Anda penggemar sinetron Pesantren Rock n Roll, pasti mengenal sosok Aulia Sarah yang yang memerankan tokoh wanita muslimah bernama Nada. Namun melihat Foto Hot Aulia Sarah yang tengah ramai beredar saat ini, Anda mungkin ragu apakah itu benar Aulia.

Foto Hot Aulia Sarah
Ya, koleksi Foto syur Aulia Sarah kontras dengan perannya di sinetron Pesantren Rock n Roll kini memang tengah ramai di dunia maya. Foto-foto tersebut jelas menunjukkan Aulia tengah memakai baju mimum dengan belahan bagian dada terbuka.

Tidak itu saja, foto-foto tersebut juga menggambarkan Aulia adalah wanita masa kini dengan kebiasaan menghisap rokok dan memakai pakaian mini.

Jika Aulia tak memerankan tokoh Nada di Pesantren Rock n Roll, mungkin Foto Hot Syur Bugil Aulia Sarah yang ramai itu tak menjadi heboh seperti sekarang. Namun karena kontrasnya kebiasaan Aulia di sinetron Pesantren Rock n Roll dengan kesehariannya, membuat foto-foto tersebut menjadi tak biasa.

Aulia Sarah, cewek kelahiran Jakarta, 6 Juli 1991 masuk ke dunia entertain lewat jang Gadis Sampul 2005.

Lantas pada 2008, Aulia mendapatkan peran perdana dalam film Kawin Kontrak. Lantas disusul film Drop Out (2008) dan Punk in Like (2009). Film Urbani Seksi yang dibintangi Aulia dibredel dan dilarang untuk ditayangkan.

Semoga Foto Hot Aulia Sarah bukanlah foto asli, namun foto hasil rekayasa untuk menjelekkan karirnya di dunia model. Tapi kalo Foto Syur bugil Aulia Sarah tersebut asli, ya terserah dech.

Sumber : Foto Hot Aulia Sarah

Originally posted 2012-01-04 09:55:00.

State troopers blew the cover off an illegal street race in Northwest Miami-Dade Wednesday night after someone tipped them off.

Florida Highway Patrol Trooper Nelvys Hernandez says more than a thousand cars lined up on Okeechobee Road near Northwest 137th Avenue for the event, some to race, some to watch.

Hernandez said the area was perilous not only for the racers but also for anyone who comes near them. Read More

Originally posted. April 27, 2012

State troopers blew the cover off an illegal street race in Northwest Miami-Dade Wednesday night after someone tipped them off.

Florida Highway Patrol Trooper Nelvys Hernandez says more than a thousand cars lined up on Okeechobee Road near Northwest 137th Avenue for the event, some to race, some to watch.

Hernandez said the area was perilous not only for the racers but also for anyone who comes near them. Read More

Originally posted. April 27, 2012

Pieces of the wall were seen stuck in the car’s windshield. An orange swimming noodle was floating near the driver’s side door.

The La Puente, Calif., family described the bizarre scene to reporters. “We woke up to an dreadful noise and looked outside, and a car was in the pool,” Janelle Diaz, the family’s 16-year-ancient daughter, told the San Gabriel Valley Tribune. “We had always joked around about it—that someone was going to end up in the pool—because they’ve hit our wall before.”

The driver apparently drove his silver 2006 Lexus GS430 straight through a “T” intersection—and through the concrete wall. He climbed out of the car through the right front window after the car became submerged.

Authorities used a crane to lift the Lexus out of the pool .

One Friday afternoon recently, about 50 fans and friends of the band String Cheese Incident took $20,000 in cash to the Greek Theater in Los Angeles to take a small stand against the system — in this case, Ticketmaster.

With money advanced by the band, each person had enough to buy eight tickets at $49.95 apiece for the group’s show in July. Once all tickets were in hand, nearly 400 of them, they were carried back to String Cheese headquarters in Colorado and place on sale again through the group’s Web site — for $49.95.

“We’re scalping our own tickets at no service charge,” Mike Luba, one of the group’s managers, clarified in an interview last week. “It’s ridiculous.”

String Cheese Incident, a jam band with a solid if under-the-radar following, wants to offer tickets to its whole summer tour without the service fees, now ubiquitous, charged by Ticketmaster and other vendors. To do that it is going through much more rigmarole than nearly any group would bother with, but feels strongly that the effort is worthwhile.

