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HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOZART!

Once upon a time... when men wore powdered wigs and rode in gilded carriages, a baby boy was born in the beautiful town of Salzburg, in the Austrian Mountains.

The date was January 27th, 1756.

http://www.answers.com/mozart -> Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Biography

Angry with website? Spill 'coffee' on it

Here's a way of venting your anger at a website that really annoys you- splill a cup of coffe over it, well, at least virtually.

The site, www.netdisaster.com provides fed-up web surfers with a variety of options to let go of steam, including throwing virtual cowdung or a meteor shower over websites which they want to vandalize.

The judges of Yahoo's "Finds of the year" awards liked it so much, they awarded it the Best Innovative Website prize. Truly deserving!

Try it out!

Click Here

This is WHACK!

This is the only domain named after the world's most commonly misheard lyric 'Kiss the Sky" by Jimi Hendrix. This website is dedicated to all the misheard versions of any song... which at times, bring out a completely different meaning from the original version... check out the common misheard version of your favorite song here:-

• http://www.kissthisguy.com/

Song Meanings

Can't figure out what your preferred singer is trying to say in your favorite song? Click here to find out what it could possibly mean. There is a diverse school of thought for all the songs imaginable *even instrumentals*... You can propose your own implication too!

• http://songmeanings.net/

CUPID'S DEAD (EXTREME)

Hypocrite

-by Samantha Robinson


H is for happiness, it's what i'll never get
Y is the question for when you left
P is for people who judge me too much
O is all i can say about such and such
C is for crying, it's all i can do
R is for ranting, it's all about you
I is for me and the reck that i am
T is for they who don't give a damn
E is for everything that doesn't go my way

HYPOCRITE is the word for what i am today

Click this link to go to samantha's website: http://arrowcobain7.tripod.com/ she's got a website dedicated to Kurt Cobain... check that out too!

Sam, u rock!

THE FROG AND THE NIGHTIGALE

- by Vikram Seth

Once upon a time a frog
Croaked away in Bingle Bog
Every night from dusk to dawn
He croaked awn and awn and awn

Other creatures loathed his voice,
But, alas, they had no choice,
And the crass cacophony
Blared out from the sumac tree
At whose foot the frog each night
Minstrelled on till morning night

Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks.
Insults or complaints or bricks
Stilled the frogs determination
To display his heart’s elation.
But one night a nightingale
In the moonlight cold and pale
Perched upon the sumac tree
Casting forth her melody
Dumbstruck sat the gaping frog
And the whole admiring bog
Stared towards the sumac, rapt,
And, when she had ended, clapped,
Ducks had swum and herons waded
To her as she serenaded
And a solitary loon
Wept, beneath the summer moon.
Toads and teals and tiddlers, captured
By her voice, cheered on, enraptured:
“Bravo!” “Too divine!” “Encore!”
So the nightingale once more,
Quite unused to such applause,
Sang till dawn without a pause.

Next night when the Nightingale
Shook her head and twitched her tail,
Closed an eye and fluffed a wing
And had cleared her throat to sing
She was startled by a croak.
“Sorry – was that you who spoke?”
She enquired when the frog
Hopped towards her from the bog.
“Yes,” the frog replied. “You see,
I’m the frog who owns this tree
In this bog I’ve long been known
For my splendid baritone
And, of course, I wield my pen
For Bog Trumpet now and then”
“Did you… did you like my song?”
“Not too bad – but far too long.
The technique was fine of course,
But it lacked a certain force”.
“Oh!” the nightingale confessed.
Greatly flattered and impressed
That a critic of such note
Had discussed her art and throat:
“I don’t thing the song’s divine.
But – oh, well – at least it’s mine”.

“That’s not much to boast about”.
Said the heartless frog. “Without
Proper training such as I
- And few others can supply.
You’ll remain a mere beginner.
But with me you’ll be a winner”
“Dearest frog”, the nightingale
Breathed: “This is a fairy tale –
And you are Mozart in disguise
Come to earth before my eyes”.
“Well I charge a modest fee.”
“Oh!” “But it won’t hurt, you’ll see”

Now the nightingale inspired,
Flushed with confidence, and fired
With both art and adoration,
Sang – and was a huge sensation.
Animals for miles around
Flocked towards the magic sound,
And the frog with great precision
Counted heads and charged admission.

Though next morning it was raining,
He began her vocal training.
“But I can’t sing in this weather”
“Come my dear – we’ll sing together.
Just put on your scarf and sash,
Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash!”
So the frog and nightingale
Journeyed up and down the scale
For six hours, till she was quivering.
Though subdued and sleep deprived,
In the night her throat revived,
And the sumac tree was bowed,
With a breathless, titled crowd:
Owl of Sandwich, Duck of Kent,
Mallard and Milady Trent,
Martin Cardinal Mephisto,
And the Coot of Monte Cristo,
Ladies with tiaras glittering
In the interval sat twittering –
And the frog observed them glitter
With a joy both sweet and bitter.

Every day the frog who’d sold her
Songs for silver tried to scold her:
“You must practice even longer
Till your voice, like mine grows stronger.
In the second song last night
You got nervous in mid-flight.
And, my dear, lay on more trills:
Audiences enjoy such frills.
You must make your public happier:
Give them something sharper snappier.
We must aim for better billings.
You still owe me sixty shillings.”

Day by day the nightingale
Grew more sorrowful and pale.
Night on night her tired song
Zipped and trilled and bounced along,
Till the birds and beasts grew tired
At a voice so uninspired
And the ticket office gross
Crashed, and she grew more morose -
For her ears were now addicted
To applause quite unrestricted,
And to sing into the night
All alone gave no delight.

Now the frog puffed up with rage.
“Brainless bird – you’re on the stage –
Use your wits and follow fashion.
Puff your lungs out with passion.”
Trembling, terrified to fail,
Blind with tears, the nightingale
Heard him out in silence, tried,
Puffed up, burst a vein, and died.
Said the frog: “I tried to teach her,
But she was a stupid creature –
Far too nervous, far too tense.
Far too prone to influence.
Well, poor bird – she should have known
That your song must be your own.
That’s why I sing with panache:
“Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash!”
And the foghorn of the frog
Blared unrivalled through the bog.

dun click this

Dont Click Here

What kinda teenager am I?

the studious student. You are definitely pressured
and suffer from side effects from built up
stress. You are constantly occupying yourself
with books, studies, or some other hobby. You
feel squeezed in place and have litte movement.
Most of the time you are busy with work and
family, and would love to spread your wings and
relax. One like you needs to find a certain
time of the day to just sit and release the
tension. However, you are doing fairly well in
school, but that does not mean that you can
continue stressing yourself out. Take a
breather and head out with some friends.

You can consider going into a field like
librarian, polotician, journalist,
Archeologist, scientist, or lawyer. You have a
brain...NOW USE IT....but please...spare
yourself the pressure and create some down time
for yourself. Or develop a hobby that releases
tension, such as knitting (it worked wonders
for me)

What type of teenager are you?