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Congratulations to the following choir students who were chosen to sing in the 2015 Opus Honor Choirs:  Abigail Lincoln- soprano, in the 7/8 Treble Choir, Grace Kiple, alternate 1 alto in the 9th Grade Mixed Choir. The concert will be held in CY Stephens Auditorium at 4:00 p.m. on Thursday, November 19th. Nice job girls!

Parent Teacher Conferences Sign Up

Oct 12 2015 - District News

Parent Teacher Conferences will be on Tuesday, October 27th and Thursday, October 29th.  SBL Schools will again use the MyConferenceTime Electronic Scheduler to schedule conferences.  Please click on the following link to sign up for Parent Teacher Conferences.

Quick quips, awful quotes and quaint talks never

quite solve the wants of a very small child.

=== You earned 98/105 accuracy stars! === Do zebras roam the miles of bleak velds which

cover parts of the world while packs of brown

bears and wart hogs prowl in the woods?

Six husky cooks boiled clam broth, shrimp and

prawns and broiled liver for seven lucky elves,

then made their hasty exits.

Knowledge is free at the library... just bring your own container!

Security Info

The Campus Portal incorporates the highest level of security. Parents/guardians can see only information

related to the students they are authorized to view. The use of strong passwords, forced password reset

and session timeouts ensure secure access.

Schools create households to which the student belongs, depending on the information provided about

parent and guardian rights, living arrangements, etc. Parents and guardians will only have access to the

links which they have been given permission, to ensure student privacy. Students who have access to the

Portal only have access to view their own data

At the games, Mark was so very badly hurt with

many broken bones, lumps on his jaws, and some

glands burst. Blood oozed from a crack in his

wart where it had oozed for weeks. He was lucky

to have lived.

to Tristan, Trent, Trey, Trey, Madison, Jordan, Jordan, Jorda, Jordyn, Abby, Abby, Samantha, Samantha,

Sergeant Bluff-Luton High School is proud of the educational experience we provide our students. Our dedicated staff is committed to promoting higher levels of learning and achievement for all students. We hope you find our homepage useful and invite your comments and suggestions as we strive to educate all children.

As a school community, we enthusiastically share a commitment to ensuring learning for all students, utilizing best practices for teaching and learning, and fostering excellence in student achievement. It is our belief that to achieve this ambitious mission we will need to work hand in hand with our community. Please let us know if we can be of service to you. I look forward to meeting you and welcome creating a partnership on which to build the educational foundation of your child's academic success and school career. If you have any questions concerning programming an plans for the upcoming year, please do contact me.

“Some people dream of success...while others wake up and work hard at it”

Prerequisite:  No formal prerequisite, but self-discipline and good study habits needed.

Spanish I offers a basic study of grammar and vocabulary to understand simple Spanish.  Students will practice speaking, listening, reading, and writing the language.  An introduction to the people and culture of the Spanish world is also included.

It is important to have good communication between home and school. This website is one more way to communicate with you. As we continue to develop this website, look for parent and student links, classroom pages, PTO updates and a Principal blog.

a approximately 360 students in third, fourth and fifth grades. We are extremely proud of our dedicated and experienced teachers, outstanding students and supportive par.

Staff members of Sergeant Bluff-Luton CSD dedicate themselves to provide our students with a high quality education. We are committed to ensuring that our students benefit from challenging and rewarding academics, fine arts, athletics, and citizenship opportunities. We emphasize a relevant curriculum and challenge our students to take personal responsibility for their education. The combination of talented and dedicated staff, along with parent and community support, makes Sergeant Bluff-Luton CSD a great place to learn.

The primary role of the school nurse is to support student learning.  This is accomplished by implementing strategies that promote student and staff health.

Sergeant Bluff-Luton CSD will be having book fairs at the Primary, Elementary and Middle Schools. The fair hours are Tuesday, October 27 from 4-8:30 pm and Thursday, October 29 from 2-8 pm. l Lincoln- soprano, in the 7/8 Treble Choir, Grace Kiple, alternate 1 alto in the 9th Grade Mixed Choir. The concert w

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Pluto's visual apparent magnitude averages 15.1, brightening to 13.65 at perihelion.[2] To see it, a telescope is required; around 30 cm (12 in) aperture being desirable.[154] It looks star-like and without a visible disk even in large telescopes, because its angular diameter is only 0.11".

