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Topics - Red02102002

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Off-Topic / Happy feet 2
« on: June 21, 2012, 08:15:09 am »Message ID: 558478
 :D What do you think about that anima?

Payments / My first payment is approved!
« on: April 21, 2012, 09:14:49 am »Message ID: 524255
My first payment is approved now. I am waiting for my account. I hope it is deposited there now!!!  ???

Payments / Payment still pending!!!
« on: April 17, 2012, 04:01:29 pm »Message ID: 522430
Ding! Ding! Ding!
I am still waiting for pending status. There are many more concern but I hope I will pass. :wave:

FusionCash / Thanks!!!
« on: April 15, 2012, 03:25:04 pm »Message ID: 521281
Thanks for helping me! I am doing good on the track of getting daily cash mails and paid on clicks.

FusionCash / Profile surveys!!!
« on: April 15, 2012, 03:23:19 pm »Message ID: 521279
I still not get profile surveys bonus. I got 3 check marks for 3 0f 6 surveys in my profile surveys. :wave:

Offers / Surveys requirements
« on: April 14, 2012, 09:45:58 am »Message ID: 520570
I completed many surveys, but just 1 survey I got the bonus. How to continue like that without family conditions? :wave:

Payments / My first payment!!!
« on: April 13, 2012, 10:37:26 am »Message ID: 520110
I am still waiting for pending status. This is my first payment. I cannot describe how is excited am I! ;)

Off-Topic / Raymond’s Run by Toni Cade Bambara (cont.)
« on: April 13, 2012, 10:34:28 am »Message ID: 520109
“In first place . . .” and then three or four voices get all mixed up  on the loudspeaker and I dig my sneaker into the grass and stare at Gretchen who’s staring back, both wondering just who did win. I can hear old Beanstalk arguing with the man on the loudspeaker about what the stopwatches say. Then I hear Raymond yanking at the fence to call me and I wave to shush him, but he keeps rattling the fence. Then like a dancer or something he starts climbing up nice and easy but very fast. And it occurs to me, watching how smoothly he climbs hand over hand and remembering how he looked running with his arms down to his side and with the wind pulling his mouth back and his teeth showing and all, it occurred to me that Raymond would make a very fine runner. Doesn’t he always keep up with me on my trots? And he surely knows how to breathe in counts of seven cause he’s always doing it at the dinner table, which drives my brother George up the wall. And I’m smiling to beat the band cause if I’ve lost this race, or if me and Gretchen tied, or even if I’ve won, I can always retire as a coach with Raymond as my champion. After all, I’ve got a roomful of ribbons and medals and awards. But what has Raymond got to call his own?
   So I stand there with my new plans, laughing out loud by this time as Raymond jumps down from the fence and runs over with his arms down to the side, which no one before him has quite mastered as a running style. And by the time he comes over I’m jumping up and down so glad to see him—my brother Raymond, a great runner in the family tradition. But of course everyone thinks I’m jumping up and down because the loudspeaker is announcing, “In first place—Miss Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker. In second place—Miss Gretchen P. Lewis.” And I look over at Gretchen wondering what the “P” stands for. And I smile. Cause she’s good, no doubt about it. Maybe she’d like to help me coach Raymond; she obviously is serious about running. And she nods to congratulate me and then she smiles. And I smile. We stand there with this big smile of respect between us. And it’s real.

