It turned out to be the perfect storm. Dozens of parents raised concerns about privacy. Many mentioned identity theft. Others expressed fear that immigrant children might be unfairly tracked by government. Eventually, Stoll's plan was scrapped.

Elementary and high school students in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and West Virginia use finger scans to pay for lunch — and even to check into class. But in many other states, the parental outcry about privacy has stopped the technology in its tracks. Michigan and Iowa have passed laws essentially barring schools from taking electronic fingerprints of children. Last month, Illinois enacted a law requiring schools to get parental consent before capturing an image of a child's finger.

Generally, student information collected by schools is protected by the federal government's privacy laws. So schools can't simply give away information gleaned from a student's fingerprint. Still, many parents and privacy law experts remain anxious about records accessible to companies managing a school's computer system — and whether that information can moved if that company is ever sold.

Americans have historically resisted fingerprints of any kind, associating them with law enforcement. "But through the back door, schools are making decisions that fly in the face of deeply held commitments to privacy by throwing on these kids fingerprint programs," says Helen Nissenbaum, a New York University professor of culture and communication who studies the intersection of technology and ethics.

Finger scanning is a type of biometric, or a form of identification. So is a person's voice, even odor, sweat pores and lips. It's not known how many schools use finger scans and other biometrics. But observers of the $1 billion North American biometrics industry say schools represent a small but growing share of their market.

For an example of how the technology typically works, consider another Colorado school district: St. Vrain Valley. School administrators spend hours at the start of each school year scanning several points on the student's right index finger. "The information is saved within our system — it doesn't go anyplace else," says Shelly Allen, director of nutrition services for the 23,000-student district. When the student reaches the end of the line, she places an index finger on a pad about the size of a car's garage opener. Her name, and sometimes an image of her face, appears on a computer screen in front of the cashier. Kids with dirty or sweaty fingers are allowed to use their ID card, as are students who can't have an image taken of them because of religious or cultural issues. Allen says the system has helped add at least 10 minutes to lunch periods that in some schools last just 20 minutes. The technology hasn't necessarily saved money: the number of cafeteria employees has largely remained unchanged.

But there is nothing static about family reaction. Parents are often caught off-guard by the arrival of the new technology in their children's school. Last fall, Jim Karlsberger's eight-year-old son returned from school with a newsletter briefly reporting that lunchroom finger scanning was set to begin. "I thought it was Orwellian," says Karlsberger, a 43-year-old hotel manager in Williams, Ariz. "I find it hard to believe that someone, someday, won't find a way to compromise the information on my child's fingerprint." He rallied dozens of parents and the American Civil Liberties union to derail the school's plan. Now Tom McCraley, the 760-student school district's superintendent, says that before considering finger scanning, "I'd want to make sure parents had a full understanding about it."

In Boulder, Stoll still hopes to someday use fingerprint scanning in her schools. "I'm just disappointed our parents wouldn't let us be on the forefront of this technology," she says.

Is it Curtis or 50 Cent? —Maggie Shaw, New York City
It's 50, but the album title is Curtis. It made perfect sense for me to title it Curtis, considering my grandfather is Curtis Sr., his firstborn is Curtis Jr. and I'm his first grandchild, so my mom named me after him. I'm Curtis III, and this is my third album. 50 Cent was a name that kind of stuck. For me, it was a metaphor for change. That's what made me utilize it when I actually started rapping.

What should we expect from your new album? —Ignacio Meza, Los Angeles
You should expect a lot of surprises. For my last two albums, I isolated myself to working with only members of G-Unit [50 Cent's original rap group]. On this album I worked with Justin Timberlake, Robin Thicke, Mary J. Blige, Akon, Nicole from the Pussycat Dolls, Dr. Dre and Eminem. I'm in a place where I'm secure enough to have all these other talented people around me because I've proven myself, with my first two projects selling over 21 million copies.

Why don't you do more hard-core stuff like you did on Get Rich or Die Tryin' [in 2003]? —Raveen Bhasin, Dallas
I take into consideration what the music business is facing with things like the Don Imus situation. I think it would cause a full uproar if I wrote [hard-core] lyrics from that perspective all the way through my album. That's why I released Curtis instead of my next project, Before I Self Destruct. It's more of a hard-core sound, and it would be too aggressive for this period.

