President Obama shares the story of Natoma Canfield, a cancer survivor who had to drop her health insurance due to excessive rate hikes only to be diagnosed with leukemia, and tells the crowd in Strongsville, Ohio that cases like Natomas make it clear that the time is now for health insurance reform. March 15, 2010.
Duration : 0:35:4
HenHouseStudios.com
Based in Southern California, Boom Shaka is keeping roots reggae music alive and well. Founded way back in 1986 by singer/songwriter Trevy Felix, Boom Shaka has developed a serious following over the years. They have toured the world and have released a series of albums since their inception.
Trevy Felix is the lead singer and plays guitar. He is accompanied by his brother Bass-I on bass, Lester Fari on lead guitar, Shaka Man on drums and Little George on keyboards.
Boom Shaka’s music is incredible. They have great lyrics, heavy bass lines, sweet guitar licks and beautiful harmonies. If you thought that all the best reggae music was recorded in the 1970′s, then you haven’t heard this group. Boom Shaka will blow your mind.
Hen House Studios is a record label and documentary film company in Venice, California. First made famous by their unique concept to record musicians for free in exchange for the right to film them, Hen House has grown to a premiere, web based multi media company featuring music videos, CDs, DVDs, and podcasts all produced by the studio.
Hear the Music and See the Stories.
©2007 Hen House Studios. All Rights Reserved.
Duration : 0:8:48
Well here they are, the moment you have been waiting for; the chickens at 7 weeks. Okay actually theyre older than that since this video is about a week old, but when I filmed it the little buggers were seven weeks old. Im not a big chicken expert but I thing the grey chicken with the big red comb on its head is a rooster. So far all the chickens do is eat and poop all over the place, I still have no idea what my dad thinks hes actually going to do with the things, if he think Im going to help butcher them hes mistaken. We used to do that when I was younger and I really have no desire anymore to chop the head off a chicken, then dip it in boiling water and pull the feathers off. My God what a traumatic upbringing I must have had, butchering chickens at ten years old in the back yard and throwing the guts in a road ditch. Ah the good old days
Anyway, here are the chickens at 7 weeks
Duration : 0:1:39
THANKS FOR 20K VIEWS!!!!
USE HIGH DETAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
this guide will help you to get you’re strength level to 99.
locations:
chickens: slightly north west of lumbridge castle
cows: slightly west of the chicken coop
minotaurs: 1st level of the stronghold of security
hill giants: tunnels underneath edgeville
tip: if you have a brass key you can get to the hill giants quickly through a small hut slightly wedt of the cooking guild.
lesser demons: karamja volcano, run past the red spiders, turn left and kill lesser demons
desert bandits: take the flying carpet from shantay pass to the bedabin camp, run south until you reach the bandit camp, tr get into one of the houses (not the pub) so you dont lose hp from the heat, this is very hard because the worlds are always dead crouded. 
songs:
fall out boy – thanks for the memories
muse – new born
rate comment and sub!
special thanks to tom neary007!
—DISCLAIMER—
RUNESCAPE IS OWNED BY JAGEX LTD. I DO NOT OWN ANY PART OF RUNESCAPE, I ONLY MAKE VIDEOS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PERPOSES, ALL SONGS IN THIS VIDEO ARE OWNED BY THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNER I DO NOT TAKE CREDIT FOR ANY OF THE SONGS IN THIS VIDEO.
Duration : 0:4:9
2nd track of Emerson Drive’s album, Believe. Please suscribe & request [country] songs to upload. (:
Enjoy.
