period 3 classroom magazine

paper
planes
COVER
period 3
classroom
magazine
Contributors
Writer’s Workshop
Period 3
Teacher: Carole LeCren
La Jolla High School
2008-2009 School Year
750 Nautilus Street
La Jolla, CA 92037
http://ljhs.sandi.net/faculty/clecren/
writing
All contents are student written and
edited.
All contents remain the property of
each student writer.
© 2009 All Rights Reserved
Lee Abelkop
Kimberly Alarcon-Sanchez
Luz Angulo
Courtney Avvampato
Gray Breen
Vanessa Bryce
Katie Burris
Patrick Cairncross
Max Cenoz
Ariel Coon
Gabriel Duran
Trish Erne
Nikki Farkhondi
Ben Fremont
Amanda Gordon
Nadia Graily
Shawn Grant
Robert Guerrero
Lilia Houshmand
Niko Karnopp
Paola Martinez
Caroline Mickle
Claire Mittermiller
Dustin Ouellette
Wyatt Pyrke
Nic Sonderegger
Evan Stieber
Ethan Swerdlow
Alyssa Taylor
Anjali Thota
Marisa Trapp
Kelsey Van Vechten
Taylor Van Winkle
Christi Warren
Jennifer Weil
Adriana Yedidsion
Alex Zuckerman
Table of Contents
Nikki Farkhondi . ....................................................................................................4
Courtney Avvampato..........................................................................................5
Gabriel Duran........................................................................................................6-7
Trish Erne.................................................................................................................7
Claire Mittermiller..................................................................................................8
Amanda Gordon..................................................................................................9
Kelsey Van Vechten..............................................................................................10
Adriana Yedidsion.................................................................................................11
Dustin Ouellette.....................................................................................................12
Ben Fremont .........................................................................................................13
Gray Breen . ..........................................................................................................13
Jennifer Weil . ........................................................................................................14-15
Roberto Guerrero..................................................................................................15
Ethan Swerdlow.....................................................................................................16
Alex Zuckerman....................................................................................................17
Anjali Thota............................................................................................................18-19
Vanessa Bryce.......................................................................................................19
Evan Stieber...........................................................................................................20
Luz Angulo..............................................................................................................21
Nadia Graily...........................................................................................................21
Lee Abelkop..........................................................................................................22
Caroline Mickle.....................................................................................................23
Marisa Trapp .........................................................................................................23
Ariel Coon..............................................................................................................24
Paola Martinez......................................................................................................24
Niko Karnopp.........................................................................................................25
Shawn Grant..........................................................................................................26
Lilia Houshmand....................................................................................................27
Kimberly Alarcon-Sanchez...................................................................................28
Patrick Cairncross..................................................................................................29
Katie Burris..............................................................................................................30-31
Christi Warren.........................................................................................................32
Max Cenoz.............................................................................................................33
Wyatt Pyrke............................................................................................................34
Taylor Van Winkle..................................................................................................35
Alyssa Taylor...........................................................................................................36
Nic Sonderegger...................................................................................................37
Letter from The Editors..........................................................................................38
Red
by Nikki Farkhondi
Red is the sound of a guitar strum.
Red is the color of a rose from the one you love.
Red is the feeling of a ‘54 Ford Fairlane engine.
Red is the color of “Lady Danger” lipstick.
Red is the feeling of a worn in leather jacket.
Red is the smell of old Chucks.
Red is the sound of feet moving to the beat.
Red is the color of rockabilly music.
Red is the feeling of greased hair beneath your fingers.
Red is the smell of Sailor Jerry After Shave.
Red is the sound of a raspy voice.
Red is the feeling of vibrations from a double bass.
Red is the color of the flannel that you look best in.
Red is the smell of brand new Ray-Bans.
Red is the sound of a crowd’s cheer.
Red is the color of a young soul.
Red is the smell of love.
Red is the sound of Sinatra’s voice on a sunny day.
And red is the feeling you get when you feel free.
Nikki
I Believe
by Courtney Avvampato
I believe that tripping and falling
on your face should not be embarrassing. Honestly, everyone loses their
balance at least once in their lifetime.
Even prima ballerinas trip over their
point shoes and come crashing to the
floor. Why does tripping over your own
two feet always make your face flush
red with embarrassment? The better
question is why people insist on making others feel shoddier about themselves, by making a mockery of them?
I understand laughing under certain
conditions (such as tripping over air, or
slipping on a banana peel), but only if
the person who fell is laughing as well.
If someone I did not know accidentally
hit his head on his locker, I would ask
him if he were ok and try to make light
of the situation.
The opposite can also be applied to my theory. Some people are
simply too uptight and tense. Some
people really need to learn how to
laugh at themselves. When I fall, or
drop something ridiculous, or break
something, I usually can’t help laughing at myself because of my clumsiness. Laughing is a healthier lifestyle
than being tense and self-conscious.
Why should I be embarrassed about
missing a step in the school hallway,
when it happens to absolutely everyone who has to walk up and down
those stairs every day? The world
would be a better place if we could all
just learn to laugh at ourselves.
Being self-conscious is overrated.
I cannot even begin to imagine all the
things I’ve never known about people
because they were too afraid to be
themselves. Life is about experiencing it all. Life is about crying your eyes
out and laughing until it hurts. Falling
is a part of life, so if you don’t fall then
you’re not living.
C
y
e
n
t
r
u
o
I tried to get up, but I couldn’t.
So I told my dad to call 911. He diby Gabriel Duran
aled, told them I wasn’t feeling well on
Cowles Mountain, and hung up.
