"What was my second grade teacher's name again?!?"

The digital age is upon us now, and with all of the technology comes protection. Protection from counterfeiters, theifs, and the occasional bored human being. Numerous accounts are activated with different purposes and passwords, like email addresses and bank accounts. Not only does one receive a password or number, but a question to go along with it in case you forget the password to a very important account. These are usually known questions and are quite random, but what if you forget your password along with the question that is used to jog your memory? Remembering a teacher or first telephone number can be hard to recall. Is there another question? Does the company have a picture of you? Without a password log kept with a lock and key, how is one expected to remember an advanced, top secret code?

You would think the people who make these questions are more careful with the wording of their "security questions". The common questions of "what is the name of your dog?" or "what is your favorite color?" are a little too common for comfort. The first thing one tells another upon meeting them is perhaps their favorite color, or that their dog Shelby has gotten ticks from a recent hike along their favorite trail. Who knows, the person who hacks your account may well be your best friend or someone who knows a lot about you. It makes sense after all. Your friend that you've known since kindergarten knows who your teacher is too, did they ever think of that? Security questions should be secret, but they must also remind one of their own password, that is the challenge. However, a password such as redShelby is not so clever as one would assume.

Another misconception is using one password for every account and anything in need of being secured. Although we might think that no one will be able to crack the code, it can be done, and it has many times. Break through one code and they have access to your entire cyber world.

Security precautions are also found regularly on smartphones. Plug in the code and again, you have access to a small computer. What I don't get however, is why the phone practically begs you to try the password again after you have failed the first time to acess the phone. My phone says "try again" like it's antagonizing the person at its keypad to give it another try, after all you know they want to. This makes me feel a tad unsafe, so I think I'll change my password now.

That is all

-"M"

Nicknames

There comes a time in a person's life when they are known for something, good or bad, and it sticks with them for the rest of their life. Some nicknames are harmless, but most serve as an excuse to humiliate one in the future. All because your name was hard to pronounce or you did something when you were seven, you are mocked by a pet-like name for the rest of your existence.

The thing that really irritates me the most, is when people think they have grown up, but are clearly still attached to their childhood; when they go by their real name, but smack in the middle of their birthname, in quotations, is their nickname. Always lingering. What happens to these people when they decide to get a job, or go to a class reunion? Are they forever chastised about their other name? When they walk into a room does everyone say, "why hello, Sparky or is it Steve now?" making fun of what used to be a cool thing. How are employers dealing with this? I can only imagine what people put on job applications. Bosses everywhere must be taking advantage of these embarrasments by saying, "Oh it's Big Dog's shift this afternoon? Well tell him to punch out on time today, or else I'm going to have to put him in the kennel." or things of the like. Maybe it was funny in high school, but in the real world do you really want to be named like you are a Persian cat?

When I think back on it, I don't think I've ever taken anyone who has quotations in the middle of their name seriously. Are they trying to hide the fact that they have a weird name, by jazzing it up a bit and naming themselves after something they've done. The type that completely disregard their first name by saying, "I'm Joe, but you can call me thunderbolt." as if a rumble in the sky had anything to do with the person. Do they know that their newfound nickname will result in even more explanation than just giving their real name? Obviously not.

I guess nicknames make one feel wanted and special, but that novelty wears off and all that's left is a name. An embarrassing addition to oneself. Think about it, whenever these fake names are said about a person they don't scream for joy, rather they hide their face that is turning pink as a rose by the minute. But could you blame them? How would you like to be called lightening if your real name was Kevin?

That is all

-"M" or should I say, Mollie

No Driver's License, Not Even a Permit.

I knew someday this summer would turn about sooner or later, and it's here. It's the summer where being the younger kid stinks like a dirty pair of socks even more than it already did. As of now, I don't have my driver's license, or my permit. Most of my friends and classmates have their permit, and if they're lucky, they even have their license. I try not to let this get at me, but lately, it's been hard not to think about it. Next month, thirty four days to be exact, I'll have my turn to take the permit test, but still that seems like ages from now.

