best batters.
Senior Kyle Knowles keeps his heart pumping during
the 100 meter relay.
Senior Allen McCarty keeps pace with the otherrunners in the 2 mile run.
Nicole's Photography.
The hallways aren't just filled with trash, but are scattered with textbooks.
Principal Susan Jacobs counsels sophomore Tevor Neelis during lunch.
Kecks pictures
Thursday, April 30, 2009
UDR: Unidentified Dancing Ram Who is Rambo?
By Kallie Hansen
Superman, Batman and yes, even Rambo are all mysterious masked marvels with a secret identity. Man by day, hero by night, these characters have kept their skeleton in the cupboard, but does the mask really need to come off?
Since the 20th century, costumed characters have provided numerous sports teams with jazzy dance moves and maybe even a fuzzy shoulder to cry on when the game is lost. The word “mascot” is derived from an Italian word meaning something that brings good luck. Every school has their own tradition, and at Harbor Springs High School the dancing ram is a shining beacon of light, rather, a dancing beacon of light that brings hope, and luck to the varsity sports teams. In its fourth year, this new tradition has already been proven to be a highlight at Harbor home games.
Some claim that they have seen the mysterious masked mascot take off his head, but no proof has been brought forth just yet. Students continue to ponder the real identity of this upbeat mascot.
“He has undeniable dance moves, no doubt... but I always wonder who's in that suit,” said Junior Shelby Flemming.
Digging up dirt on this rambunctious ram might be a Sherlock Holmes-like investigation. Some students try to pry the information out of athletic director, Scott Cochran, but the response usually given is confidential.
Every 3 minutes a person in the United States reports a UFO sighting. And every home varsity game a student from Harbor Springs High School reports a UDR sighting, an unidentified dancing ram rallying up the stands. So even if you've solved this Scooby Doo-esque mystery, keep the tradition of this conundrum alive.
Superman, Batman and yes, even Rambo are all mysterious masked marvels with a secret identity. Man by day, hero by night, these characters have kept their skeleton in the cupboard, but does the mask really need to come off?
Since the 20th century, costumed characters have provided numerous sports teams with jazzy dance moves and maybe even a fuzzy shoulder to cry on when the game is lost. The word “mascot” is derived from an Italian word meaning something that brings good luck. Every school has their own tradition, and at Harbor Springs High School the dancing ram is a shining beacon of light, rather, a dancing beacon of light that brings hope, and luck to the varsity sports teams. In its fourth year, this new tradition has already been proven to be a highlight at Harbor home games.
Some claim that they have seen the mysterious masked mascot take off his head, but no proof has been brought forth just yet. Students continue to ponder the real identity of this upbeat mascot.
“He has undeniable dance moves, no doubt... but I always wonder who's in that suit,” said Junior Shelby Flemming.
Digging up dirt on this rambunctious ram might be a Sherlock Holmes-like investigation. Some students try to pry the information out of athletic director, Scott Cochran, but the response usually given is confidential.
Every 3 minutes a person in the United States reports a UFO sighting. And every home varsity game a student from Harbor Springs High School reports a UDR sighting, an unidentified dancing ram rallying up the stands. So even if you've solved this Scooby Doo-esque mystery, keep the tradition of this conundrum alive.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tornado Terrorizes Harbor
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Prinicpal Susan Jacobs is the only one to escape the deadly tornado on her trusty broom.
Photo Edited By Adam Calloway
Reynolds Field: Harbor's track and field facility
By Peter Breighner
The Harbor Springs Board of Education recently approved a request to name the field informally known as “Hoover field” to Reynolds Field. The change was made after a group of donors requested the facility be named in honor of the late Tom Reynolds, a patron to the Harbor Springs community.
The Hoover flower property was owned by the Wells family and sold to investors to create green space within the Harbor Springs area. Reynolds was extremely influential in the creation of green space and was a member of the group that donated the property, worth over 1million dollars, to the school district. The property then ended up being used for the current soccer and track athletic areas. The property donated was the largest in Harbor Springs Public School history, and, because of its significance, the board approved the name change making the property Reynolds Field.