Lyrics (thanks to emersondrive.com) :
Written by Josh Leo, Shawn Colvin
Five-year-old Superman got a beach towel cape
And he thinks he can
So he takes a dive off the chicken coop
Red behind and broken foot
Daddy said I hope you learned your lesson good
Yes sir, next time Im gonna wear the Superman boots
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Red rhinestones and a Silvertone
Opry playing on the radio
He says one day Im gonna be on that stage
Spends all his time practicing
Gets a big break and it all begins
Now he waiting in the wings and Porters calling out his name
Chorus
Believe
You can fly you can sing
Take a leap spread your wings
Believe
Have a little faith little trust
Little luck little love and dream
Whatever you want
But youve gotta believe
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Her mom says its wasting tips in an all-night diner
Babies, boys and black eye liner
Its a womans life it aint rocket science
She set her site on the Ivy League
Got a full free ride and her PhD
Now shes down in Houston and shes one of NASAs finest
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Hes 91 shes 85
Said by God were still alive
Lets go stepping out before cashing in
Take the Cadillac down to the Broken Spoke
Do the ole two-step or cotton-eyed joe
Just like the south theyre gonna rise again
Repeat Chorus
Good things come to those who will believe
So believe
You can fly
Give it a try
Youre gonna see
Whatever you want
Whatever you dream
If you believe
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Repeat Chorus
Repeat Chorus
Duration : 0:3:51
Thanks go reddingchickencoops.blogspot.com for assistance on my new coop. Also, all 6 girls going outside permanently.
Duration : 0:6:43
New song by Emerson Drive Comment Subscribe and enjoy
Five-year-old Superman got a beach towel cape
And he thinks he can
So he takes a dive off the chicken coop
Red behind and broken foot
Daddy said I hope you learned your lesson good
Yes sir, next time Im gonna wear the Superman boots
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Red rhinestones and a Silvertone
Opry playing on the radio
He says one day Im gonna be on that stage
Spends all his time practicing
Gets a big break and it all begins
Now he waiting in the wings and Porters calling out his name
Chorus
Believe
You can fly you can sing
Take a leap spread your wings
Believe
Have a little faith little trust
Little luck little love and dream
Whatever you want
But youve gotta believe
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Her mom says its wasting tips in an all-night diner
Babies, boys and black eye liner
Its a womans life it aint rocket science
She set her site on the Ivy League
Got a full free ride and her PhD
Now shes down in Houston and shes one of NASAs finest
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Hes 91 shes 85
Said by God were still alive
Lets go stepping out before cashing in
Take the Cadillac down to the Broken Spoke
Do the ole two-step or cotton-eyed joe
Just like the south theyre gonna rise again
Repeat Chorus
Good things come to those who will believe
So believe
You can fly
Give it a try
Youre gonna see
Whatever you want
Whatever you dream
If you believe
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Repeat Chorus
Repeat Chorus
Duration : 0:6:12
Written by Josh Leo, Shawn Colvin
Five-year-old Superman got a beach towel cape
And he thinks he can
So he takes a dive off the chicken coop
Red behind and broken foot
Daddy said I hope you learned your lesson good
Yes sir, next time Im gonna wear the Superman boots
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Red rhinestones and a Silvertone
Opry playing on the radio
He says one day Im gonna be on that stage
Spends all his time practicing
Gets a big break and it all begins
Now he waiting in the wings and Porters calling out his name
Chorus
Believe
You can fly you can sing
Take a leap spread your wings
Believe
Have a little faith little trust
Little luck little love and dream
Whatever you want
But youve gotta believe
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Her mom says its wasting tips in an all-night diner
Babies, boys and black eye liner
Its a womans life it aint rocket science
She set her site on the Ivy League
Got a full free ride and her PhD
Now shes down in Houston and shes one of NASAs finest
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Hes 91 shes 85
Said by God were still alive
Lets go stepping out before cashing in
Take the Cadillac down to the Broken Spoke
Do the ole two-step or cotton-eyed joe