It isn't all that bad - I still have legs - which I use to walk to places, like the park with my friends, or just around. And I have plenty of homework to keep me busy, which surprisingly I haven't had the most interest in lately; I have no idea why, well maybe because it's the last thing I want to do on a vacation away from school. Studying the Driver's Manual is something that I also must start doing, in order to pass the exam and finally get that special paper that will allow me to drive on the road. Yeah... I have to get to that.

I suppose it could be worse, I could be in my neighbor's situation - they have three cars and a riding lawn mower, that the youngest child motors around on, up and down the side road. I mean, I'm not that anxious to drive, but on the other hand, maybe I am. I wouldn't take it to the extreme of flinging rocks onto other people's lawns, just because I wanted to practice driving, but yeah I need my license!!!

This brings us to another dilemma, the most important part in driving - the car. I don't have one, nor the money to buy a shiny new one. So what, may you ask that I do? Enter every car giveaway that is available in town. So far I've entered one and, no luck, but there is another drawing coming up and all I can do is hope. Also, my aunt suggested that she keep her car, a red Nissan, for another year and then sell it to me; this I think is a splendid idea.

Sooner or later it will come, the time where I don't have to get a ride from my parents to anymore, I can drive myself. This time is coming up fast and will be here before I know it; I only wish though, that this time would hurry up a little, I don't want to resort to a lawnmower as my first vehicle.

You're Not Answering the Questions With Your Feet, You Know!

Have you ever taken a test, that you worked so hard to study for and you just want to get through the test in peace, but still have time to go back, check your answers, and think out things clearly? I'm sure we all have. Well today I took one of those very important tests - my history final. I was doing well; I took the seat in the front of the class, because if anyone sat in front of me, with my luck, they would be very distracting and if they were done with their test before me then I'd get more nervous than I would have to be. I thought I was all set, ready to pass this test. Unfortunately for me I sat between two foot-tapping maniacs.

At first I was so intent on my test I didn't realize the distraction that was my two classmates. Then my eyes became tired of staring at the bubble fill-in sheet, and if I didn't look away I surely would have walked out of class with cross eyes. But looking up was possibly the worst decision I could have made, for then I kept seeing out of my peripheral vision the feet of the people next to me bouncing up and down with no stop in sight. How can they not notice that what they're doing is beyond distracting?!?! Maybe, they think they're the only ones in the universe trying to focus, but really they're hindering everyone else in their ability to focus. Every question I had to read over about three times before I knew what it was asking, not to mention trying to answer them! Finally one of the bouncing-foot twins decided that they should stop, and thank goodness they did. However the other one continued to shake like they were having a seizure, but only in their foot.

I tried not to think about it, and focused in on my test - but it didn't work. I tried acting like a horse with it's blinders on, and put my left hand on my head so I wouldn't have to see what was going on around me - that helped, but didn't stop the noise of the rubber shoe squeaking against the ground. Finally I became used to it after a while and gained enough confidence to finish my test. And if I may also add that I finished exactly on time; I was finishing the last sentence of an essay I had to write when the bell rang. So there! Even though you were distracting, and obviously were confused about how to answer questions, because there's no buttons on the ground to press for the right answer, I finished before you!!

If anyone reads this, thanks, for reading about a venting session for my final exam in history!

That is all

-"M"

A Food Fight at School? Hah, I'll Believe That When Chili Flies

Today was filled with nostalgia as everyone was walking through the hallways, in and out of classes remembering the times that were had this year. Finally, the last day of classes, which we thought would never come, is over! This day however could not be complete without some sort of mischief unfolding at some point during school. I thought it was going to be a nice and memorable day, I was right, however the latter is unforgettably true.