On the Saturday before Thanks
“They’re bringing in a helicopter,”
giving Break ended, my family and I
my dad said.
went to Cowles Mountain, near Patrick
Ten minutes later, we heard heHenry High School. We went to hike
licopter blades, and then we saw the
up the mountain, but it was not what
helicopter coming towards us. The
I expected. There were boulders all
copter circled over us twice before
around and it was difficult to take the
landing on the nearest clearing, and
next step uphill, so much so that I bethree men came out. They got to us in
came very tired and took three breaks
5 minutes, but it seemed longer to me.
before reaching the mountaintop. I
When they got to us, they asked what
was the only one in my family who had
was wrong, and put me on an I.V.
to stop to rest. I felt weaker than every
“What’s your name?” one parabody else, but in order not to slow my
medic asked me.
family down, I kept hiking even though
“Gabriel,” I answered.
I was exhausted. I thought it was nor
“How do you spell it?” he said.
mal to be tired having hiked for some
“G-A-B-R-E-,” I answered, still with
time, but I had never been that tired
a headache.
before.
My dad and one of the para
About 50 minutes after we startmedics walked towards the copter,
ed hiking, we reached the top and
two paramedics helped me hike to
sat there for 15 minutes. We could see
the copter, while my mom and brother
a lot of San Diego from there: Santee
hiked down the mountain to the car.
Lakes, Lake Murray, the downtown
When I climbed on the copter, I saw
buildings, the Pacific Ocean, and
my dad was already inside and sat
more mountains. Because I was tired,
next to him. I was feeling better with
my mom told me to eat something, so
the I.V., but still felt weak.
I ate a warm chocolate granola bar.
I then heard the copter blades
I then started walking back
going faster and louder and soon, we
down the mountain, now with a headwere going up. It felt like a giant elevaache. About 5 minutes walking down,
tor, and like a car when moving forI began to feel nauseous and sat on
ward. When turning, it felt like the Wild
a rock. It was then when I knew someArtic ride at Sea World. I wasn’t on the
thing was wrong and that I was not just
copter for 5 minutes when the helicoptired. Seconds later, I threw up and my
ter started going down and stopped.
headache became worse. Even after
I got out, with the paramedics’ help,
I emptied my stomach, I kept throwing
and walked to an ambulance. Before I
up and the headache was still there.
got on, I saw a man with a large video
“Can you get up, or do you want
camera and he asked me:
me to call 911?” my dad asked me.
“How was the helicopter ride?”
“Nah, I can walk,” I answered.
I only smiled and got in the am
Cowles Mountain Adventure
bulance. At around 1 pm, we got to
the hospital and stayed there until 9
pm. I talked with my dad while in the
E.R., but I mostly slept. When we finally
left, the doctor said it was gastritis, an
inflammation of the lining of the stomach. My parents told me how worried
they were, and wondered what the
bill would be. And my brother complained how he wasn’t able to watch
TV that day. When we got home, we
turned on the TV and watched the
news. Minutes later, we saw me coming out of the helicopter and into the
ambulance on KUSI News.
Gabriel
Blood Drive
by Trish Erne
Ever since I started my freshman
year in high school I was eager to
donate blood. I’m not really sure
which part appealed to me, all I knew
is right when I turned 17 I would do it.
That day came in the beginning of
my junior year. I signed up, and on
December 6 at 9:30 am was when I
was going to do it. I left my second
period class and headed down to the
small gym. I had to fill out so much
paper work, and a lot of the questions
seemed completely irrelevant. I got
my finger poked and my iron levels
were high enough. I waited in line for
one of the beds. I had a rice crispy
treat in my left hand, and my right
hand was shaking constantly with
both my legs. I was officially nervous.
It was my turn, I lay on one of the blue
beds, and they started to search for a
vein. After poking me repeatedly, they
finally got in. My blood bag filled up
which seemed to be a lot quicker then
most people’s. Then the absolute worst
thing that I could possibly think that
could happen besides passing out was
that blood started to come out from
the needle onto my arm. And for some
reason I still donated my senior year.
Trish
The Dishwasher
by Claire Mittermiller
“Close your eyes and hold your breath everyone, the door is going down
and it’s about to start” announced the mug from the top shelf of the dishwasher. I’ve always hated this part of my life as a spoon. I always end up getting
soap in my eyes or swallowing some old food off of the plates right next to me.
One time, another spoon had peanut butter on it and I was jammed to it for a
week before my owner started the dishwasher. We had tried to separate for
hours on end before we finally gave up and accepted that we were stuck. Everyone else enjoys the warm water and jets that spray them until they are clean
again, but I think the water is too hot and the jets are too forceful. I am always
the first one in there and have to sit for days on end next to the other dirty utensils in my rack. Our food-covered bodies reek by the time our owner starts the
dishwasher. Once, I was enclosed in the dark hole for a month next to a plate
with fish guts still clinging to the porcelain and a fork with rotting cheese on the
prongs.
Now, as I heard the dishwasher start up, the anticipation made my heart
start to race. I felt the soapy water hit my body as I cringed in pain by the force
of the jets. Only thirty minutes of this nightmare I told myself. Just then, a steak
knife was blasted by the water and fell onto me scraping my metal body. The
excruciating pain caused me to yelp and resulted in a mouthful of water. Not
much longer, I reminded myself. The time slowly passed by as I eagerly awaited
the end of this horrible experience. I heard the cheerful humming of a spoon
right next to me and decided to join in to pass the time. Soon, everyone in the
dishwasher was participating and we were having a blast. Before I knew it, the
jets had stopped and the water began to drain. I couldn’t believe that the
time had passed by so quickly. It had felt like only a matter of minutes since
the dishwasher had started. I heard the click of the dishwasher opening and
actually felt the disappointment of leaving it. I knew that I would be back soon
though, and this time, I would not dread the experience because I had found a
way to make it enjoyable.