“It costs us money to sell the tickets,” Keith Moseley, the band’s bassist, said. “But we are going to eat that cost this summer in order to make a better deal for our fans and let them know how much we appreciate them.”

With the summer touring season starting, the band’s challenge to the entrenched ticket-sales system is a reminder of how ticketing may be the concert industry’s most charged issue, affecting artists, fans and all sides of the business.

For String Cheese Incident, the Greek Theater mission was a chance to save fans some money and also to stage a symbolic protest as part of a decade-long conflict with Ticketmaster. To Ticketmaster and others in the concert industry, the band wants to ignore valid contracts and deprive theaters and promoters of standard revenue sources.

String Cheese Incident has long sold tickets to its own shows, handling as much as half the sales. In 2003 the band sued Ticketmaster, accusing the company of abusing its market power by denying the group more than the 8 percent of tickets it customarily makes available to acts. A settlement let the band continue to handle tickets for five years, but the agreement expired in 2009, just as the band was starting to return from a hiatus.

“I would argue that on some level they are our tickets,” Mr. Luba said. “If people in a free market find that Ticketmaster’s service is simpler and more effective, by all means go for it. But we have found a group of people who are used to buying tickets directly from the band’s Web site.”

Ticketmaster declined to comment, citing a confidentiality agreement with the band. (Mr. Luba also acknowledged the agreement, after granting two interviews.) In its countersuit in 2003, the company argued that it had contracts with theaters that gave it the exclusive right to sell tickets.

Consumers seeking tickets to all sorts of events have become increasingly frustrated — and sometimes enraged — by ticket fees, which can add 30 or 40 percent to the cost of an order, as well as by the lack of other options for buying tickets. But while the brunt of that rage is usually directed at Ticketmaster, other players in the business, like theaters and promoters, collect, and depend on, their share of fees.

John Scher, a veteran promoter in New York and New Jersey, called String Cheese Incident’s efforts “a righteous cause,” but added that in most cases the cost of booking quality acts was so high that promoters cannot afford to forgo their share of ticketing fees, known in the industry as rebates.

“The acts have gotten so greedy across the board, and have made the risk-reward so impossible, that the rebates are very much the lifeblood of promoters,” Mr. Scher said. (The band’s tour is not coming to the Northeast.)

Mr. Luba said that the band was able to make private deals with individual box offices for large ticket allotments to its shows, but was unable to make such a deal with the Greek. (An executive at the theater did not return two calls for comment.) For those tickets, the band took advantage of a loophole: the Greek waived surcharges on walk-up sales of its tickets.

One fan recruited by the band to wait in line at the Greek was Anh Pham, a 41-year-ancient graphic designer, who said he took part because he believed Ticketmaster’s fees were too high.

“Ticketmaster has been around for so long, and they’ve made so much money from me and so many of us, that the opportunity to help out the String Cheese community was to me a fantastic thought,” Mr. Pham said.

Mr. Luba said that to keep String Cheese Incident’s ticket price from rising above face value, the band was paying the credit card processing fees for orders on its Web site, at a dollar or two per order.

“If the tickets are 49 bucks, we want them to be 49 bucks when the kid buys them at the end,” Mr. Luba said.

But buying a ticket on the band’s Web site has its own added cost: $12 to mail tickets by United Parcel Service, with no other delivery option offered. That expense, but, is still cheaper than buying through Ticketmaster.

There was simply no way around that fee, Mr. Luba said.

Her distraught parents even called her GP more than 50 times about their daughter’s ailing condition over a four-and-a-half month period before her death on January 6 last year.

An inquest heard that her GP, Dr Sharad Shripadrao Pandit, accused her parents of “mollycoddling” her.

Shockingly, he even claimed her symptoms were brought on because she was ‘lovesick’.

Her distraught father, Sultan Sarag, 43, broke down as he told Birmingham Coroner’s Court: “The doctor said to her ‘Did you meet someone on holiday? Are you missing him?’

“She found it very distressing he was suggesting she was lovesick for a boy.

“He said all the problems were in her head and she should see a psychiatrist or spiritual healer.

“When he said that in front of her it really broke her heart.