After babbling over our last classes, my friends and I headed to what was going to be our last lunch of the year. We walked into the cafeteria slowly, trying to breathe in all of the school lunch smelling air that we could for the last time before summer. Lunch was going great, we all had good lunches and the conversation among my friends and I was a mix of laughter from exhaustion and just random silly facts we just happened to blurt out. Then all of a sudden a banana peel came flying through the air and landed, splat on the floor in between our lunch table and the one behind it. It automatically caused a stir, and the table behind us decided to respond by throwing a role, or something of that sort back at the other table. Then it really got heated, not just because we were in the cafeteria, but because people actually got mad over air-borne food. One girl from the table that food was thrown at came over with - the worst food in this case, chilly, and said, "Whoever threw that better be ready to get chilly thrown at them." she was not taking this sitting down.

Just when things started to seem like they were returning back to normal, another food was flung across the room and everyone sort of all stood up at once. This was a time for duck and cover. You know, the history videos of kids in World War II taking cover from atomic bombs under their desk? Yeah, that's basically the choice we had, unless we wanted to risk running out of the cafeteria getting hit by who knows what on the way out. So, my friends and I took cover under the lunch table, accompanied by the ancient gum wads stuck there also, all to protect ourselves from the madness that was ensuing.

Suddenly our principle came running in and the chaos ceased. My friends and I only suffered minor casualties - a little bit of chocolate milk stains, and that was about it. We were the lucky ones. At least we didn't get smacked with chilly, or apple juice which was rumored to have hit a few people. Long story short we finished our lunch in the chorus room.

Such an adventurous day in the lunchroom! Finals are tomorrow. Wish me luck, I'll need it for the ninety minutes of chemistry testing; I'm really hoping my hands don't fall off.

That is all

-"M"

Do You Have The Bluest Eyes?

Do you remember when you were a child around Christmas time or your birthday and something caught your eye in a store? The colors of whatever it was twisted and twirled in your brain until it was the only thing you talked about in hopes of one day receiving it. You wanted it so much that you would do anything, even take a triple dog dare to get it. But what if the thing you wanted was out of reach - impossible to acquire. Would you go simply mad by yearning forever for the gift that can never be given? This is what Pecola Breedlove did.

The little girl wanted to be like the blue-eyed, blonde hair girls with pearl skin that she saw everyday at school. She didn't see the beauty in her own eyes that she was born with.

Is it our immature selves that want things we don't have, envying others who have what we long for? The growth throughout life seems imperative, to see things on a macro scale rather than our own little perceptions of what life truly is. Children and some teenagers may feel like they're missing something, that they're somehow incomplete; they can't see how they are uniquely special and don't have to be a cookie-cutter kid.

The character Pecola Breedlove, from the novel 'The Bluest Eye' by Toni Morrison felt this way. Eventually she drove herself to be exasperated, contstantly thinking of the eyes she wanted and the eyes she had. No one was there to tell her she was beautiful the way she was. We are stubborn though; never believing what is told to us about ourselves unless we really are able to accept it.

Little Pecola Breedlove did not except the fact that she was an individual and should be excepted. She was considered the lowest class back then - a female African-American child - if she could have only seen that she was worth something.



(This is a post about the amazing novel I just read for English class. I was given complete freedom with the assignment for it, so I chose to express or explain how Pecola acts, and how sometimes we may take things too seriously. Wanting what we can't have, and not being satisfied with who we are as people.)

That is all

-"M"

Spring Fever, or Rather Sumer Fever.

It's that time of year at school again; everyone is anxious and ready to leave school behind for the summer. The only problem is, we're all sneezing, coughing, and too busy with our runny noses to even notice how fast the days are actually passing by. It's that time at school where our immune systems fail us, due to the lack of sleep going on because of all the homework that's being assigned. Also, something that has been looming around every sophomore student and teacher's head all year is a little thing called MCAS. Oh yes, it's back! That exclamation point was in no way meant to express excitement. MCAS - round two - math.

It's the last thing any teenager wants to do when summer is quickly approaching. It's like we, the sophomore class, are daydreaming out the window at the beautiful blue sky just waiting to be free, when all of a sudden MCAS walks over, clamps the window shut and expects us to answer seven billion questions in two days. This is the last year I will ever have to take MCAS, and I can't tell you how amazing that is. Sophomore year at my school is a huge testing year; midterms, finals, and english, and math MCAS. I can't imagine the feeling putting my pencil down, hands about to fall off, almost to the point where I think I have carpal tunnel, and never having to take the MCAS again. It's going to be great!