The earliest maps of Pluto, made in the late 1980s, were brightness maps created from close observations of eclipses by its largest moon, Charon. Observations were made of the change in the total average brightness of the Pluto–Charon system during the eclipses. For example, eclipsing a bright spot on Pluto makes a bigger total brightness change than eclipsing a dark spot. Computer processing of many such observations can be used to create a brightness map. This method can also track changes in brightness over time.[155][156]

Better maps were produced from images taken by the Hubble Space Telescope (HST), which offered higher resolution, and showed considerably more detail,[102] resolving variations several hundred kilometers across, including polar regions and large bright spots.[104] These maps were produced by complex computer processing, which finds the best-fit projected maps for the few pixels of the Hubble images.[157] These remained the most detailed maps of Pluto until the flyby of New Horizons in July 2015, because the two cameras on the HST used for these maps were no longer in service.[157]

Aries () /ˈɛəriːz/ (meaning "ram") is the first astrological sign in the Zodiac, spanning the first 30 degrees of celestial longitude (0°≤λ <30°). Under the tropical zodiac, the Sun transits this sign between March 21 and April 19 each year. This time duration is exactly the first month of Solar Hejri calendar (Farvardin). Under the sidereal zodiac, the sun currently transits Aries from 15 April to 15 May (approximately). The symbol of the ram is based on the Chrysomallus, the flying ram that provided the Golden Fleece.[1]

According to the Tropical system of astrology, the Sun enters the sign of Aries when it reaches the northern vernal equinox, which occurs around March 21. Because the Earth takes approximately 365.25 days to go around the Sun, the precise time of the equinox is not the same each year, and generally will occur about 6 hours later each year, with a jump of a day (backwards) on leap years. Since 1900 the vernal equinox date ranged from March 20 at 08h (2000) to March 21 at 19h (1903) (all times UTC).[2]

Individuals born during these dates, depending on which system of astrology they subscribe to, may be called Arians or Ariens.[3]

Aries is the first fire sign in the zodiac. The other fire signs being Leo and Sagittarius

Pisces is a constellation of the zodiac. Its name is the Latin plural for fish. It lies between Aquarius to the west and Aries to the east. The ecliptic and the celestial equator intersect within this constellation and in Virgo. M74 is a loosely-wound (type Sc) spiral galaxy in Pisces, found at a distance of 30 million light years (redshift 0.0022). It has many clusters of young stars and the associated nebulae, showing extensive regions of star formation. It was discovered by Pierre Méchain, a French astronomer, in 1780. A type II-P supernova was discovered in the outer regions of M74 by Robert Evans in June 2003; the star that underwent the supernova was later identified as a red supergiant with a mass of 8 solar masses.[1]

CL 0024+1654 is a massive galaxy cluster that lenses the galaxy behind it, creating arc-shaped images of the background galaxy. The cluster is primarily made up of yellowelliptical and spiral galaxies, at a distance of 3.6 billion light-years from Earth (redshift 0.4), half as far away as the background galaxy, which is at a distance of 5.7 billion light-years (redshift 1.67).[1]

3C 31 is an active galaxy and radio source in Perseus located at a distance of 237 million light-years from Earth (redshift 0.0173). Its jets, caused by the supermassive black holeat its center, extend several million light-years in both directions, making them some of the largest objects in the universe.[1]

In a rare and early self-immolation, Garcia accidentally lit whatever the hell is in his right hand with the cigarette in his left hand immediately after this photograph was taken.

I don’t know the first thing about watches, but this one looks exactly like a Swiss Army watch I had in the 90’s, and that sucker’s hands and numbers glowed in the dark, so I think my watch wins. I do not remember what color the bezel was.

Also, what kind of human being doesn’t wait eleven minutes and take the picture at 4:20?

Please allow me to introduce myself: I’m the man standing behind your chair. Ah, you didn’t look. You should have. You should have also not opened the door to the closet in your office 27 minutes from now because I will have had hidden a wolverine in there. Please know that this was only a warning wolverine; if I have to come back, I will bring the mean one.