Claire
‘Twas the Night before a CRAZY Christmas
by Amanda Gordon
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
None of the presents were wrapped not even the blouse
The mother was running around like a crazy fanatic
Snow was falling from above, through the hole in the attic
The mother then started yelling, “Oh my gosh, what is that?!”
But she was interrupted by the swing of a bat!
She was searching around and found her young boy
He had obviously found his brand new toy
The mother checked her clock and saw there was no time
So she fixed up a margarita and threw in a lime
The mother realized that this Christmas was already a funk
So she said, “Screw it, let’s all get drunk!”
a
d
n
a
Am
A Way of Life
by Kelsey Van Vechten
Gryffindor: brave, foolish, loyal, daring, and courageous. The colors of red and
gold adorn the walls of the common room as well as the lion mascot. Dressed in an
immense pink gown, the Fat Lady courageously guards the entrance to the common
room. This is the world that I wish I could belong to. For years I had imagined myself
walking through the dim castle hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Even though I am a muggle, my ambition is to be a part of this magical world.
Ever since the age of eight, Harry Potter has consumed my life. I have been to the
midnight release for every single one of the
books, and I have never failed to make it a
part of my life. I am obsessed with Hogwarts
and the magical world. In order for anyone
to come into my room when I was little, they
would have to write the password on a piece
of paper and shove it under the door. During freshman year P.E., I accidentally yelled,
“Pass me the quaffle!” instead of “ball”. With
Harry Potter streaming into my subconscious,
I am constantly reciting phrases and words
that were only known to the magic world.
Most of my friends were confused if I mentioned Moaning Myrtle or Voldemort; it was
only until the movies came out that all my friends soon became very involved in this
other world. To think that these were the people who rolled their eyes at me whenever I
mentioned Harry Potter. . .
I can clearly remember the passion that these books made me feel when I first
started reading them. I was so devoted to J.K. Rowling’s series that this wasn’t just another silly children’s book to me. Harry Potter was that first book that made me wish that
wizardry was actually real. It was my escape from reality, and I could let my mind completely wander off while reading. My eternal daydream became progressively better
when my friend, Katie, and I used to play pretend Harry Potter. We knew every single
spell, and every single detail possible about these books. Why did we have to be born
muggles?
The release of the last book was a very sad day. I received my book around 12:20
A.M. and was up until about 11:00 A.M. reading it. Although the movies are something
to look forward to, they can never be as great as the books that started a phenomenon
throughout the world. Life after Harry Potter is different. No more looking forward to midnight book releases and Mrs. Rowling’s dignified sense of humor.
Yes, I have written “I must not tell llies” on my hand. I have drawn the Dark Mark
on people’s arms while they are sleeping. The sign of the Deathly Hallows is almost permanently inked in on my hand from re-drawing it everyday. Yes, I have every single Sorting Hat song memorized, I google Harry Potter everyday, and I dream about going to
Hogwarts. So, call me Harry Potter obsessed. It’s a way of life.
Kelsey
10
Adriana
There Once was a Fish Named Joe…
by Adriana Yedidsion
There once was a fish named Joe,
Who waddled to-and-fro.
He swam in a flock, in a troupe, a group,
And followed wherever they’d go.
They’d swim past sunk ships, aside other schools,
And through caves filled with gold and large jewels.
Each one of them warned to not get lost,
And to always stick to the rules.
When born each fish was told,
The grave dangers the waters hold.
Stay with the pack, never lag back,
And you’ll live ’til incredibly old.
But Joe was a curious one,
And thought wandering off would be fun.
So he went out and about, towards his own route,
And his journey had now begun.
He whisked through coral and tunnels of dark,
And was delighted to see flowers formed to an arc.
But after turning around, all that he found,
Was the massive face of a stranger, a shark!
Joe should have stuck with his hunch,
And stayed with the rest of the bunch.
All in all that fish, got his wish,
And now he is nothing but lunch.
11
Children’s Story
by Dustin Ouellette
Johnny loved the game of baseball. He would go everyday after school
to the sandlot with his friends and play pick up baseball games. Johnny was not
a very good player but always had the biggest heart. Johnny was never chosen
for the all-star teams even though he worked harder than all of the other kids
that were on the team. Nothing excited him more than getting ready for a big
baseball game.
Johnny grew up and started his freshman year in high school. He worked
very hard in the off season to get ready for the upcoming baseball season. He
made the varsity baseball team as a freshman. He worked hard and beat out
older players for the starting shortstop position. Johnny played well throughout
his high school years. However, by his senior year he began to really grow and
get stronger from lifting weights. Johnny got recognition from several prestigious
college baseball programs before his senior year. Pro scouts were also talking
with Johnny.
After batting .560 with twelve homeruns his senior year, Johnny was selected in the third round of the Major League Baseball draft by the San Diego
Padres, his hometown team. He worked his way through the Minor Leagues very
quickly and eventually was called up to join the Major League team.
Johnny still had his love for the game that started since he first started
playing baseball. He worked very hard and had a great career in Major League
Baseball because of it.
