College Bound

 When I first found out my GPA I wasn't really shocked but again disheartened by the fact that its only been 1 month during school and I already have the lowest GPA I've ever seen! But I regained hope when we were told that we have 3 months to get our act together. I would like to attend a college in California.  Either UCLA, of UCSD... I want to go to UCLA because its something different and still in southern California but not in  San Diego. On the other hand however I still have this feeling of wanting to stay with familiarities and sticking to college in San Diego.
But to get there I've decided that I need to take my work a little more seriously. And now that I'm in highschool, realize that  my grades now, reflect my highschool career in the end. I figured this. If I do the work, right, and give it my best, I'll be able to choose what college I want to go to. My grade will be right, and I'll come out benifiting by knowing more and taking that knowledge with me into college.

Sound is Art.

http://margaretnoble.net/blog/the-dying-breath-of-summer/

The sound that I listened to was called the Dying Breath of Summer.. Its mix was surprising, its fast new age sound captivated my ears, forcing them to mimic the sounds over and over again in my head. It sounded as if  the metal disc collided with soft techno. Its flow capturing the relaxing part of my brain. Taking it deeply into memories of the last song I heard, and the last time I thought of the future. Mechanics is the first thing that comes to mind, as if  the dying sounds were more like an industrial robot facility.... A rythm follows it and in a strange way makes it a song.... The beat is a train... blowing it's horn often, making it even harder to decipher the meaning of, The Dying Breath of Summer. Slowly but surley voices come from beneath the metal coiling and and zaps. The voices are there, whispering through the sounds. A mixture, of children, men and women. Althoughyou can hardly tell which is which. Construction! I think, but not just any construction, spaceships.... Alien is the word that describes it the most. And no way did I think or feel, the dying breath of summer

The Touch of.....

The anticipation reeks heavily through the room... It's voice coming through the surprised, shocked and grossed out students.  We sit with our eyes closed, our blind folds tied tightly on our faces , almost as if it were a shield, to block  out the cringing anxiety that this "touch" portrays. The heels come clicking a bit closer now, stopping momentarily to give more classmates a shock.  Something no one was expecting.  Finally the wave of anticipation drowns our table , our eyes ripping out our sockets and our hands barely strong enough to sustain them. A light touch grabs my hand ,in which now my heart is pounding, my breath shortning and eyes clenching, like I was riding a rollercoaster with the full intent to come out surprised.Lifting into a container of mystery and guesses. Soft, liquid gellaton meets the pads of my finger tips.  Greeting them with its cold ambiguous welcoming and a quick goodbye.  My hand is swiftly pulled from the goop and the container and is again reunited with the chilled classroom air...Its substance dripping from my hand, swimming in my palms and relaxing on my knuckles. Slowly retiring from my warm flesh and onto the table.

Mexican Whiteboy part 3

Similar to Danny's experiences, I've had my own during my middle school career. In 6th grade I went to school in Wildomar, Temecula.  I went to David A. Brown  and the racial differences were very noticable, I was like Uno! I was the only african-american student in all my classes and had a very hard time  relating to my classmates the way they all related to each other.  The majority of the school was caucasian. Then when I would go to North Carolina , where in the area I was in, the majority is black. My style and my accent set me apart instantly , because my accent wasn't southern and I did'nt dress like most southern females, almost instantly I was looked at differently. My family would say, "why do talk so white?", and why are most of your friends white?.....I COMPLETLEY understand.

The Firts Review of: Mexican White Boy

   The first chapters of Mexican White Boy were, in my opinion, very realistic. It makes me think even more now that it's a potential hidden autobiography. I felt that I could somewhat relate because when I was living in San Marcos, it was very relevant that someone wasn't "Mexican Enough" or talk or speak like the other latinos. Me being black a different race I never experience it first hand but it was very apparent that it was happening to others. The book had all the right things, and twists it exciting to read  and easy because it's something all kids in San Diego can relate to.

WHO AM I?

  I am Lauren Taylor and I'm a genuine people person. I can't stand ignorance and have an extremely low tolerance  for rudeness. My personality type is ENFP and my favorite color is purple. I'm perceptive and sensitive to other peoples feelings. I hate to see anyone remotely unhappy and love meeting new people. I cry when I laugh. EVERY SINGLE TIME.  And when I'm criticized I take it more as a stab to the heart then something to brush off. It takes a lot for me to stay mad and I'm quick to snap back any emotion that's given to me.  I think of myself as way too forgiving and caring for what someone else is going through. I  love bright colors like bright personalities so entertain me and I'll do the same.  Being comfortable is something I cherish the most. I'm an aquarius and I'm always waiting for something interesting.