I write on behalf of the Unfuckers of Time!, an extra-temporal Special Sanction team. Time travel, it will come as a shock to you, is remarkably common in other realities and fairly common in yours. I think Tina Yothers had a Time Puddlejumper for a few years; the technology is reaching saturation. And though you may be unaware of time travel’s existence, you must have at least heard rumor of human nature: it is deeply irritating and highly predictable.

It’s rare that my team hears about the money cases, if I’m honest, and here’s why: by and large, people are dumb – especially the types who get their hands on time technology. You can buy it, if you know the right people or the wrong Abandoned Gods. You can luck into it like that Cagliostro asshole. Every few hundred years, a kid’s born who can skate on the timestream like Wayne Gretzky. What I’m saying is that the ability to travel back and forth through time isn;t limited to the most thoughtful and intelligent of you.

Thus–being dumb–you all start betting on things. Because Biff did it in Back to the Future 2. Or you invest in Apple or IBM or some stupidly famous stock or company that will surely draw attention. Not one of you has ever secretly opened many small index funds, or any other boring investment that relies on the magic of compound interest. You don’t think to keep your head down because someone might be watching.

And then you wind up outside a horse track with $211,000 of 1951 currency and polio. (None of you think to cross-check your inoculations with the era-prevalent diseases, because you are too dumb to understand even the most self-evident rules of time travel.)

These are loud and easy problems, and they are handled by the Time Cops, who are loud and easy solutions. When people do things that the Time Cops don’t want them to do, the Time Cops hit them with hammers. It’s not a savage beating: the infraction is explained clearly, questions are answered, suggestions for future improvement, and then it’s hammertime.

Their morality can be argued, but not their efficacy.

But I am not a Time Cop: I belong to a more elite and forward-thinking organization called the Unfuckers of Time!, and we get involved when Hitler comes into play. Generally. Sometimes, Lincoln is saved from John Wilkes Booth. Once in a while, your more ambitious moron will kidnap a herd of brontosaurs and drop them at the Battle of Somme.

That was a fun day, actually. You should have heard the screams from the trenches: “Mein Gott!” “Sacre bleu!”

It is relatively simple to fix a Class-Four De-Hitlering: just reset the whole ‘stream a few days and fill out the paperwork at the coffee shop at the end of the universe. Even undoing the damage from a Class-Two Art School Acceptance Letter isn’t that tough.

But a code red-and-black Class One Nullihitlering? A world without Hitler is a problem.

The timestreams are bound by a retroactive narrative coherence. Think of it like this: as Now pushes forward, it leaves bread crumbs. Things that have happened must stay happened; you can add stuff, but if you take things away, then reality frays. It loosens. From a flowing river to a drifting delta, and returning it to its intended course is complicated and enervating.

So when you put the idea of killing Baby Hitler in people’s heads, New York Times, you make my life more difficult. Over two dozen people have killed, or attempted to kill, Baby Hitler today. Today. Do you understand how much overtime my team will have to work cleaning up your cute little thought experiment?

Also, Bobby: stop wearing ninja toe shoes to a damned auto factory. Look in everyone’s hands – they’re holding the safety glasses all visitors are required to wear. Those goggles cost money, and they’re not going to issue them unless there is a significant chance of leaving without all the eyeballs you came in with. Factories are dangerous as fuck, Bobby: why didn’t you just whole hog it and show up in your flippity-flops?

I marvel now that it was not obvious how inextricable suffering and fear are. It was not until fear left that I noticed, slowly, how it seemed to have taken suffering with it. It took a while to figure out that (for me, anyhow) suffering is mostly caused by fear--not by the circumstances themselves, but by my response to them.

Jan Frazier When Fear Falls Away

In the face of suffering, one has no right to turn away, not to see. In the face of injustice, one may not look the other way.  When someone suffers, and it is not you, that person comes first.  One's very suffering gives one priority. . . . To watch over one who grieves is a more urgent duty than to think of God.