“He said she was only doing it to keep me at the house nursing her.

“He [Dr Pandit] said ‘It is because of you that she is making it up’.

“He said when she was younger my attitude had a detrimental effect on her.

“I was running around looking after her, nursing her.

“He said ‘She’s only doing that to keep you in the house so you don’t go from there’.

“That’s what his explanation was.”

Mr Sarag also claimed Dr Pandit refused to test his daughter for TB.

He told the inquest: “He said, ‘We don’t need these tests, we are not going to get them done either.’

“As you tried to progress he just really changed the subject.”

Mr Sarag – who is also being treated for TB – told the inquest his daughter vomited up to 10 times a day and had to be carried to bed “like an ancient woman with weak legs”.

He added that he made more than 50 phone calls to the GP’s surgery in Birmingham but Dr Pandit failed to return his calls.

Mr Sarag said: “There was mass neglect. The medical profession, as soon as they mess up they hide.”

Alina first contracted TB in 2009 after a girl at her school was diagnosed with the illness.

She was prescribed a course of antibiotics at Birmingham Chest Clinic but medical staff never followed up her treatment.

Alina was struck down again in July 2010 after returning from a trip to Pakistan with her family.

The inquest heard a simple phlegm test would have shown Alina was suffering from TB but this was never carried out.

Instead, doctors shrugged off her family’s concerns and told them Alina was suffering from a chest infection despite being classed as a “high risk” patient.

Alina’s weight plummeted and at one point she was so ill she could only tolerate baby food.

After doctors at Heartland and City hospitals did not detect TB, Alina was admitted to Sandwell Hospital where she stayed for five days.

TB was picked up but no phlegm test was carried out and a chest X-ray was thought to have found a chest infection.

She later saw a clinical psychologist at Birmingham Children’s Hospital but was in too much pain to complete the assessment.

On January 6, 2011 Alina was rushed to hospital after suffering breathing difficulties and she died of a cardiac arrest.

Following her death, Alina, who attended Golden Hillock School in Sparkhill, Birmingham, a clinical review revealed doctors missed repeated opportunities to diagnose her condition.

The family have enlisted Birmingham-based solicitors Irwin Mitchell.

The inquest, which is expected to take up to six days and call 20 witnesses, continues.

TIMETABLE OF MISSED OPPORTUNITIES

August 26, 2010: Alina referred to Heartland Hospital but given all-clear.

October 5, 2010: Alina referred to Birmingham Children’s Hospital, but history of TB not picked up and hospital queried typhoid or an infection.

October 12, 2010: Alina transferred to Sandwell Hospital after going to City Hospital in Birmingham. She remains there for five days and TB is noted but sputum test not carried out.

October 30, 2010: Alina attended Birmingham Children’s Hospital where doctors dismissed her condition was “psychological issue”.

December 14, 2010: Saw clinical psychologist but was in such extreme pain that the psychologist could not complete the assessment.

January 6, 2011: Mr Sarag dials 999 after Alina has breathing difficulties but she dies of cardiac arrest.

In a Las Vegas recording studio, Dunson rapped about his life: “What’s incorrect with me? Got PTSD. These pills ain’t working, man, I still can’t reckon.”

One in six Iraq and Afghanistan war veterans suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder in 2011, according to the Department of Veterans Affairs. Some committed suicide. Others are receiving mental health services at military hospitals. Many more are like Dunson and have refused help, according to research by the Department of Veterans Affairs’ National Center for PTSD.

Dunson, who was discharged from the Army in 2008 and diagnosed by the military with PTSD, uses his music to examine his disappointment with veteran life. It is the only thing keeping him alive, he said. He refuses to attend counseling or visit his local VA hospital.

The use of music to heal war wounds is part of an emerging field of alternative treatment being embraced by military officials keen to help veterans suffering from PTSD. In Wisconsin, New Jersey, California and other states, government doctors in recent months have launched experimental music therapy programs that rely on the smoothing sounds of classical or acoustic music to help veterans get well.

But Dunson, now 26, isn’t listening to serene tunes in some silent room. His self-treatment is violent images and words, the gritty marriage of a genre born in low-income, black neighborhoods and the horrors of a foreign war.

