The UPS Store is hosting the “Design Dale’s Ride” coloring contest and is inviting kids to design the special paint scheme for Dale Jarrett’s #88 The UPS Store/Toys for Tots Ford. Jarrett will race the winning design on Sunday, November 5, 2006, at Texas Motor Speedway to kick-off The UPS Store’s holiday season – and its Toys for Tots donation drive.
Last year, Dale’s three youngest kids designed their dad’s special car to help The UPS Store raise awareness about Toys for Tots – the first time the charity’s logo has ever been featured on a NASCAR. This year, the Jarretts will serve as the judges – and the public will be invited to vote on their favorite design and help select the winner.
All kids ages 5-12 who are legal residents of the United States or Puerto Rico are eligible to enter. The coloring contest runs from Saturday, April 1, through Saturday, April 29, 2006. The winner and runners’ up have the chance to win some cool prizes! For a copy of the rules or for more information, visit The UPS Store .
Two months ago, we asked our subscribers to open up and tell us about their favorite (and least favorite) things in the world of education. You have the results in your hands -- and online. Explore them, have fun, and tell us what you think. Attention will be paid.
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. Althought the two are identical tiwns, man, as a rule, views the prenatal abyss with more calm than the one he is heading for (at some forty-five hundred heartbeats an hour). I know, however, of a young chronophobiac who experienced something like panic when looking for the first time at homemade movies that had been taken a few weeks before his birth. He saw a world that was practically unchanged - the same house, the same people - and then realized that he did not exist there at all and that nobody mourned his absence. He caught a glimpse of his mother waving from an upstairs window, and that unfamiliar gesture disturbed him, as if it were some mysterious farewell. But what particularly firghtened him was the sight of a brand-new baby carriage standing there on the porch, with the smug, encroaching air of a coffin; even that was empty, as if, in the reverse course of events, his very bones had disintegrated.
The first paragraph from Vladimir Nabokov's autobiography, Speak, Memory, which I am reading with unmitigated delight. And envy. Lots and lots of envy.
Finished Pale Fire last night. A strange and wonderful concoction. Witness -
We are absurdly accustomed to the miracle of a few written signs being able to contain immortal imagery, involutions of thought, new worlds with live people, speaking, weeping, laughing. We take it for granted so simply that in a sense, by the very act of brutish routine acceptance, we undo the work of the ages, the history of the gradual elaboration of poetical description and construction, from the treeman to Browning, from the caveman to Keats. What if we awake one day, all of us, and find ourselves utterly unable to read? I wish you to gasp not only at what you read but at the miracle of its being readable (so I used to tell my students).