Right now, though it's crunch time. Our math teachers are going over absolutely everything in the curriculum, and assigning more homework than ever before. And let's not forget finals, still swirling around in people's minds - the preparation for that has also begun taking place. Sleep is rare, and the work load is heavy, but that's all apart of being a student, and a successful one at that. Eventually we'll make up the hours of sleep lost on chemistry lab reports, research papers, etc., and the overall experience of school will make us feel accomplished. Until then, our lives will be spent with a lack of sleep, too much homework, eating Ramen Noodles, and sinus colds when the seasons change. It's a part of life. But every once in a while, we should always look out the window, before MCAS or anything else can wrap it's fingers around the handle and close it.

That is all.

-"M"

Code Red

There's a little problem us girls run into once in a while, well, actually once a month. If by now you don't know what I'm talking about please just think, I'll give you a second. If you don't understand by now, don't even bother continuing to read this post. This is a post about my friend who experienced a time when she wasn't prepared for code red.

My friend and I decided a few weeks ago, to go out to lunch. The sad thing is that while we were trying to be more mature, our parents still had to drive us to the restaurant . We were enjoying our lunch, when my friend told me she had to use the restroom; the look on her face when she came back was anything but happy. She explained the situation, so we ventured out to find pads, tampons, anything.

The tricky part was that neither one of us expected to be walking far distances, so our footwear was not appropriate to be trekking around in. My friend in heels, and myself in ballet flats went off to a sporting goods store, hoping to find a female associate to help solve my friend's problem. Of course, just our luck, there were no women working at the store, so we had to resort to asking a guy. Luckily the worker my friend found was nice enough and felt bad about the situation, but unfortunately for us the store did not carry what we were looking for. The only place closest, was the grocery store across the street. So again we were off - hey, you have to do what you have to do.

We crossed the main street and basically ran for the grocery store, sand flicking up into both of our shoes. Rushing through the store like maniacs, we finally found what we were looking for, and my friend took off to the bathroom. I decided that if I ran too, that I would have blisters on top of my blisters, so I nonchalantly fast-walked behind her. Finally, everything was okay, and we headed back to the restaurant, I think they got sick of us coming in and out so often, but oh well. Mind you, our parents, if they knew about this little adventure would never let us go to a restaurant by ourselves again. So this is our little secret. But what an adventure! It's definitely something that doesn't happen every day, that's for sure.

That is all.

-"M"

Lobster rolls - the beginning to a tragic love story?

Some women think old men are cute, if this senario were to be switched in both gender and age, is it still accepted. You might be wondering why this is of importance. Well, my italian teacher, who is elderly, seems to have eyes for the young italian intern who is teaching our class. I don't think anyone could blame her, he is very good looking, but it's funny to see her comment on his quirks and personality.

The most recent interaction in their relationship, was when our italian teacher invited the new intern to the play we are putting on at school. I'm in it, in the background, but nonetheless still in it, so this news was exciting to me. Professoressa (our italaian teacher) even asked him out to dinner, including a fine dining experience of lobster rolls! How can you turn down that deal - dinner and a play.

Sadly, Professoressa only bought tickets for her husband and herself. Which meant that even if it meant that we (my friends and I) had to buy the intern's ticket ourselves, that was what we were going to have to do. The next day my friend bought a ticket for him and another friend of mine and I payed for half of it. We wrote a note in secret code, cursive, and put that along with the ticket in an envelope. Professoressa knew we were hiding something, and we finally gave in to telling her what exactly we were up to. She nonchalantly gave the envelope to the intern and he seemed to want to go. We'll see tonight if he actually shows! But who wouldn't? A free ticket to a great rendition of West Side Story shouldn't be passed up.

Turns out that this love story is very tragic, but Professoressa still raves over him, and probably will continue to. If there are any new twists to this story, you know I will be sure to document it.