Elie Wiesel

Strength is a capacity for endurance. One of the dividends of suffering is the universal discovery the we possess a strength within us we never knew we had.  Navigating through a difficult episode not only shows us that inner strength is there but convinces us it will always be there to serve us in the future.  Overcoming gives us an assurance of personal confidence and value that far exceeds what we thought we possessed before our struggles began.

I’ll begin this by saying that I’m a very unsociable person, and that this may have gotten me in to more problems than I had ever expected…

By day, I’m a computer programmer in Philadelphia, PA, with my only company being a man similar to myself named Anthony. My life has thus far been uneventful, until I received a rather cryptic message from my co-worker recently. Through my e-mail, I received a message that sounded like one of those classic spam messages from the Internet with a bunch of gibberish about a website or something (I honestly skimmed it :P). Something about it really threw me off as weird though… My co-worker hasn’t been at work recently. People come and go in this line of work, so he probably got fired, and wants to fuck with his old co-worker for a laugh. That wouldn’t really be his style, as he’s an introvert like myself. I was a bit zoned out to his absence, but it just seems strange that he would do something like this. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t got a weird feeling about the whole matter though.

The reason I made this post is because of what happened after that.

The next day, I awoke in a cold sweat with the most terrible dream slowly fading from my memory. The more I attempted to remember the details, the worse my headache got… and the more I thought of Anthony. It seems like I had just completely forgot he had even existed. It has been at least a week since I’ve seen him and I haven’t once thought anything of it. I may be introverted; but I’d like to think I’m considerate. So I thought I’d give his e–mail a closer look.

From what I could understand (much of it didn’t seem to be in English or Spanish) I was to avoid a place referred to as “Ultima” for some reason or another. The way it was worded sounded like it was supposed to be important, although I couldn’t make out much of it. The e-mail was certainly unsettling, and it sounded important enough to evoke my curiosity. Every time I repeat “Ultima” to myself, my stomach turns. He repeats that damn word over and over, but that isn’t even the most interesting part. There’s also a series of numbers that seem to elude to something. To what, I have no clue, but it does seem to be a modified scripting language for the computer.

I know I shouldn’t snoop into his computer. I‘m really itching to inquire further though. Hell, if he had gotten fired, wouldn’t he have cleaned his stuff out by now?

Post 2 (February 14, 2013)

I normally don’t watch television, but I’ve been watching a lot of public access recently. It all points to that, there is no way it doesn’t. The numbers all end up reaching this channel no matter how I read them. Anthony might have been losing it in the e-mail, but the man was one hell of a programmer, and I know the way he codes. I did end up sneaking on to his computer (his password was catmanic and some numbers, haha) and finding the script he used in the e-mail. Still a lot of illegible gibberish, but it wants me to watch these shitty low-budget shows for some reason. As bad as they are, I find myself increasingly compelled to figure out just what the hell is going on. Apparently he "needs my help" and "doesn't want them to find me". He was a little overdramatic haha. Hell, I’ve been watching so long my eyes are starting to hurt.

The more I think about it, the weirder this all seems. He still isn’t coming into work, yet his stuff just sits there. The man and that computer were inseparable only a few weeks ago! How did I not notice he was gone sooner? These daily nightmares are really taking their toll on my work performance too. Maybe I’m the one going crazy after all! I’m going to run by his apartment after I get off tonight and ask him what all this means.

Post 3 (February 15, 2013)

He’s just fucking gone. No answer at the door when I ran by his place, so I got his landlady to open up his apartment after explaining the situation. As soon as I said his name to her, this look of realization washed over her face like I had just woke up her up from a dream. I asked her if she had forgotten him too, and she replied with “Oh I remember all my tenets, honey”. Bullshit. All his stuff was still sitting around his room untouched, so he hadn’t moved out. Just as well, all the perishables in the fridge had spoiled, and the place had a god-awful body odor smell throughout. His laptop, which I had assumed he sent the e-mail on, had a layer of dust over it. What the fuck is going on here?

I went back home and put on the public access again. What am I looking for? I’m considering hiring a P.I. or the police or something.