Dustin
12
Ms. Brammer
Advice
by Ben Fremont
by Gray Breen
Here I am in physiology writing
something that I will use for read aloud
in Ms. LeCren’s class. Ms. Brammer is
abnormally loud. Why is that? How
can someone possibly have that much
energy at seven thirty in the morning?
Anyways it has already been twenty
minutes since she started yelling out
her lecture, which means I have a
little over thirty-five minutes of hell left.
Then comes Mr. Quince’s class, which
is usually pretty fun, but today is “international test day.” Finally Writer’s
Workshop before I leave for Big Bear
for the weekend. Big Bear is always
a lot of fun but the drive up is a pain.
Back to school. Yesterday I was helping
my mom cook dinner when we started
talking about the amount of pointless
things we are taught in school. Think
about it. Who needs to know anything
about the inside of the human body
or why Fitzgerald put a metaphor in a
particular paragraph? No one cares.
Anyways I have written enough without getting caught by Ms. Brammer so
here is where it ends.
Be nice to people. Make a good
first impression. Have fun. Travel to
every continent of the world. Learn
another language. Be immersed in
another culture. Go to an Olympics.
Give your seat up for another person.
Donate your time. Donate your blood.
Donate your money. SCUBA dive. Sky
dive. Speak your mind. Listen to your
surroundings. Swim in the ocean. Ride
your bike. Speed. See your favorite
band play live. Have a pet. Sleep under the stars. Go for a polar bear swim.
Be a vegan for a month. Then eat
meat. Carpool with people. Eat icecream. Wear hats. Climb stuff. Jump
off of stuff. Write a letter to an old
friend. Get to the highest point visible.
Vote for something you believe in. See
the northern lights. Do something no
one else has done. Play an instrument.
Live in the moment.
n
e
B
Gray
13
Soon I Will Know
by Jennifer Weil
I’ve been there many times.
Where the sun shines bright and you
can see the heat wave dance across
the surface of the synthetic grass. As I
walk across the sward the black rubber pebbles collect in my shoes. The
soles of my high heels scorch as I sit on
the lower riser with the tar underneath
my feet.
We have all seen this day before. You may not recognize it until
you get there yourself, but you know
it. You might remember it from movies or sitcoms, Hallmark cards or teddy
bears; you know it deep down, we’ve
all been waiting for it.
I’ve worn this day many times.
In a thick, smelly, musty red robe with
a black sash draping down the front.
Many think I look like the other men
and women on this day, but it is a
mere coincidence. I sit on the risers
in the terrible heat. Everyone’s skin is
baking to a crisp while embarrassing
damp spots appear on their gowns.
The audience holds umbrellas, waves
fans, and wears sun bonnets as if today were a tea party that is frying in oil
on a hot pan. Name after name gets
called to the moment of truth. Man after man, woman after woman stands
straight and tall walking uniformly.
14 Cheers ring out, bull horns blare, cow-
bells strike a chord for each and every
man and woman to cross the threshold. Man and woman stand proud
with a smile, ignoring the heat. All men
and women care about this moment.
I stand up and let my dry throat
release what melody it has left. I’m
miserable in the sun, just waiting for
the names to finish. My mouth is as dry
as the Sahara. All I want to do is leave
until the day that started all this returns
in the colder month. The only thing I
can do is watch and wait and wonder.
Why do they not wipe their brow or fan
their face? The men and women are
so still and silent. Time, in the moment
they rest with, is frozen under ice. A
white frost covers the chairs that hold
the men and women for the last time.
Caps cover their heads from the soft
snow of memories that falls around
them. The moment is an optimistic
snow globe that cannot be touched
by the heat of negativity. I am unable
to obtain this beautiful globe until I
take the place of the men and women seated before me. I cannot see
what they see in the moment. I do not
know the moment like they do.
It is time, the moment that everyone waits for. The moment I have not
yet discovered. The fringe is lifted over
the visor to the left side. The caps of
red and black soar in the air, the golden tassels flailing all about. They catch
the caps in the hands that hold the
most important certificate of their lives.
The audience swarms over the railing
and onto the turf. The frost melts away,
leaving the perfectly aligned white
chairs empty.
I’ve been there many times.
Where the sun shines bright and you
can see the heat wave dance across
the surface of the synthetic grass. As I
walk across the sward the black rubber pebbles collect in my shoes. The
soles of my high heels scorch as I sit on
the lower riser with the tar underneath
my feet.
r
e
f
i
n
Jen
Dirty Marshmallow Clouds
by Roberto Guerrero
I lay on the green grass,
Staring up at the sky,
At dirty marshmallow clouds.
I observe as they move,
Slowly,
Pulled apart like soft cotton balls.
Darkness.
I open my eyes to the first drop,
The most pleasant surprise as I sit up.
It’s her.
She stands,
Next to the closest tree. Too far away.
Walking through the countless raindrops, I reach for her hand;
We start walking,
Smiling.
o
t
r
e
b
o
R
15
’Twas the Night Before Hannukah
by Ethan Swerdlow
’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the home
Not a thing did move, not a person did roam
Everyone in the house was all snug in their bed
Under covers their bodies on their pillows their head
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter
I ran through the hallway and opened the door
I gazed all around and saw snow on the floor
I still kept searching for the source of the noise
I looked all around, glancing over the toys
I didn’t understand, all was the same
Crash! I turned, I saw whom to blame.
I can’t believe I imagined a thief
It was actually Saint Nick to my astonished belief
Then Santa claws into his sack
And pulled out toys of red, green, and black
He smiled at me saying these toys are for you
No, they can’t be, for I am a Jew
Santa looked around for mistletoe and roses
But all he could find was a picture of Moses
He looked around more while rubbing his belt
Seeing Hanukiahs, Dreidels, Latkes and Gelt
He left my house, and for the rest of his trek
On every single house a mezuzah he did check
16
Ethan
mine.