That is all.

-"M"

"A secret society" Otherwise Known as Texting

From a teenagers perspective parents do not understand anything; about school, friends, and most commonly, they don't understand anything about technology. When it comes to my parents, the latter situation is what they can't seem to wrap their minds around. I guess I can sort of understand where they're coming from; when they were kids, cell phones, if they were even around, were the size of a shoe box and couldn't do half of the things a generic cell phone can do today. The thing that is most annoying, though is when a parent doesn't get the technology and becomes nervous about it. They turn into helicopter parents, always hovering, because the truth is they really can't tell the difference between texting and e-mailing.

Last night for example I was texting my friend, when my dad went into helicopter mode, and decided to ask me who I was texting. I told him, and then he proceeded to ask what I was talking about. When I answered with the general answer, "stuff", my dad went off about how secretive texting is. Even saying that texting is "a secret society", my only reply to that was a hearty laugh. I do get his point though, it is annoying when someone next to you is texting and they start to laugh - the only thing you think is that they must be talking about you.

When I become a parent, I'll probably be like him; completely over protective. By the time I have kids, cell phones will probably be even smaller than they are now, and teenagers will have become more antisocial. I can only pray that this doesn't happen, because in a way our parents may be right - what happened to talking to people? But for now, it's agitating to have helicopter parents, always in your business.

Another advancement in technology that some parents do not get is Facebook. My parents don't have Facebooks and probably never will, unless they decided to get one when I go to college which, sounds like something they would do. So when I'm on Facebook, and random people I haven't talked to in forever decide to post a picture of something they thought was interesting, my mom also finds it just as interesting. She walks into our living room, nonchalantly, and then hovers around the computer chair actually reading updates and asking me about them. Then, when I try to scroll down she thinks I'm trying to avoid showing her something and questions that too. Mom, I don't care if this person put a picture of a bird on Facebook, I haven't talked to them since I was in about third grade, so that is why I am scrolling down. Honestly, there has to be an explanation for everything I do.

Parents are entertaining, and they keep us in line. My english class can attest to this; we have a regular parent venting session, oh about once a month, where we talk about the crazy antics of our parents. They try to make sure that some of their good habits rub off on us, like making our beds in the morning, so that we will be prepared for life. But I really don't think I will ever make my bed in the morning, what's the point? Especially if it's a Monday.

That is all

-"M"

No, that extremely bright flash does not help my headache at all

Tonight I attended my school's version of American Idol. I was really looking forward to it for two reasons - one, it gave me a break from chemistry homework when I thought my brain would explode, and two I wanted see how talented people at my school are when it comes to singing.

When the doors of the auditorium finally opened, my friend and I found seats that we thought were good, turns out we were wrong. It never fails; it's always either I get someone who is tall to sit in front of me, because I'm short, or the people in back of you are annoying. Tonight I encountered the 'I'm a parent and I need to take ten billion pictures of my kid' situation. I can not tell you how much of a headache I have even now, an hour after the show, from that mom's camera. The flashes shot across the room and bounced back and hit me in the eye, with every flash, I could feel a migraine coming on. When her kid was up, every twenty seconds there was a flash, but at least there was a warning - the red light some cameras make before the flash erupts from it. Every pose, and every move the kid made on stage, flash goes the camera. Lady, I know that you are proud of your kid for singing a song on stage, but seriously, documenting it that much is a tad on the ridiculous side.

Most performances were great, some were very shocking. One kid, I'm assuming, thought the song he was singing would sound much better if he screamed it. Again, adding to my headache. The majority of the people performing did really really well, some had me singing along too. At the end, after all of the performances, a video of the auditions was shown. I was surprised that our school had the technology to show a video on such a large screen, with the internet unreliable and the network frequently crashing at school, this was shocking.

Overall our school's rendition of American Idol was done very well. They even were able to get the theme music of the actual show, which was a nice touch. After at least seventy flashes, I am going to go and try to get rid of this headache.

P.S. Will Ferrell on The Office tonight is hysterical, if your reading this now, it's still on, watch it!