Just like the south theyre gonna rise again
Repeat Chorus
Good things come to those who will believe
So believe
You can fly
Give it a try
Youre gonna see
Whatever you want
Whatever you dream
If you believe
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Go on, give it a try
Repeat Chorus
Repeat Chorus
Duration : 0:4:5
A while ago, before the summer, in the courtyard at Careof in Milan, Efrem, a guy with a beard, told me he came from San Cesario: «I live on the edge of town, at lluca fausu», he said, with that sly Salento accent. I thought: «He lives in a false Luca, at Luca-the-fake whatever.» Over the next few days, for no apparent reason, I kept thinking about this fake Luca. A couple of months later we were driving through San Cesario, Alessandra had a blue wig, it was three in the morning and we were on our way home from a party. We had ingested red wine, rum and chinotto, and I had chewed some mint leaves. «I want to show you something she said. Have you ever heard of the lu cafausu?» I couldnt believe my ears. Around two bends and down two one-way streets (the wrong way, she was driving) and there was the fake Luca. A dozen buildings surround what might almost be called a piazza. At its center stands a strange structure (more of an object) in crumbly masonry, a weird sort of pagoda with a Middle Eastern air (a crescent moon on the roof), fragile, almost an eyesore. Efrems neighborhood doesnt take its name from some dishonest Luca, but from a coffee house (twisted by local dialect into lu cafe-haus-u) that has been many little things for many long decades: a gathering place for peasants, a gazebo that provided shade for noblemen and English officers as they sipped tea, a dwelling for a young orphan and his white horse, a henhouse, a toilet, a garage for a Lambretta, a sexual trysting place, a farmers tool shed, an illegal gambling joint, a dream object and, last but not least, the site of performances by four artists. It was and is an inadmissible spot, a territory of accumulation and absence of meaning. A metaphor, perhaps, of what we might become.
(Translation by Steve Piccolo)
Duration : 0:2:19
While thumbing through the old photo album
A particular one my eyes fixed upon;
It was of Mom in her blue Sunday dress
And wearing a soiled yellow apron.
I smiled as in my mind I returned,
It seemed just like it was yesterday;
For I had left my small hand prints on it
From playing in the Carolina red clay.
Mom had called us into dinner,
I could smell Sunday chicken fried;
So I ran in and threw my arms around her,
As on my hands the clay she spied.
Mom pinched my cheeks as she laughed out loud,
Told me to wash up and quickly sit down;
Then sister Mary Ruth took mom’s picture,
We kids snickered, not dad, he just made a frown.
Mom would always wear an apron,
Yellow was her favorite color;
I loved to sneak and untie it,
Hear her shout; “Scat, you little stinker!”
Yes, the apron was mom’s preference,
Of all the clothing that she wore;
She donned it like a badge of honor,
Displayed it like some fancy decor.
She would wear it into the hen house,
Then shape it in a rounded fold;
There softly place fresh eggs gathered,
Or shield baby chicks from the cold.
I’ve seen her use it for a basket,
For garden tomatoes or fresh corn;
I even recall when it cradled,
A dozen kittens newly-born.
She’d reach down, pull it at the bottom,
Her dish pan hands to gently dry;
She would fan herself in hot weather,
Or wave it like a flag to say goodbye.
Why, Mom’s apron could hide a shy child,
Or wipe dirt from a little boy’s ear;
And she would keep a hankie in its pocket,
That’s one memory I still hold dear.
I have seen her pat a sweaty brow,
After cooking over an old wood stove;
Or use it for a potholder, as cornbread
From the oven she would remove.
She’d use it to carry ripe apples,
That had just fallen to the ground;
Maybe collect crumbs from the table,
Toss them to the birds waitin’ ’round.
Yes, Mom’s apron had many uses,
From a tote bag to shooing flies;
But, I’ve also seen her use it tenderly,
When she would wipe teary eyes.
Now, I suppose the apron was invented,
To protect a mom’s pretty clothes;
But they must have had Mom in mind,
How she loved it… heaven only knows.
And I don’t reckon that too many ladies,
Would care a whit for it in these days;
But my mom proved its great value,
As she used it in so many ways.
So, when I look through my family photos,
There’s one I still gaze upon;
It’s of mom in her blue Sunday dress,
Wearing a soiled yellow apron.
**************
In memory of my mother Arizona Taylor
Written by Loyd C Taylor
Duration : 0:4:10