Now it’s one on one, me and the
by Alex Zuckerman
goalie. My adrenaline is pumping. The
goalie starts to come out of his goal.
Sprinting as fast as I can up the
I quickly let out a shot aimed at the
field, I hear my name being shouted
bottom right corner of the net. It’s a
and I look up just in time. I see the ball
perfect shot, sailing toward the goal
coming right at me. I lean back and
at top speed. At the last second the
make contact with the ball on my
goalie sticks his left leg out and knocks
chest. The ball takes a small bounce
the ball wide of the goal. Disappointstraight up, and I hit it down to the
ed at myself, I huddle together with
ground with my forehead. Now I let my
the others in the goalie box, waiting for
feet do all the work.
the corner.
I start running forward, weaving the
The whistle blows and the players
ball in and out of my legs to keep my
scramble about to find an open area.
opponents on their toes. A defender
The ball is in the air. I see it and I jump.
is coming toward me, straight on. The
Suspended in the air for only half
defender is ten feet ahead of me; I
a second, I see the defender in front of
keep going straight at him. The deme is also in the air, trying to clear the
fender is seven feet ahead of me, and
ball out of the box. The ball is now less
now he stops approaching me and
than five feet away from me, and the
waits in position to make sure I don’t
defender starts to fall. He has jumped
get by. The defender is less than one
too soon. The ball clears the defendfoot away; he makes a sudden leap
er’s head by inches. I make contact
for the ball. Quickly I slightly touch the
with my head, flicking the ball in the
ball past the left side of him. Sprinting
direction of the goal.
on the right side of the defender, I can
The ball flies by the goalie into
feel the breeze of his jersey against
the back of the net. Victory.
El Soccer
Alex
17
Bharatanatyam Arangetram
18
by Anjali Thota
Last piece, last piece. I had been dancing for one and a half hours
straight. Four hundred people had their eyes on me. This is what I had been
working for, for ten years. I had been practicing, two hours, four days a week
for the past five months.. Last piece, last piece. Sweat dripped from my forehead, making the powder on my face run. My dress and hairpieces felt like they
weighed twenty pounds. After this last thirty minutes I would be a Bharatanatyam dancer. I could teach other children how to dance, like my guru taught me.
Last piece, last piece. This was my graduation as a dancer. This was my Arangetram.
I had been dancing since I was six years old. My sister, my cousin, and I
would all go on Saturday mornings ready for our next dance lesson. I would
hear things like “sit down more,” “be stiff,” and “show more emotion.” I hated it.
I did not understand why my mother insisted on me going. As I grew older and
kept my Indian dance with me, I realized the it was a part of my culture that I
needed to have.
Three months before my Arangetram my dance teacher sat me down
and told me that she did not believe that I would be ready for the performance. I sat there, listening to her tell me I should give up, and that we could
push the date back until I was ready. Even though my teacher wanted the best
for me, I was going to show her, and everybody else who thought I could not do
it, my true potential. I took the negative criticism she gave me, and turned it into
a challenge. The next couple of months I danced until my feet were burning. I
danced while I was eating, while I was brushing my teeth, and I even dreamt
about the different steps and beats. I was the “dancing queen” as ABBA would
put it. Then it was August 8th, 2007, and I was ready.
I got on stage ready for the music to start. I knew my steps, and the facial
expressions I needed to have. While I was dancing I was pumping adrenaline,
I could not feel the pain. But as intermission rolled around, I felt the burn in my
feet from stomping on the ground, and I felt the soreness in my thighs for sighting in a squat for almost the whole time. As I got back on stage I heard people
filing in, talking about the previous dancing I had done. I blocked all the noise
out, and focused, focused on the people who did not believe in me, and used
it to fuel my energy.
As I finished my last piece I smiled to myself. With the determination I had,
I showed everyone what I could do. I proved them wrong. I stood up and was
met by a standing ovation. I saw my parents in the front row. My mom had tears
rolling down her eyes, and was shaking her head in awe. My dad was pumping his fist and whistling. My sister and my brother rushed on stage to congratulate me, and to keep me from falling. My instructor came over to me and I got
down on my knees and touched her feet with my hands to show my respect.
She pulled me up and hugged me and whispered in my ear “I am so proud of
you, thank you for proving me wrong.” This was a moment I knew I was never
going to forget. I had used my tenacity to motivate a part of me I did not know
I had. I became the dancer I am today and will be for the rest of my life. And
now, as I start the most important part of my life last piece, last piece becomes
let’s go, let’s go.
Anjali
Dear Panicked
by Vanessa Bryce
Dear Panicked,
You should honestly just drop out. Doing all of the work is a complete waste
of time. Graduating isn’t a big deal
anyways. People just talk it up so that
kids feel like they are obligated to stay
in school and stay out of all the adults’
hair. No one actually cares if you graduate. Besides, dropping out is so much
fun. You get to do whatever you want,
that is, if you can find anything to do.
. .High school is just a big waste of 4
years of your life! Oh and look at it this
way, you might just start a new trend
and everyone will drop out with you.
Trust me, two days from now you’ll be
the big bad dropout on your couch,
instead of the stressed out little lost
freshman looking for classes.
Sincerely, Ms. Advice
Vanessa
19
Talent
by Evan Stieber
“Ability may get you to the top, but it takes character to keep you there.”