That is all

-"M"

The MCAS Syndrome

Walking around the halls of school today all of the sophomores, myself included, looked like they had come down with a cold. Indeed they had come down with something, it's a little thing I like to call, or just today started calling, the MCAS syndrome. After being in the same classroom, with the same people, looking at the same test and book for roughly three hours and fifteen minutes, you can see how one would feel a little, for lack of better terms, whimsical for the rest of the day. Even now, at three in the afternoon, I feel like the morning is still not over.

For those who do not know, the MCAS test is given to every student in Massachusetts in varied subjects. It's a state test and is a requirement to pass to graduate from high school. For the next two days I will be taking the english MCAS, today was the composition portion of the test. After pre-writing and then writing my final essay there was still fifty minutes left of the time we were alloted, so I decided to read my book. It was better than staring out into blank space, like the other kids in the room decided to spend their time doing - I was the only one who brought a book. Once time was up, we passed onto fifth period. Thankfully, we didn't have to do anything, so once again I started to read my book. By the time the bell rang for lunch, my head felt lighter than it had before, and I felt very very tired. I decided to look past it and move on. However that was the first symptom of the MCAS syndrome.

Symptoms experienced by people who have had the MCAS syndrome include - hearing the faint sound of bagpipes, hearing dogs barking in the distance, when in fact there are no dogs on school grounds, and lastly misinterpreted phrases. All of these came true, when I was talking with my friends after lunch. When I heard bagpipes in the distance, I thought it was absurd that someone brought them to school this late, after all St. Patrick's Day was five days ago. Thinking I was absolutely bonkers, I asked my friend if she had heard the same thing and she also heard them. Coincidence? I think not! Not long after that did my other friend "R" hear dogs barking, and after that "B" heard me say something that I most certainly did not say. All of this because of a test that lasted 196 minutes. Thank you MCAS, for making us all delirious because of the brain power that you try to exert from us way too early in the morning.

That is all

P.S. MCAS syndrome is obviously not real, but we actually did hear bagpipes and dogs barking. Weird...

-"M"

Is Putting a Video On the Internet Really This Hard?

Over the weekend, I had my friend "B" come over so we could film a video of a dance she came up with for an english project. You're now probably wondering how english class has anything to do with dancing whatsoever, but it does. Our assignment was to display the meaning and themes of the movie Bowling For Columbine in any artistic way that we wished. I chose to write a poem, where "B" decided to dance to a song that represented the themes in the movie. It shouldn't be too hard right? And this is where my assumptions were wrong.

Making up the dance and then recording it to music is only the half of it; getting it to our teacher on time is another story. After finally getting the routine down, it was a bit dark out, mind you we were doing this outside in three degree weather. I turned on my porch light and another light that successfully provided sufficient light so that you could see "B" in the video. The song "B" chose to dance to was playing in the background, but on the video you can hardly hear it. This was fine, because we just assumed that we would somehow mute the original video and put the song in. Easy? Not for us. Once the video was all recorded it was about eight thirty at night, when we finally posted it to our teacher's Facebook page it was about ten o'clock. It took numerous tries and guesses as to how we were to put music in the background and how we were going to send it to our teacher.

Eventually we made a Youtube account, which was new, and after many tutorials and exploring we finally posted a video on the internet, except without music behind it. This made the ordeal even harder to accomplish. In order to view the video the correct way, you have to look up the song and have it playing in the background at the same time you are watching the muted, original video. Thank goodness for Facebook, or else we wouldn't have been able to do this. "B" and I wanted to watch the video back, just to laugh at it, and did we laugh. My camera didn't so much pick up on the sound of the background music, but it did when "B" had to fall at one point in the video. It was hysterical listening to it; one second you would hear music and the next, a loud thud and "B" on the ground. Overall it was a learning experience, who knew it takes that long to upload a video to Youtube? I certainly didn't. Or maybe that's just my nine-year-old computer.