Off-Topic / Raymond’s Run by Toni Cade Bambara (cont.)
« on: April 13, 2012, 10:33:51 am »Message ID: 520108
Raymond is hollering from the swings cause he knows I’m about to do my thing cause the man on the loudspeaker has just announced the fifty-yard dash, although he might just as well be giving a receipt for angel food cake cause you can hardly make out what he’s sayin for the static. I get up and slip off my sweatpants and then I see Gretchen standing at the starting line, kicking her legs out. Then as I get into place I see that ole Raymond is on line on the other side of the fence, bending down with his fingers on the ground just like he knew what he was doing. I was going to yell at him but then I didn’t. It burns up your energy to holler.
   Every time, just before I take off in a race, I always feel like I’m in a dream, the kind of dream you have when you’re sick with fever and feel all hot and weightless. I dream I’m flying over a sandy beach in the early morning sun, kissing the leaves of the trees as I fly by. And there’s always the smell of apples, just like in the country when I was little and used to think I was a choo-choo train, running through the fields of corn and chugging up the hill to the orchard. And all the time I’m dreaming this, I get lighter and lighter until I’m flying over the beach again, getting blown through the sky like a feather that weighs nothing at all. But once I spread my fingers in the dirt and crouch over the Get on Your Mark, the dream goes and I am solid again and I am telling myself, Squeaky, you must win, you must win, you are the fastest thing in the world, you can even beat your father up Amsterdam if you really try. And then I feel my weight coming back just behind my knees then down to my feet then into the earth and the pistol shot explodes in my blood and I am off and weightless again, flying past the other runners, my arms pumping up and down and the whole world is quiet except for the crunch as I zoom over the gravel in the track.
   I glance to my left and there is no one. To the right, a blurred Gretchen, who’s got her chin jutting out as if it would win the race all by itself. And on the other side of the fence is Raymond with his arms down to his side and the palms tucked up behind him, running in his very own style, and it’s the first time I ever saw that and I almost stop to watch my brother Raymond on his first run. But the white ribbon is bouncing toward me and I tear past it, racing into the distance till my feet with a mind of their own start digging up footfuls of dirt and brake me short.
   Then all the kids standing on the side pile on me, banging me on the back and slapping my head with their Field Day programs, for I have won again and everybody on 151st street can walk tall for another year.
   “In first place . . .” the man on the loudspeaker is clear as a bell now. But then he pauses and the loudspeaker starts to whine. Then static. And I lean down to catch my breath and here comes Gretchen walking  back, for she’s overshot the finish line too, huffing and puffing with her hands on her hips taking it slow, breathing in steady time like a real pro and I sort of like her a little for the first time.

Off-Topic / Raymond’s Run by Toni Cade Bambara (cont.)
« on: April 13, 2012, 10:32:44 am »Message ID: 520107
I take my time getting to the park on Field Day because the track meet is the last thing on the program. So I always come late to the Field Day program, just in time to get my number pinned on and lie in the grass till they announce the fifty-yard dash.
   I put Raymond in the little swings, which is a tight squeeze this year and will be impossible next year. Then I look around for Mr. Pearson, who pins the numbers on. I’m really looking for Gretchen if you want to know the truth, but she’s not around. The park is jam-packed with parents in hats and kids in white dresses and light-blue suits. The big guys with their caps on backwards lean against the fence swirling the basketball on the tips of their fingers, waiting for all these crazy people to clear out of the park so they can play.
   Then here comes Mr. Pearson with his clipboard and his cards and pencils and whistles and safety pins and fifty million other things he’s always dropping all over the place. He sticks out in a crowd as though he’s on stilts. We used to call him Jack and the Beanstalk to get him mad. But I’m the only one that can outrun him and get away, and I’m too grown for that silliness now.
   “Well, Squeaky,” he says, checking my name off the list and handling me number seven and two pins.
   “Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker,” I correct him and tell him to write it down on his board.
   “Well, Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker, going to give someone else a break this year?” I squint at him real hard to see if he is seriously thinking I should lose the race on purpose just to give someone else a break. “Only six girls running this time,” he continues, shaking his head sadly like it’s my fault all of New York didn’t turn out in sneakers. “That new girl should give you a run for your money.” He looks around the park for Gretchen like a periscope in a submarine movie. “Wouldn’t it be a nice gesture if you were . . . to ahhh . . .”
   I give him such a look he couldn’t finish putting that idea into words. I pin number seven to myself and stomp away, I’m so burnt. And I go straight for the track and stretch out on the grass. The man on the loudspeaker is calling everyone over to the track and I’m on my back looking at the sky, trying to pretend I’m in the country, but I can’t because even grass in the city feels hard as sidewalk.
   The twenty-yard dash takes all of two minutes cause most of the little kids don’t know better than to run off the track or run the wrong way or run smack into the fence and fall down and cry. One little kid, though, has got the good sense to run straight for the white ribbon up ahead so he wins. The the second-graders line up for the thirty-yard dash and I don’t even bother to turn my head to watch cause Raphael Perez always wins. He wins before he even begins by psyching the runners, telling them they’re going to trip on their shoelaces and fall on their faces or lose their shorts or something, which he doesn’t really have to do since he is very fast, almost as fast as I am. After that is the forty-yard dash which I used to run when I was in first grade.