This is a famous quote by basketball coach John Wooden. This quote states that
even if someone is the most talented, he or she still needs good character to
stay on top. If a very talented basketball player is on the team but gets kicked
off for getting in trouble, then the player behind him gets to take his spot.
Last year on my varsity basketball team Jon was the star of the team. He could
dunk the basketball, he could defend anyone in the league with his quick feet
and athletic ability, and he averaged 25 points through the first 10 games of the
season. Jon was highly recruited throughout the state and was offered a scholarship by one of the most prestige’s basketball schools, University of Southern
California.
Jon had all of the talent in the world but his career was jeopardized when
he got into a fight after our school’s football game. Jon was caught and arrested by the police. His lack of character cost him a college scholarship for basketball and he was kicked off his school team. I always sat on the bench behind
Jon, but since he was kicked off the team the coach asked me to carry on in his
place. I may not have been as good as he was in many aspects of the game of
basketball, but he ruined his chances by making a poor decision.
I believe that if Jon would have not gotten in a fight, then he would have
stayed on top and succeeded in life. Jon had everything made for him but he
made one bad mistake and ruined it. “Ability may get you to the top, but it
takes character to keep you there.” Although I do not have the most ability on
my basketball team my good character and desire to never give up is what will
keep me on top.
Evan
20
Turning 18
Blast Off Poem
Turning 18 is a beautiful thing
Finally escape from under my parent’s
wing
Buy cigarettes, lotto tickets, and porn
Look down on children with nothing
but scorn
Go drinking in TJ
Go clubbing with DJs
Hearing the crowd shout and scream,
They yell “Go Vikes!” for our team.
Faces painted, showing our pride,
School spirit is something we don’t
hide.
Red, White, Seniors in black,
Letters spelling out “Class of 09” on
their back.
Cheerleaders cheering, doing some
flips,
People snack on food, bags of potato
chips.
As students walk to and fro,
The score of the game starts to grow.
Listening to the band play their song,
They hit the right notes, nothing wrong.
Today we start off a new football year,
Show your school spirit and cheer.
La Jolla High, today is our day,
So go out tonight and let’s watch our
team play.
by Luz Angulo J
Turning 18 is a beautiful thing.
If I murder someone, I get tried as an
adult
I can go to jail and get The Chair as a
result!
Statutory rape no longer exists
Unless you’re the older one,
Then their parents get pissed~
I might as well enjoy these ’tll I turn 21
Then I can drink here and have real
fun!!
by Nadia Graily
Luzer Nadia
21
Kicking
by Lee Abelkop
The game is tied 0-0 at Mission Bay on their swamp field. The grass is so tall
I can feel the razorblade tips rubbing against my ankles. The field is muddy and
slippery so my concentration is key because if I make any kind of mistake planting my foot it’s nothing but slipping, missing, falling back on my butt, and being
laughed at by hundreds in the stands. It is 4th down and 7 yards to go with the
ball on the 22 yard line. “Field goal!!” yells Coach Ponsford.
I jog onto the field to the far side hash mark next to the Mission Bay sideline. When I get to my spot I hear the Mission Bay players right next to me yelling and taunting, “Don’t miss it baby!” What they unfortunately do not realize is
all that this is doing is making me focus harder to shove the 3 points right down
their throats. At that exact moment I tell myself confidence is key and that it is
just any other routine practice kick for me.
Missing is not an option now and it is adrenaline and the fight to win that
excites me for the upcoming kick, not to mention we are playing away at our
rival school and the only thing I want to do is prove that we know how to play
football. I take my 3 steps back and 2 steps over carefully, with all the focus that
I can use from my head. McCall looks up at me and nods his head to give me
the go sign that he is ready to call for the snap. I nod back to let him know that I
am ready and suddenly all noise around me disappears. No crowd, no players,
and no pressure–just me, the ball, and the uprights.
“Set!” McCall makes his call for the snap. Ethan slings the ball into McCall’s hands. My heart is beating as if it were about to shoot right out of my
chest and my blood is pumping through my veins steadily. I feel as if I am the
most indestructible person in the world. In the middle of taking my steps to the
ball I see McCall gently place the ball on the tee. All I can see is the ball and
the little black tee on which it sits. I keep my head down and calmly swing my
leg right into the ball, remembering to follow through. I look up and see the ball
sail through the uprights followed by the referee’s signal that the kick is good.
I high five my teammates and look up to see the scoreboard which reads 3-0
La Jolla. Jackpot! is what I think to myself, feeling the tingly sensation of success
running through my bones.
22
Lee
Fast Forward
Rupert
by Caroline Mickle
by Marisa Trapp
“Wake up! Are you up?” My
mom yells from the kitchen below my
bedroom. I grunt “Yes I’m up” in response even though I lay still as the
dead, sprawled sideways across my
bed. I finally give in to her nagging
and crawl out of bed to begin my
morning routine. I grab a pair of jeans,
the first T-shirt I see, a pair of socks that
do not match, and my cell phone. I
check my text messages as I walk to
the bathroom. I throw my clothes on
the floor, brush my teeth, put my contacts in, put my hair up, and then get
dressed. I choose the jewelry I’m going
to wear for the day, and lazily put it on.
I grab my Sidekick LX, shove it into my
pocket, then stumble down the stairs,
sleep clouding my thoughts. “Good
morning,” my mom says as I sit down
for breakfast. All of a sudden I hear,
“Get up! Get up! Get up! You’re going to be late!” I glance at the clock.
6:30am. Great, now I have to do everything all over again; in fast-forward.