That is all

-"M"

Dogs + Puddles = Not a Very Good Combination

My dog, Rubie, loves to go for walks. Whenever I pretend like she actually understands what I'm saying, and ask her if she wants to go for a walk, she runs excitedly to the door. Then she proceeds to whine the whole time I'm tying or putting on my shoes, because she wants to go outside that badly. Today, because it was about fifty degrees out, I decided to take Rubie for a walk around my neighborhood.

A dog who is almost two years old should be mellow by now, but Rubie on the other hand is a completely different story. I live on a hill, and sometimes I feel like a dog sled person, except I got left without a cart to stand on. That cocker spaniel of mine pulls me up the sidewalk, which isn't so bad, if you haven't done Pilates in gym class a few hours ago, and your arms don't already feel overextended like mine did. After we made it up to the top of my street, to the elementary school, avoiding how complicated that could be, Rubie and I decided to take a new route and go down a side street. Before we even got on the street I regretted ever walking down it. This street was full of puddles and at points, was a little bit muddy. It seemed my dog was a magnet when it came to puddles and walking right through them. It's like she didn't even care or realize that she was walking through a filthy puddle and then on to the next one. I feel bad for yanking on the leash to get her away from puddles, but it's ultimately for her own good.

My many attempts at trying to get a crazy red-haired dog out of puddles didn't succeed in the least. We came home and I looked at what Rubie had done to herself, she was a completely new dog - half red, half brown. She's in the kitchen now, drying off. I think a bath is in order for that puppy, maybe she'll like it, it has to do with water after all.


That is all

-"M"

Never Thought I'd Be In a Car With an Eighty-year-old Who Passed a Tractor On the Road, That's For Sure

My parents, like a lot of other parents, work during the day so my transportation home from school is my grandmother. I could take the bus, but why take the bus when I could be home earlier and not have to worry about finding a seat by taking a car, plus I love seeing my grandma. I am really close to my grandmother; she lives down the street from me and is the only grandparent that I have left. The others passed away either before I was born, or when I was too young to remember them, so my grandma, Memere, which is grandma in French, means so much to me. Anyway on with todays story about how Memere and I got stuck behind a tractor on the way to the super market.

I walked out of school today and the temperature outside was surprisingly warm! It was about fifty degrees out which is fantastic, since we have been reaching temperatures lately of numbers in the single digits. I felt a little odd, since I prepared myself to brace the cold with a scarf and winter jacket only to step outside into a nearly spring-like climate. I got into my grandma's car and we were on our way to my house. Memere told me she had to go to the super market to return soda cans, so since I had nothing better to do, and no homework for once, I decided to join her. After I dropped my school stuff off and let my dog outside to do her business, we headed to Harry's Super Market. Rounding the corner onto another street we found ourselves behind a big green tractor, that was going extremely slow. I'm pretty sure the guy driving the green mammoth knew what he was doing too; he could have made that thing go a little faster, but no, obviously he's the only one that was on the road today. After a little while of being impatient and making comments about the tractor moving very sluggish, Memere decided to pass it. Mind you, my grandma is eighty years old. So sure enough when the road on the other side was clear she passed the green tractor. After that I was just glancing out the window, when my eyes happened to look over and see what? Oh nothing just a police officer waiting for speeders, or others not abiding the law. It was a good thing he seemed like he didn't see us, otherwise this story would have taken even more of an interesting twist. I can see it in the news papers - Eighty-year-old woman passes tractor on road jeopardizing lives all because she wanted to recylce her soda cans. Anyway we made it to the store fine after that incident.

I hadn't been to this store in a really long time. It's a store that has been open for several years so the elderly people in my city trust it because it's the only thing they've known. My grandma was like a celebrity in there; everyone knew her name, it was sort of funny. We were walking down an isle and she knew almost everyone there, all were about her age so she must have known them from when she first moved here from Maine. It's weird to think about your grandparents when your not with them. Like what other people think of them, if they think of them as just old people, but to you they mean so much more. Anyhow, I really enjoyed my time with my grandma today. It's not very often that I go to the grocery store with her, so that was nice. February vacation is almost here!!! I'll probably post during vacation about snowmobiling adventures with my dad. Stay tuned :)

That is all.