Post 4 (February 21, 2013)

The dreams are more painful every night and my stomach turns. I know I’m close, I can feel it! The actual programs aren’t what make me upset; it’s the endless commercials between programming. Half the products seem too antiquated to even be sold anywhere anymore. I’ve hooked up one of my old computers to play the cable access network. I’m recording this shit when I’m not around. I couldn’t stop watching if I wanted to.

I don't think I'm getting enough sleep. I'm starting to see faces from the corners of my eyes.

"Jeanne! Why did the power go out? I was about to win too!" Lexie yelled

"Mom probably forgot to pay the bill again."

"You think you guys are screwed, I was just talking to a curd!" (A cute nerd.)

"Sorry, blame m-" I couldn`t finish my sentence, a loud screeching sound came from my brother's room.

"What the fuck was that?!" Cat screamed. I had seen enough horror movies to know not to go "check it out," one of us would die.

"Go check it out Jeanne," Lexie said.

"No, haven`t you seen any horror movies? I would be instantly killed!" I said.

"Fine, we'll all go." Cat said. We used our phones as light to get from my room to my brother's, it wasn't very far... The doors were close enough together for me to hear everything ever said in that room.

We slowly itched towards the room, Lexie and Cat breathing heavily. We walked in, there was nothing there. My heart started beating again, his window was open, it was just the wind, I shut it. We went back into my room, my phone went off, and I answered it.

"Hello?" I said, it was a blocked call, so I couldn't see who it was.

"Hello?" The person sounded scared, a lot like myself.

"May I ask who this is?" I said.

"May I ask who this is?" it said

"Answer me first," I said

"Answer me first," it said. I hung up, thinking it was just a prank, the power came back on, and Lexie and I completed our video game marathon, until another screeching noise from my brother's room, then the power went out, again. I knew where this was going, I`d check his room and the window would be open, then I`d shut it, after that my phone would go off, and I would answer it... By the end of the night we`d all be dead, or one of us would be left alive and sent to an insane asylum, because no one would believe the person.

The work was rather straightforward, and well paying for the workers. Most of the time the constructions would go off without a hitch, and the contractors would return home from their "hazardous job" day after day. However, when building Silo B-13 at Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri, it became obvious that one of the contractors had not returned to work after his lunch break.

At first, no one suspected a thing, assuming that he had simply ran late or was taking a while to finish his sandwich. Concerns started building as the day came to a close, as the man had not returned. His family was phoned in case he had simply left work early and gone home, which of course was not the case. It was as if the contractor had disappeared into thin air.

After twenty years had passed, the missing worker was eventually forgotten. Air Force Security forces constantly patrolled the outer perimeters of the sites, and missile maintenance teams would go into the silos on a monthly basis; almost routine as the construction of the silos was twenty years prior. One night, however, was not so routine for Staff Sergeant Wayne Nichols of the 351st Organizational Missile Maintenance Squadron and an Airman who has declined to be named.

They were performing checks on the Minuteman's rocket motor when the sound of a steady tapping began. It didn't sound a thing like the routine sounds of the missile's metal contracting due to changing temperature. It sounded, as Nichols reported, like "as if someone were to try to shatter concrete with a hammer." It progressively increased in volume and speed, almost like the sounds were banging closer to them. Needless to say, the frightened airmen fled the silo as soon as their jobs were done and reported the strange noises.

The sounds persisted every time maintenance workers entered the silo. Several men even reported the sounds of labored breathing and footsteps. It was mostly kept under wraps by base security.

However, it wasn't long before rumors of the "haunted" B-13 silo were whispered among the men, maintenance, operators and security forces alike. There were even rumors of communist-sympathetic citizens tunneling underground to sabotage the missiles.

An investigation was launched to find out the source of the "B-13 Tapping" as it came to be known as. Ground penetrating radar, a brand new technology at the time, was brought in to survey the concrete walls and floor. They scanned everything.

Mother feared she would harm someone, so she locked her up. We didn’t send her to school, never let her outside, she never knew of the outside world. She knew the four walls of her room, and she knew me. Mother and Father would sometimes pretend they didn’t have a second daughter, they had their sane first born to show off. I hated being their little escape from the reality of taking care of my little sister. It seemed they didn’t love her, but I did. I gave her some crayons one day, and held her on my lap as she drew on the walls. I ran a brush through her flaming red hair, often asking who she was drawing.