Despite popular belief, the field was never officially named. The name Hoover Field was the name people used to describe the property because of the Hoover Flower Shop that used to sit on the land. The Board never officially named the field, so in recognition of this wonderful gift and in recognition of Mr. Reynolds, they choose to name (not re-name) the field after him, according to Superintendent Tompkins.
Board of Education member Gary Morse said, “I can't think of anyone more deserving,” in regards to the dedication of the field to Reynolds. “I knew him personally and he was a man of great character.”
Harbor Springs Superintendent Mark Tompkins commented on Reynold's significance in our area. “We are fortunate to have such generous people in our community such as Mr. Reynolds, who thought enough of our schools to donate this valuable property.”
Reynolds grew up in Chicago Illinois and was an avid sports fan with a special place in his heart for the Chicago Cubs. He was a proud caddie who grew into a single digit handicap golfer. He was also a nationally ranked junior tennis player.
He attended high school at Loyola Academy and moved on to Georgetown University for undergraduate studies and then to the University of Michigan for law school. In his early thirties he became managing partner of the Chicago law firm Winston & Sawn and was part of the group that purchased the Reading Railroad.
Reynolds met and married Suzanne Fitzsimons while enrolled in law school at U of M and become closely associated with the Harbor Springs area due to his wife's family. In the 1970's, the family purchased a house on Harbor Point. Suzanne FitzSimmons still summers there. Close to 140 FitzSimmons family members hold Harbor Springs close to their hearts.
Because of the close family ties in the area, board member Morse called it, “a great connection for our summer residence. I'm sure they will be very pleased.”
Tom Bailey, President of the Little Traverse Conservancy said, “Our conservancy holds a conservation easement ensuring that the property will be forever dedicated to public purposes.” He went on to say that, “[Reynolds] was a great friend to the conservancy and a warm and wonderful man. Our community is much better off thanks to his generosity and quiet support.”
Reynolds son, Tim, also met and married his wife in the Harbor Springs area. Tim expressed his feelings on the topic with, “this testament to my dad will be appreciated for generations. We thank you.”
Looking forward, Reynolds field will remain a staple in our community, paying tribute to the “quiet supporter,” Mr. Tom Reynolds.
The Harbor Springs Board of Education recently approved a request to name the field informally known as “Hoover field” to Reynolds Field. The change was made after a group of donors requested the facility be named in honor of the late Tom Reynolds, a patron to the Harbor Springs community.
The Hoover flower property was owned by the Wells family and sold to investors to create green space within the Harbor Springs area. Reynolds was extremely influential in the creation of green space and was a member of the group that donated the property, worth over 1million dollars, to the school district. The property then ended up being used for the current soccer and track athletic areas. The property donated was the largest in Harbor Springs Public School history, and, because of its significance, the board approved the name change making the property Reynolds Field.
Despite popular belief, the field was never officially named. The name Hoover Field was the name people used to describe the property because of the Hoover Flower Shop that used to sit on the land. The Board never officially named the field, so in recognition of this wonderful gift and in recognition of Mr. Reynolds, they choose to name (not re-name) the field after him, according to Superintendent Tompkins.
Board of Education member Gary Morse said, “I can't think of anyone more deserving,” in regards to the dedication of the field to Reynolds. “I knew him personally and he was a man of great character.”
Harbor Springs Superintendent Mark Tompkins commented on Reynold's significance in our area. “We are fortunate to have such generous people in our community such as Mr. Reynolds, who thought enough of our schools to donate this valuable property.”
Reynolds grew up in Chicago Illinois and was an avid sports fan with a special place in his heart for the Chicago Cubs. He was a proud caddie who grew into a single digit handicap golfer. He was also a nationally ranked junior tennis player.
He attended high school at Loyola Academy and moved on to Georgetown University for undergraduate studies and then to the University of Michigan for law school. In his early thirties he became managing partner of the Chicago law firm Winston & Sawn and was part of the group that purchased the Reading Railroad.
Reynolds met and married Suzanne Fitzsimons while enrolled in law school at U of M and become closely associated with the Harbor Springs area due to his wife's family. In the 1970's, the family purchased a house on Harbor Point. Suzanne FitzSimmons still summers there. Close to 140 FitzSimmons family members hold Harbor Springs close to their hearts.
Because of the close family ties in the area, board member Morse called it, “a great connection for our summer residence. I'm sure they will be very pleased.”