Off-Topic / Raymond’s Run by Toni Cade Bambara (cont.)
« on: April 13, 2012, 10:31:39 am »Message ID: 520106
Now some people like to act like things come easy to them, won’t let on that they practice. Not me. I’ll high-prance down 34th Street like a rodeo pony to keep my knees strong. Now you take Cynthia Procter, for instance. She’s just the opposite. If there’s a test tomorrow, she’ll say something like, “Oh, I guess I’ll play handball this afternoon and watch television tonight,” just to let you know she’s not thinking about the test. Or like last week when she won the spelling bee for the millionth time, “A good thing you got ‘receive,’ Squeaky, cause I would have got it wrong. I completely forgot about the spelling bee.” And she’ll clutch the lace on her blouse like it was a narrow escape. Oh, brother!
   As for me, I stay up all night studying the words for the spelling bee. And you can see me any time of day practicing running. I never walk if I can trot, and shame on Raymond if he can’t keep up. But of course he does, cause if he hangs back someone’s liable to walk up to him and get smart, or take his allowance from him.
   So I’m strolling down Broadway breathing out and breathing in on counts of seven, which is my lucky number, and here comes Gretchen and her sidekicks: Mary Louise, who used to be a friend of mine when she first moved to Harlem from Baltimore, and Rosie, who is as fat as I am skinny and has a big mouth where Raymond is concerned and is too stupid to know that there is not a big deal of difference between herself and Raymond and that she can’t afford to throw stones. So they are coming up Broadway and I see right away that it’s going to be one of those Dodge City scenes cause the street ain’t that big and they’re close to the buildings just as we are. First I think I’ll step into the candy store and look over the new comics and let them pass. But that’s chicken and I’ve got a reputation to consider. So then I think I’ll just walk straight on through them or even over them if necessary. But as they get to me, they slow down. I’m ready to fight, cause like I said I don’t feature a whole lot of chit-chat.
   “You signing up for the Field Day races?” smiles Mary Louise, only it’s not a smile at all. A dumb question like that doesn’t deserve an answer. Besides, there’s just me and Gretchen standing there really, so no use wasting my breath talking to shadows.
   “I don’t think you’re going to win this time,” says Rosie, trying to signify with her hands on her hips all salty.
   “I always win cause I’m the best,” I say straight at Gretchen who is, as far as I’m concerned, the only one talking in this ventriloquist-dummy routine. Gretchen smiles, but it’s not a smile, and I’m thinking that girls never really smile at each other because they don’t know how. Then they all look at Raymond who has just brought his mule team to a standstill. And they’re about to see what trouble they can get into through him.
   “What grade you in now, Raymond?”
   “You got anything to say to my brother, you say it to me, Mary Louise Williams of Baltimore.”
   “What are you, his mother?” sasses Rosie.
   “That’s right, Fatso.” So they just stand there and Gretchen shifts from one leg to the other and so do they. Then Gretchen puts her hands on her hips and is about to say something but doesn’t. Then she walks around me looking me up and down but keeps walking up Broadway, and her sidekicks follow her. So me and Raymond smile at each other and he says, “Gidyap” to his team and I continue with my breathing exercises, strolling down Broadway toward the ice man on 145th with not a care in the world.