-"M"

My English Class

It's fitting that this class is at the end of the day - seventh period. I love to laugh, and this class has me leaving school every day with a smile on my face that could stretch for miles. It does help that English is one, if not my favorite subject, but the people in this class really make it what it is.

There is truly a wide variety of teenagers that come to room 119 every day at seventh period. We range from the Family Guy watching, video game playing, and anything computers guys, to the theater kids, to the "shy" only around certain people kids, but the funny thing is we all mold together. The classroom would not be complete if anyone was missing from the picture. The teachers label us "Honors kids", and indeed we are, but we are also just young souls being who we really are - unique.

In this class it is a challenge to stay on topic because of all the funny quips from the guys in the class. They always seem to have a great line at the tip of their tongues, waiting for just the right moment. And when that moment is right, the whole class bursts out in laughter that can be heard from several classrooms away.

Storytelling is something that is also commonly done in my English class. It all starts usually with our teacher, I'll call her Ms. S., she loves to tell us about her experiences with things that we go through as teenagers. And eventually it causes a snowball effect, the whole class piles on story after story, each hoping to top the one just told. The snowball effect also doesn't just happen with stories, it always happens with the amount of laughter in the room too.

Ms. S. is probably the most relatable teacher that I've ever had. She is young and closer to our age, so she knows exactly how to run a classroom of sometimes stubborn teens. Our multiple personalities are just part of the package. You see we come as a deal, all of us or none at all. We are like a crayon box; even though some of the colors are vastly different from others in the box, they are still grouped together without question. If one of those crayons happens to go missing, then it's not a complete box, it's completely different.

As you can see I'm trying my best to describe this class on paper, or rather on a computer screen, but the fact of the matter is that I really can't do it justice. The people in my class have so many characteristics and qualities about them that it's really quite difficult to put them in print. All I can say for now is that next year I'm going to miss this class, not because of the assignments, and not because it was tenth grade, but because of the people who made Honors English 10, with Ms. S. so great.

That is all

-"M"

I'm Sorry, But I Don't Think I'm the Only One Who Doesn't Want to Contract E. coli From a "Perfectly Cooked Piece of Meat"

Is it just me, or do you also cringe when watching a cooking show, and the host bites into a enourmous burger that is called with great sarcasim "medium rare"? In reality though, it's not medium rare at all it's just plain rare and is almost the same color as it was in the pakage a few minutes ago! People actually like their meat cooked this way? I have only one question - what is the appeal?

It might be just me, but I don't want to risk anything I put in my body that's going to make it not function properly, and could make me very sick for a long time. Another thing about that big juicy "medium rare" burger is that some of the juices in it are blood from the meat, which is completely repulsive. Part of the cooking process is to sterilize the food; to cook away anything that could potentially harm the person about to consume it. Cooking the meat on each side for only a few minutes doesn't seem like it would kill any bacteria on the meat, except for on the surface.

Vegetarians do not eat meat for numerious reasons, one of which is that they do not want to see a animal carcas sitting on a plate in front of them. I also do not like the reminder that the burger in front of me was from a cow, so naturally looking at a rare burger disgusts me. Maybe this notion was passed on from my parents, because they too do not like the look of raw meat. My mom has this quip that is quite true and funny about a rare hamburger, it goes something like this, "This burger is so rare I can still hear it mooing." yes, that's my mom. Still I ask what is attractive about a rare burger.

Another thing, why is it okay to have a medium rare burger, but it is always wrong to undercook pork? The danger from raw beef is still the same as the dangers from undercooked pork, so why do we think it's okay to have a rare hamburg. Also steak tar tar.Completely raw no cooking involved? What were people thinking?I haven't tried it before, maybe it tastes fine, but I would be too scared to try it.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it won't hurt you that much. But I don't think it's wrong when I send back my burger to the kitchen at a resturaunt for it to be cooked well done and not served "medium rare".

That is all

-"M"