Not that she could respond, or know how to-but she seemed to enjoy my voice. Occasionally she drew me, but she would get frustrated while doing so and she would scribble the red crayon over it. She could never seem to get the picture just how she wanted it. When my parents gave me an old Mario game, I happily took it to show my little sister. “You can play too.” I told her, smiling. She shyly took to controller from me, but quickly warmed up to the basic movements. As she played, she quickly pointed out how her favorite character was Shy Guy.

I don’t remember too much after giving her the game, but one day I looked at her and noticed she was wearing a Shy Guy mask. The only difference was her mask had eyelashes, and painted lips, other than that, it was a standard Shy Guy mask.

The mask scared me, but if she was happy, I was happy. She refused to take the mask off, even to play the game. Soon after acquiring the mask, my little sister began to draw more dark things on her wall. The recurring one seemed to cause her a lot of distress, a tall, faceless man, drawn as a black stick figure with a white head. Most of the drawings were of death, or just scribbles of “blood” over older drawings. It worried me, but I couldn’t confront mother and father. By the time I had tried to, they had left, saying they were taking a vacation. I frowned, the house had begun to smell like metal.

I kept blacking out, often worrying myself to the point my body would shut down. But I would fight my way out of the darkness, because my little sister needed me. My little sister noticed my lack of energy, she would always hold my hand and look at the window. “What is it? What do you want?” I would ask, completely drained and tired, I wouldn’t look at her though, not while she had on that mask. Finally after days of just watching her look between me, and the window I finally understood what she wanted. And I was going to give it to her. Taking her hand, I led her out of her room, which was basically her whole world.

We walked carefully down the stairs, my little sister seemed to know where to go, she pulled me towards the back door. With trembling hands I grabbed the bloodstained handle, not even noticing the rotting corpse at my feet. The parent that had died trying to escape, mother I think it was, but the corpse was too rotted to tell. I slid the back door open, my little sister looked up at me, and I looked down at her. Her masked lips tugged upward in a smile as she disappeared, I stayed standing there for a few minutes. I blinked a few times, allowing the darkness in the edge of my vision to seep in, I grabbed the hand of my tall, faceless companion before I completely blacked out.

In Hank's drunken state the bullet found home in a tree about ten feet from the thing. The egg-headed creature knew he was there now. It slowly turned its eyeless head towards him and started its awkward stride in Hank's direction. The thing walked like a large bird, but Hank wasn't going to take the time to study it. Quickly he loaded another shell and shot from the hip. The bullet whizzed into the forest.

The egg headed creature opened its mouth and broke into an awkward jog. The ground shook under Hank's feet and he turned to run towards his house, his heart pounding in sync with his feet hitting the ground. He could feel the thick hot air of the thing breathing down his neck. The sound of its mouth snapping shut behind him buzzed in his ears.

Suddenly, Hank was in the air and quickly finding himself landing hard on the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. Before he had a chance to turn over, something grasped his side and turned him onto his back. His gun lost in the fall he could just lay there helplessly. Now the large monster stood over him. Looking at him with its eyeless head, it slowly lifted one of its legs into the air, and put its large, frog like foot down on Hank's chest.

Hank, frozen with fear, could only look on, taking in the thing as it was taking him in. Its legs about as thick as its neck, it had a potbelly and its ribs could be made out on its armless upper half. A line of thick hair trailed from its lower jaw right down the middle of the beast; other than that, the thing had no other features.

I can see light. I can see Jesus' face on the cross... and he's looking at me.

He's... looking at me...

Lord God hear my prayer... allow me to vanquish those who stare... grant me my wish father... Amen.

I turn to the cross. He's still staring at me. No more staring. No. More. Staring.

I look him in the carved eye. No longer will you stare. And the metal is once again flooded in red. Plunged into my heart as it beats erratically and spews blood onto my hands and body.

"HE'S ALWAYS WATCHING... THERE IS NO ESCAPE... THEY WILL ALWAYS WATCH!" I scream as pain wracks at every fibre of my being.

As my vision fades and my heart stops I hear a voice saying:

“You have your answer.”


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