Off-Topic / Raymond’s Run by Toni Cade Bambara
« on: April 13, 2012, 10:30:24 am »Message ID: 520105
I don’t have much work to do around the house like some girls. My mother does that. And I don’t have to earn my pocket money. George runs errands for the big boys and sells Christmas cards. And anything else that’s got to get done, my father does. All I have to do in life is mind my brother Raymond, which is enough.
   Sometimes I slip and say my little brother Raymond. But as any fool can see he’s much bigger and he’s older too. But a lot of people call him my little brother because he needs looking after cause he’s not quite right. And a lot of smart mouths got lots to say about that too, especially when George was minding him. But now, if anybody has anything to say to Raymond, they have to come by me. And I don’t believe in standing around  with somebody in my face doing a lot of talking I’d rather just knock you down and take my chances even if I am a little girl with skinny arms and Squeaky voice, which is how I got the name Squeaky. And if things get too rough, I run. And as anybody can tell you, I’m the fastest thing on two feet.
   There is no track meet that I don’t win that first-place medal. I used to win the twenty-yard dash when I was a little kid in kindergarten. Nowadays, it’s the fifty-yard dash. The big kids call me Mercury cause I’m the swiftest thing in the neighborhood. Everybody knows that—except two people who know better, my father and me. He can beat me to Amsterdam Avenue with me having a two fire-hydrant headstart and him running with his hands in his pockets and whistling. But that’s private information. Cause can you imagine some thirty-five-year-old man stuffing himself into shorts to race little kids? So as far as everyone’s concerned, I’m the fastest and that goes for Gretchen, too, who has put out the tale that she is going to win the first-place medal this year. Ridiculous. In the first place, no one can beat me and that’s all there is to it.
   I’m standing on the corner admiring the weather and about to take a stroll down Broadway so I can practice my breathing exercises, and I’ve got Raymond walking on the inside close to the buildings, cause he’s subject to fits of fantasy and starts thinking he’s a circus performer and that the curb is a tightrope strung high in the air. And sometimes after a rain he likes to step down off his tightrope right into the gutter and slosh around getting his shoes and cuffs wet. Or sometimes if you don’t watch him he’ll dash across traffic to the island in the middle of Broadway and give the pigeons a fit. Then I have to go behind him apologizing to all the old people sitting around trying to get some sun and getting all upset with the pigeons fluttering around them, scattering their newspapers, and upsetting the waxpaper lunches in their laps. So I keep Raymond on the inside of me, and he plays like he’s driving a stage coach which is O.K. by me so long as he doesn’t run me over or interrupt my breathing exercises, which I have to do on account of I’m serious about my running, and I don’t care who knows it.

Off-Topic / Average posts per day
« on: April 10, 2012, 10:54:42 am »Message ID: 518638
My average posts per day now is about 0.05 something. May I start now to earn post bonus, so since now I just post at least 30 posts in 30 days I will get bonus. Average posts per day is not important, that just a number to show a person posts. ::)

Off-Topic / Payment pending
« on: April 09, 2012, 03:36:26 pm »Message ID: 518252
I have a question! Payments are always process on 20th each month. My request cash out is on 03/26/2012, so I have to wait for till April 20th, but still not approve, or still pending. So proccessing to approve or not approve, and proccessing to delivery of payments are different?

Off-Topic / Most dangerous game by Richard Connell part 12
« on: December 29, 2011, 10:59:08 am »Message ID: 466909
   “Swam,” said Rainsford. “I found it quicker than walking through the jungle.”
   The general sucked in his breath and smiled. “I congratulate you,” he said. “You have won the game.”
   Rainsford did not smile. “I am still a beast at bay,” he said, in a low, hoarse voice. “Get ready, General Zaroff.”
   The general made one of his deepest bows. “I see,” he said. “Splendid! One of us is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Rainsford….” 

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