Every day she leaves for school and
comes home in the afternoon. I’m left
alone for hours wondering what to do. My
name is Rupert and I’m the plush bunny
that stays on her bed. Since I’m alone
most of the time I’ve decided to make
friends with all of her pillows. I think she has
six; I never went to school so I can’t count,
but I’m only friends with two. Their names
are Molly and Fred. The rest of the pillows
are evil and give me dirty looks. Molly and
Fred are very friendly and they keep me
company sometimes.
It’s hard being a bunny for her. I
know she loves me very much but sometimes I’m so tired of living on this bed. Of
course when she first comes into her room
she’s happy to see me, grabbing me and
burying her face into me getting me all
ticklish, but when night comes, gosh, I wish
I learned how to walk. I have to deal with
her rubbing her makeup on my feet and
her tears make me feel like I’m about to
drown. I try to comfort her, but it only goes
so far.
When I tell Molly and Fred about
these stories they laugh and feel safe
knowing they’re not the ones getting wet
some nights. One day I’m going to get
enough courage and bravery and I’m going to hop off her bed and travel around
the hardwood floor, exploring her room.
Marisa
Caroline
23
Abstract Art
by Ariel Coon
Abstract art. Can other things be abstract? Is there such a thing as an
abstract life? Can different people see you as different things? At first glance,
you look like a bunch of blobs, but when you look closer, you see beauty and
undiscovered treasures. I feel we all lead abstract lives. I’d like to think I have
an abstract life. People see me as weird, random, and … just have no idea
how to read me at first. Then once they take the time to look closer and get to
know me, they see my imagination, my inner beauty, and what makes me …
me. I think we are all like abstract art. People interpret us in different ways and
you can’t see just who a person is until you take a closer look. The sad thing is,
people these days don’t appreciate fine art.
Paola
Ariel
Oggi’s
by Paola Martinez
24
A San Diego specialty in its own right
A restaurant where your taste buds are sure to ignite
There are soups brewing and crowds wooing
Lip smacking, crunching, slurping, chewing
Watch the football game as you eat
Just another one of their special treats
And the wait time isn’t outrageously long
Either way you would feel like you belong
Savory dinners will always be their prime
So come to Oggi’s and have a good time.
Tygra
by Niko Karnopp
Pillars of wheat bow in its presence,
Creases of evening orange ricochet off midnight black.
The ground rises to cradle its footsteps,
Caressing onward ever so patiently, so tranquilly.
Marbles laden with crescent slits converge on naïve innocence,
Suddenly a slight pause, yet lacking the traits to be titled hesitation.
Resuming again, summits of muscle escalating and descending
Uniform to a beating heart,
Alas, the final intermission from the prolix finale.
The slender mass submerges itself,
Till’ the pale gut dares to buss the soil.
Now poised, determined,
Every stride gaining momentum towards its target.
So rapidly existent that the brush cannot contain its secret furthermore
Breaching into the clearing,
Rocketing atop the grounds
Saving its steps only to caution the earth that his crown still pertains.
Advancing now so that its breath becomes the wind,
Yet fourteen lances prelude the vise
Which will explicitly thrust across a primitive overlay of dusk.
The moment has come.
Vaulting to the contour of the holy cross.
Three and a mid meters begone the ground.
Slashing with the impact of a Roman legion
Passing is swift
And solitude is universal as all vital creatures endure.
Honoring the lifeless and rejoicing in their existence.
For the hunter,
Festivities surge accompanied by a full stomach.
For him the sun will rise tomorrow.
Niko
25
New Board, New Swell
by Shawn Grant
Old boards die. They lose their
dium, provides a sense of clarity that
resilience, their speed, their hydrody-
I believe some people strive for their
namic ‘pop’ as it were. Looking down
entire lives. As I hopped off the rocky
at my yellowed, beaten wave-riding
outcropping and stared to the horizon,
vehicle my posture slumped-another
I felt assurance that today could ap-
mundane day on the board that was.
propriately be deemed a new day.
That evening I explained my trivial
plight to my dad, a surfer himself. The
benefit of my dad surfing is the understanding he has for what I am talking about. I got the crispy new white
board that weekend, just as a swell
deep out of Baja was exploding on
the coast. As I stood on the rocky point
about to depart the troubled world,
an expression of relief adorned my
face—this was indeed a new chapter.
Every new board signifies new feelings,
new experiences, and improvements
on sessions past. Most people look at
us surfers, as stupid, inarticulate, unproductive humans—while all these
accusations are false, if they knew why
we did what we do they would think
differently. Riding waves, actually moving in exactly flow with nature’s me-
26
n
w
a
Sh
I Am From
by Lilia Houshmand
I am from Saturday morning cartoons,
fights with milk-filled balloons,
crackling noise of crispy cereal,
smells of silk and all kinds of material.
With bright lights in my eyes
and sweat on my face,
I can’t imagine ever being in a different place.
Curtain creaks when the show goes up,
and apple juice in my favorite Disney Princess cup.
I am from Mom’s amazing sauce,
plus everything she makes,
Ortega’s burritos are never mistakes.
Mac and cheese,
with corn and peas,
are always ones to make me pleased.
Refrigerator stocked with loads of carrots
No on else ever had it as easy as my parents.
Lilia
I am from midnight In-n-Out runs,
then living room couch with Azu and hot dog buns.
Being on stage as they hit the lights,
and the special corner in my closet after really big fights.
From Pantea to Team Wombat to Persian wanksters to Climber to Sunny Zen,
no place is better than Angel’s after ten.
