They live right next door to Blair, but we only see them in the case of an occasional third-floor fire or a false alarm. We, Lily Alexander and Vicky Lai, two valiant Silver Chips staffers, decided to pay a visit to our friendly next-door neighbors at Silver Spring fire station 16 and, instead of asking for a cup of sugar, ask for a ride on the big red trucks.
Their heads rest comfortably on their small hands, their eyes fixed on the sight before them. But they are not entranced by bright colors flashing on television or videogame characters leaping across the screen. These kindergarteners are mesmerized by a picture book, whose colorful pages are turned by hands twice the size of a 5-year-old's.
For most Blazers, the Blair weight room serves as a place to work out and build up strength. Kevin uses it to work up a mental sweat. After finishing a set of weights, he joins his friends, takes two dice from his pocket and rolls them with a flick of the wrist. The red dice spin around the floor as if in slow motion, teeter precariously and land with a four and three showing. He beams as he takes $10 from his friend's outstretched hand and picks up the weights for another set.
When the Spanish conquerors defeated the Aztec Empire nearly 500 years ago, they brought back crops, spices and diseases to Europe. But it's less well-known that they also brought back a delicacy that continues to this day: hot chocolate. First made by the Aztec and Mayan peoples by grinding cacao beans into paste, steaming hot chocolate beverages now come in as many different types as there are drinkers. Whether with a shot of espresso, infused with hazelnut or topped with mounds of whipped cream and sprinkles, hot chocolate is delicious by any name. As the D.C. winter comes upon us, catching many in shorts and t-shirts by surprise, a trip to get some hot chocolate is the key to stay toasty and satisfy your chocolate cravings.
She hadn't intended to go out this way. With three beautiful bouquets in hand and a wide, elated grin across her face, she ran across the stage, waving to the audience as she left. But while making her dramatic exit, she tripped, showering the audience with roses.
A message pops up on the computer screen. "Hi, I've trimmed the computer down somewhat. Happy hacking!” The computer, which had once held a slew of files, is now completely empty. The witty message is all that remains of Mark's presence.
There are photographs of just one naked girl on his cell phone — his girlfriend. Greg, a junior, is the only person meant to see these pictures, and he respects that wish. The photographs and videos of 18 other girls on his removable memory card, however, are a reminder of his single days.
When the music begins, senior Jhon "JC” Colque and the other performers come alive, as if stirring after a long slumber. Clad head-to-toe in brightly colored traditional Bolivian garb —including multicolored feathered hats — they twist and turn in a series of fast-paced dance steps. With each fluid movement, their neon clothing adorned with sequins becomes a blur of color and energy. The male performers leap up and down and, helmets in hand, bang rhythmically on the floor as the women shake their dazzling hats and skirts to the brisk and cheerful beat of the music. Energy radiates from Colque and his fellow dancers; their twirling, hopping, sliding and twisting to the Bolivian music creates an enthusiasm so infectious that the audience cannot resist bobbing their heads to the beat.
The janitors would come to watch him run. They knew - or at least sensed - he wasn't who he said he was. As he raced around the quarter-mile track at old Blair High School, they would silently agree about what was never said aloud. And at a time when race relations in the United States were defined by divisions, from water fountains to hospitals, Jim Queen was an anomaly. The janitors suspected it. His parents knew it. And so did he.
Kids bound around on the plastic McDonald's indoor playland, shouting in excitement. A few feet away, one little boy stands completely alone, watching the commotion from a distance. He takes a timid step toward the other children, wanting desperately to join in on the fun, but they dash to the other side of the playground, yelling "you're weird" at him and whispering to one another "he's different."