He made five albums in four years, all focused on his training and service as an infantryman. Thousands of fans followed him on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube, where he posts his songs. He enrolled in college, hoping to pursue a career in public service. This year, Dunson went into his first bachelor apartment.

And still, he describes himself as a man without happiness or friends.

“You are like, what the heck did I do to deserve this?” he said.

In his music, Dunson recalls pressing a gun against an enemy’s mouth, becoming an alcoholic and hitting his wife. He laments learning how to kill when he was only 20 years ancient.

“I’m back and forth in my head and I don’t know what’s incorrect,” he raps in “PTSD.” “At nights I shake. I feel like a weirder is in my home. Me and my wife can’t get along.”

On a different record, he confessed: “My mind ain’t been place to rest. And they wonder why all I talk about is these bullets and how a trigger of a gun I want to pull it and how terribly my military training I want to misuse it.”

In yet another song, Dunson expressed the words he would never tell his family: “Honestly, over there, I wish I had died.”

He was 18 when he enlisted, keen to make a difference and serve his country after the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11. He grew up in the Army, meeting the mother of his only child near his base in Alaska.

In Iraq, it was hard to sleep. Dunson said he worried he would wake up in an insurgent’s makeshift torture chamber.

There were plenty of signs he was drifting far from the excellent-natured child his family says he once was. One day, he and his fellow soldiers pretended to arrest an Iraqi boy. As the child cried, the soldiers taunted him, according to video Dunson took that day. Dunson said it was a joke.

His assault rifle became his life, he said. He held it while he ate and slept and fired toward crowds of Iraqis when he felt threatened. One day, he took his gun and place it to his friend’s head. They laughed and someone took a photo.

Through it all, Dunson worried about the man he was becoming. When his sergeant urged him to kill anything in sight one day, he balked. “This is crazy,” he recalled thinking.

The life he had left was gone. After serving in Iraq, Dunson came home to a tense relationship with his wife. She denied cheating on him, but later took their daughter and went in with another soldier.

Dunson plotted to kill them, convinced he could easily dispose of their bodies in the Alaskan wilderness. In less than a year, he was arrested four times for various domestic abuse charges, he said.

“I felt mad and out of control, like I don’t know what I might do mad,” he said.

He went to Las Vegas and stayed on his cousin’s couch. Though he had once been close with his family, Dunson stopped visiting or telephoning his other relatives, certain they were disappointed in him.

“I feel like they are saying, `Oh, he lost his wife, he is crazy. Oh, he went to war.’ Not saying it, but in their heads, they are saying it the whole time, like I don’t fit in,” he said.

The faces of the men he killed – the husbands, fathers and brothers – haunted him. Even after his ex-wife went their daughter to Las Vegas to be near him, her pleased Facebook musings about holiday celebrations and weekend activities upset him. On several occasions, he climbed to the roof of an empty condominium tower and stared at the concrete below, willing himself to jump.

LaTonya Williams, 30, said the changes in her once easygoing cousin are stark.

“He was never violent before,” she said. “He was the center of my family. Everyone loved him. He had the best jokes and the best sense of humor … and when he came back he was a completely different person. He’s not the Leo that everybody knew him to be.”

Dunson has a youthful face and a muscular body. When he speaks, he appears friendly and well-mannered, a sharp contrast to the rage in his music. He works as a security guard at night and then goes directly to class most mornings. On the weekends, he visits with his daughter.

Through his music, Dunson explored his desire to kill and die. He found a producer and director to make his albums and videos more professional. Soon, he was performing concerts at bases and veterans events.

“Music has always been my therapy,” he said.

Concetta Tomaino, executive director of the Institute for Music and Neurologic Function in New York, has used music to treat victims of dementia, trauma and gang violence. She said patients respond to music from their youth or more pleased days. Rap might help PTSD victims process the violence they experienced in conflict, she said.

“If a person has had a traumatic experience and can vent that in music, that can be very positive,” she said. “Anyone who deals with people in some trauma will tell you the most damaging thing to do is suppress it.”

Dunson said he hopes his music helps other veterans confront their PTSD, even as he struggles with it himself.

“I lost it all, not just my wife and daughter, but my mind,” he said. “If I had died over there, I would have got a 21-gun salute, everybody would praise me like I was a king. What do I get now?”