Tom Bailey, President of the Little Traverse Conservancy said, “Our conservancy holds a conservation easement ensuring that the property will be forever dedicated to public purposes.” He went on to say that, “[Reynolds] was a great friend to the conservancy and a warm and wonderful man. Our community is much better off thanks to his generosity and quiet support.”
Reynolds son, Tim, also met and married his wife in the Harbor Springs area. Tim expressed his feelings on the topic with, “this testament to my dad will be appreciated for generations. We thank you.”
Looking forward, Reynolds field will remain a staple in our community, paying tribute to the “quiet supporter,” Mr. Tom Reynolds.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Teacher/Student Facebook Throwdown
By Adam Calloway
Students and teachers co-exist during the school day, so why not on social networks such as Facebook, or MySpace? Sometimes having a teacher for a class can create a bond between the teacher and the student. They may end up talking about things aside form the class, and become friends. It sometimes just means sharing a common interest, such as a sport, or an out of school activity.
This happens a lot in high school, and may lead to adding them as a friend on a social netowrk on-line. Some people aren't very comfortable with this, seeing as whatever they may type, or any picture they might post will be seen by all of their friends. I feel that as long as I'm not posting anything that will get me in trouble with my same age friends, it will be fine for my teacher friends.
Facebook and MySpace are websites that help us all stay in touch, if you're stupid enough to post something that portrays that you are doing something you shouldn't be, then you really shouldn't be on them at all.
Students and teachers co-exist during the school day, so why not on social networks such as Facebook, or MySpace? Sometimes having a teacher for a class can create a bond between the teacher and the student. They may end up talking about things aside form the class, and become friends. It sometimes just means sharing a common interest, such as a sport, or an out of school activity.
This happens a lot in high school, and may lead to adding them as a friend on a social netowrk on-line. Some people aren't very comfortable with this, seeing as whatever they may type, or any picture they might post will be seen by all of their friends. I feel that as long as I'm not posting anything that will get me in trouble with my same age friends, it will be fine for my teacher friends.
Facebook and MySpace are websites that help us all stay in touch, if you're stupid enough to post something that portrays that you are doing something you shouldn't be, then you really shouldn't be on them at all.
Twitter my Facebook
By Nikki Keck
The minute you log onto Facebook it is mass chaos. You are bombarded with numerous group invitations and requests to take three of the same surveys, you have been "tagged" in 34 pictures and "poked" four times, and nine people want to be your "friend". The minute you log onto Twitter, the only question is, "What are you doing right now?"
Twitter is similar to Facebook in many ways. It's a free social network which allows its users to answer the question "What are you doing right now?" You have followers, which are like Facebook friends and you "tweet" just like you update your Facebook statues only you do it in 140 characters or less.
This restraint on the amount of words you can use has started a trend called "micro-blogging" Many journalists, politicians, news stations and bloggers use Twitter to get small but important pieces of information out to their followers.
When you log into your Twitter account you see small posts from your followers that say what they are doing. To some this might seem simple and boring but to others it's exactly what they're looking for. Twitter eliminates all the extra stuff of Facebook. So instead of logging on and being invited by 12 different people to "sace the world, join mafia wars or do a survey" you only see what you want.
"If you're a sentimentalist and you need pictures and music then you can upload pictures from twitpic and music from blip.fm. So, in essence, you're not losing anything, just stripping it down and making it easier," said "twitaholic" Meghan Fisher. " I tweet about three times every hour," said Fisher. "It's easier to use then Facebook because you don't need an internet connection, anyone that can text can tweet."
This unique advantage has made Twitter useful during disaster. Eye witnesses to the plane crash in the Hudson River instantly posted pictures on Twitter to help outsiders understand what had happened. Many people used Twitter to recieve minute by minute updates on the wildfires in California this past fall. Twitter is more useful than TV, internet or radio because people can get information on the run. They don't need or have anything but a cell phone. CNN is now the leading page on Twitter with the highest amount of followers.
There have also been many reports of congress using Twitter. Almost 20 congressmen posted "tweets" during President Obama's address to congress back in February.