Is your beef with Kanye [West] for real? —Erika Ramirez, Houston
I said I would retire if his album [Graduation, also released Sept. 11] sold more than mine. I think people would like for it to be a beef. Then it would be really uncomfortable for Kanye, wouldn't it? I'm already conditioned for those things, but he'd have to adjust. My car's already bulletproof.

Why do rappers use so much slang that the average 50-year-old can't understand them? —Gabriel Goldenberg, Montreal
Some audiences have to come to you. You can't cater to everybody. Kanye West's record is aimed at a straight pop audience. It may work for him now, but I don't believe that will exist long. That base has no loyalty at all.

You took a bullet to your face. Has that changed your rapping style? —Ravi Rami, Houston
It changed my voice. I still have a fragment of a bullet inside my tongue. And I have a hole in the back of my mouth. This is the voice that works, though. This is why I believe it happened for a reason. The voice before I got shot was the one that not many people listened to.

You have a home in suburban Connecticut. Why did you move outside the city? —Susan Ashley, Houston
I generate a lot of interest in New York City, so it's difficult. If I was going to a nightclub or if I was just getting out of the car to go to the store, it'd be difficult. It's way different here, because it's a country setting. I don't even leave my house to go to the store. I send somebody else to do it.

I know you like to work hard and play hard. What's your favorite place to vacation? —Janelle Robison, Brooklyn, N.Y.
Vacation's at home. I do so much traveling that when I just stay at home, it feels like I'm on vacation. All you have to do is turn the phone off. The house is big as a country club anyway.

Are you endorsing a particular candidate in the '08 election? —Haren Para, New York City
No, but I like Hillary. I think she was already our President once. [Laughs].

Any plans for another movie? —Conor Egan, Belmar, N.J.
I've got a film called Righteous Kill. It's myself, Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, Donnie Wahlberg, John Leguizamo. [Laughs]. If you ask me, I'm the next Denzel Washington.

2.what is the album title? (20HY)

3.What's his favorite place to vacation? and why?(50HY)

4.why he said:"My car's already bulletproof."?(50HY)

So far, the damage appears to be much less serious than the 2004 disaster — thankfully. It's too early to guess at a body count, but most of the destruction will probably come from the quakes themselves, not from a tsunami.

Three years after one of the worst disasters in history, though, the quakes pose worrisome questions: are we any more prepared? Has any progress been made in building better tsunami warning systems? Or can we expect another holocaust any day now?

One thing, at least, has changed dramatically. The first earthquake happened at 11:10 universal time. Although it occurred in the Indian Ocean, it was detected by the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center, headquartered in Hawaii, which has the most extensive tsunami warning system around — largely because the Pacific Ocean is where 70% of the world's earthquakes normally happen.

The 2004 quake was quickly detected by the Pacific Center, too, so that's no big deal unto itself. This time, though, the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center (and a Japanese warning system that also noticed the earthquake) knew what to do with the information. Fourteen minutes after the tremor, the Pacific Center sent a bulletin around the world, warning all at-risk nations that there might be a tsunami and estimating when it might strike, to the minute. Those channels of communication simply didn't exist in 2004. Basic as it may seem, this across-the-water communication represents a huge breakthrough.

But a warning only helps if someone passes it along. And here's where things get dicey all over again. "Presumably all of the countries should have gotten that bulletin in minutes," says Lori Dengler, a geology professor and tsunami expert at Humboldt State University in California. "Then it becomes an internal decision to decide whether to call a tsunami warning in their country. Because we're dealing with sovereign nations, that makes it complex."

Each nation on the Indian Ocean has its own procedure — or lack thereof — for what to do next. They decide whether to issue a public warning, whether to call for an evacuation and how to do it in a way that people understand. In some places, like southern Bangladesh, a warning to evacuate was disseminated by police over loudspeakers four hours before the tsunami might have arrived, and many people rushed to high ground.

But in Indonesia, the last test run didn't go so well. In July 2006, a major earthquake caused a tsunami, headed for Java. The Indonesian government received the alert, but the island of Java still had no real warning system. More than 600 people died.

Indonesia's ability to communicate with the public has improved since the Java fiasco, says Laura Kong, director of the International Tsunami Information Centre. And to be fair, it's a difficult problem. Disseminating an effective warning fast is complicated. There is currently much debate in emergency-management circles over the relative merits of sirens, text messages and other high-tech gadgetry. The state of California has not yet figured out the best way to get a tsunami alert to its coastal residents; Indonesia, in comparison, must spread the word to 235 million people who speak hundreds of dialects.