Twitter is simple, accessivle from cell phones and school computers, but only a small amount of Harbor students are "twitterers"
"A lot of people associate it as being the same as Facebook and they don't want two of the same thing. I also don't think that very many people try it out. So it's not that they haven't heard of it, just that they haven't tried it," said Amanda Furstenberg.
The truth is, Twitter is becoming more popular every month and older networks like MySpace are reporting 20% loss in account activity. Twitter is just for quick personal news but it makes Facebook look like old news.
The minute you log onto Facebook it is mass chaos. You are bombarded with numerous group invitations and requests to take three of the same surveys, you have been "tagged" in 34 pictures and "poked" four times, and nine people want to be your "friend". The minute you log onto Twitter, the only question is, "What are you doing right now?"
Twitter is similar to Facebook in many ways. It's a free social network which allows its users to answer the question "What are you doing right now?" You have followers, which are like Facebook friends and you "tweet" just like you update your Facebook statues only you do it in 140 characters or less.
This restraint on the amount of words you can use has started a trend called "micro-blogging" Many journalists, politicians, news stations and bloggers use Twitter to get small but important pieces of information out to their followers.
When you log into your Twitter account you see small posts from your followers that say what they are doing. To some this might seem simple and boring but to others it's exactly what they're looking for. Twitter eliminates all the extra stuff of Facebook. So instead of logging on and being invited by 12 different people to "sace the world, join mafia wars or do a survey" you only see what you want.
"If you're a sentimentalist and you need pictures and music then you can upload pictures from twitpic and music from blip.fm. So, in essence, you're not losing anything, just stripping it down and making it easier," said "twitaholic" Meghan Fisher. " I tweet about three times every hour," said Fisher. "It's easier to use then Facebook because you don't need an internet connection, anyone that can text can tweet."
This unique advantage has made Twitter useful during disaster. Eye witnesses to the plane crash in the Hudson River instantly posted pictures on Twitter to help outsiders understand what had happened. Many people used Twitter to recieve minute by minute updates on the wildfires in California this past fall. Twitter is more useful than TV, internet or radio because people can get information on the run. They don't need or have anything but a cell phone. CNN is now the leading page on Twitter with the highest amount of followers.
There have also been many reports of congress using Twitter. Almost 20 congressmen posted "tweets" during President Obama's address to congress back in February.
Twitter is simple, accessivle from cell phones and school computers, but only a small amount of Harbor students are "twitterers"
"A lot of people associate it as being the same as Facebook and they don't want two of the same thing. I also don't think that very many people try it out. So it's not that they haven't heard of it, just that they haven't tried it," said Amanda Furstenberg.
The truth is, Twitter is becoming more popular every month and older networks like MySpace are reporting 20% loss in account activity. Twitter is just for quick personal news but it makes Facebook look like old news.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Nikki's Thumbs Hurt...
By Joe Dart
Nikki Keck has a disease. It affects every aspect of her daily life, and it defines her. To date, there is no cure for her afflication, and it may well be with her for the rest of her life. Nikki is a compulsive texter.
"I first started noticing the symptoms early last year. In the beginning, I was in denial. Doesn't everyone send 4 or 500 texts to their pals everyday? I'd say. It was only when my friends gathered in my home for an intervention when I began to realize that I had a serious problem."
Nikki began treatment at the 'Nokia Clinic for the Textually Disabled' in May of 2008. "I'm really turning my life around," she said. The clinic first opened branches in Japan in 2004 to combat what was fast becoming an epidemic in the country. Today they've helped thousands put their phones on hold, and get their lives back!
"My treatment ends next month," replied Nikki, "and I feel like a whole new person. I'm text-free and I'm loving every minute of it."
"I first started noticing the symptoms early last year. In the beginning, I was in denial. Doesn't everyone send 4 or 500 texts to their pals everyday? I'd say. It was only when my friends gathered in my home for an intervention when I began to realize that I had a serious problem."
Nikki began treatment at the 'Nokia Clinic for the Textually Disabled' in May of 2008. "I'm really turning my life around," she said. The clinic first opened branches in Japan in 2004 to combat what was fast becoming an epidemic in the country. Today they've helped thousands put their phones on hold, and get their lives back!
"My treatment ends next month," replied Nikki, "and I feel like a whole new person. I'm text-free and I'm loving every minute of it."
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