But there are simpler ways to avoid tsunami fatalities. Before most waves strike, the ground shakes or the sea recedes dramatically. In some areas, everyone knows that these signs mean you must head for high ground; in most places, though, people are unaware of the warning signs. In Thailand, which lost 5,400 people in the Indian Ocean tsunami three years ago — half of them tourists — many hotels still do not educate guests about these simple clues. "Putting up a danger sign is bad for business," says Kong. "The businesses, and hotels in particular, are wary." It's a shocking lapse, but not an uncommon one: Kong has run into the same attitude in Hawaii hotels and has learned to temper her expectations. She hopes that at the least, front-desk staff and other key hotel employees can be trained on recognizing the signs of a tsunami to assist guests in an emergency. "We just have to be practical and reasonable."

Overall, however, Kong believes that we're much better off than we were a couple of years ago. If the 2004 tsunami happened again today in exactly the same way, the death toll would be lower, she says. That's good, since we can expect more of them. A major incident like the 2004 quake puts geological stress on the entire region — not the most stable in the world to begin with — which helps explain why we have seen more magnitude-8 or larger quakes there than normal. Especially in Indonesia, nestled right in the middle of a nest of earthquake faults, it can only be a matter of time.

2.Please translate the blue sentence into Chinese.（20HY）
It's a shocking lapse, but not an uncommon one: Kong has run into the same attitude in Hawaii hotels and has learned to temper her expectations.

3.what is "one thing,at least, has changed dramtically"?(50HY)

4.what is the simpler way to avoid tsunami fatalities?(50HY) 

Loud cheers from the crowd got cheeky smiles and a wave from the same two Princes today as they made their way out of Guards Chapel, near Buckingham Palace, after the service. Elton John, who sang sad songs at Diana's funeral, strode out to the kind of applause he'd have been more used to on stage. Even Gordon Brown, as fresh a British Prime Minister as Tony Blair was when Diana was killed, got his own big cheer. (The cool Scot responded with a nod.)

This was a day of remembrance, yes, but not really a day of grieving. Unlike the flood of despair that poured forth in 1997, this time around there was barely a tear. Along the pavement towards Guards Chapel, some stared off into the distance, while others warbled to the hymns piped out over loud speakers from inside the service. Done with humming, "The Lord's My Shepherd," Londoner John Santos fondly remembered "an outstanding woman with a common touch." Showing up today, he said, was simply to make sure that "won't be forgotten."

Harry seconded that. "To us, just two loving children, she was quite simply the best mother in the world," the younger Prince said of his mother with the crowds outside now listening in silence. Losing her, he said, was "indescribably shocking and sad." But his message, met with applause, was clear: "She made us and so many other people happy. May this be the way that she is remembered."

A couple of miles down the road, in the gardens of Kensington Palace, Diana's old home, those memories were very much alive. If the crowd gathered at the chapel was reserved and respectful, this was the place for Union Jack-covered folding chairs — and a strong sense of many people's still very protective stake in Diana. Here, as one sign pinned to the Palace's thick, black, gilt-edged gates read, was "The People's Memorial." Depending where you looked, amid the pink paper hearts and purple balloons, Diana was "The People's Princess," "The Queen of Hearts" or "England's Rose."

Out of earshot of the royal family, this was also the place to deal in harsher, edgier thoughts. Rosemary, a Londoner in her 50s who declined to give her last name, insisted that Diana "got a raw deal." Another woman lamented her "appalling treatment from day one of her marriage." Laminated newspaper stories smearing Prince Charles were pinned to the gates. One banner, screaming "LONG LIVE THE QUEEN/DIANA FOREVER," was far less polite about Charles and Camilla, Charles' life-long love who is now his wife. The reason a decade hasn't dimmed Diana's memory, said a third woman, "is that she epitomized every facet of human frailty, and reached out in a very hostile world."

But you couldn't help feel life has moved on since 1997. Outside the chapel, joggers passed one way through the crowds, newspaper sellers another. In the gardens at Kensington, a handful of rugby players from England's national team were even running through drills ahead of next month's World Cup. The Princes, both fans of the game, would surely have smiled at that.