I am from I love you baby to
Is that really how you spell playwright?
From shoot me now to life goes on.
From peanut butter jelly time to
always bursting out in song.
27
Journal Entry #1
by Kimberly Alarcon-Sanchez
Today is January 26, 2009, and I`m writing this for our classroom magazine
because Kelsey told me to and because my friends will bother me if I don`t (by
the way I`m in Japan right now). I’ll just give a short summary of what has happened while I was here but first I just want to say that I hate airplanes and that I
never want to get on a 16-hour flight ever again. Unfortunately I have to do that
again to get back home. Second of all I never, ever want to hear another student from La Jolla High complain that school is too long. I wake up around 6:30
AM to go to school and I don`t come back until 5:30 PM (and that`s without the
afterschool activities). But anyways school has been boring as usual since they
are all in Japanese and I don’t really understand the teacher. Oh well. I take the
bus now but it’s really crowded with students and I actually have to stand near
the bus doors because it’s so full. I believe I might actually fall out one of these
days. My classroom is on the fourth floor and it’s a pain to climb all those stairs
in the morning but I just consider it a workout. All the students are very nice and
have been very helpful especially this one girl (I can’t remember her name!)
who saved be from humiliation by stopping me before running into the boys’
changing room! I love my host family and consider them my second family from
Japan. My host father is a vice-principal from an elementary school and my
host mother is a teacher. I have two older host sisters who are attending university and one host sister who goes to high school (but not the same high school
I attend, in fact our schools are rivals). We went to go eat sushi last weekend
and watched the new James Bond movie. There are a lot of vending machines
around the city. There`s one a few feet away from our house. I love how everything is so small here like the houses, the cars, the soda cans, etc. I must go now.
Time to go eat KFC!
y
l
r
e
imb
K
28
Why Do We Travel?
by Patrick Cairncross
Why do we travel? Do we honestly care about the cultures and true characteristics of distant places, or are we more concerned about the Americanized luxuries that these places have to offer? Popular tourists attractions such as
the Hawaiian islands have falsely created sugar coated images so that travelers
can lounge comfortably while experiencing the “culture” of the ancient Hawaiian people. We all know that Hawaiian people spend the majority of their time
dancing around fires, with coconut bras, grass skirts, and loin clothes.
Patrick
29
October 31st
by Katie Burris
Pumpkin carving, trick or treating
Potion brewing, candy eating
Brace yourselves for a day of fear
Dress like a whore day is finally here!
I saw 7 Snow Whites, 3 Greeks, 9 vampires, 2 angels, 3 cops, and 4 Alice in
Wonderlands today. Thank goodness
we live in San Diego, because all of
these girls, despite the variety of character, were wearing little more than
a Laker girl uniform, and I wondered
to myself if we lived in New York how
many of them would have risked frost
bite to look this way. The way everyone dressed on October 31st, it’s a
wonder that gyms don’t offer “get in
shape for Halloween” specials and after seeing a not-so-sexy referee on the
quad I’m thinking some of these girls
should have seriously looked into that.
Besides the obvious problem of teenage girls objectifying themselves once
a year, the lack of creative thought
that goes into these lingerie sets bothers me. The 10 worst Halloween Costumes in my opinion are:
1. Witches and vampires. Really?
You’re about as original as a rock.
Most likely these girls wore the same
thing 10 years ago; the only difference is less fabric, and the addition of
fishnets and heels. I’m sure pumpkin
costumes would be popular with these
imaginative people too, but then you
would have to work harder to find a
way to show your cleavage.
30
2. Cats. See the lack of originality described in #1.
3. Scandalous children’s book/movie
characters. This is where it gets disturbing. Alice was a confused little girl who
fell down a rabbit hole and had some
interesting adventures, not a prostitot
looking for some action with the Mad
Hatter (the same goes for Little Red
Riding Hood, Tinkerbelle, etc.) Goldilocks in platforms and a skirt the size
of a tea towel gives the impression she
has been sleeping in everyone’s bed.
4. German girl/ bar maid. Because,
nothing screams sexy louder than a
pair of lederhosen.
5. School girl. You have been a school
girl everyday of your life for the past
10 years! And if you go to LJHS or Muirlands, it’s not even so much a matter
of skimping up your outfit, all you need
to do is replace those denim booty
shorts for a plaid skirt of equal length.
Oh and wear some knee socks; god
forbid you show some ankle.
6. Sexy cop/referee. I have yet to see
anyone look remotely attractive in
either of these onesies. Frankly, the pot
bellied man in the striped polo running
around a soccer field with a whistle
is the last thing that comes to mind
when I think of sexy, but then again
so are the majority of the girls wearing
these costumes.
7. Nurse. This usually involves some
sort of extreme plastic mini-dress.
Real nurses wear scrubs ladies, and I
don’t know about you, but I would be
hesitant to let anyone wearing white
pleather touch me, let alone provide medical assistance.
8. Indians. So not only do you have the creative imaginings of a fork, but this is
downright politically inaccurate. 9. Pirates. Especially if you are aiming for the Pirates of the Caribbean wench/
pirate look. The first movie came out what like 6 years ago? Just let it go.
10. I dunno- but it’s hot! What are you, Sally? Well, I got these neon spandex
booty shorts from American apparel, and I had this headband I’ve always
wanted to wear.... So what are you? I dunno but it’s hot, right?! Let’s give
some credit to these girls, they aren’t hiding their promiscuity behind some
totally respectful occupation like a nurse or a cop, they are out and open
about it.
Katie
31
Untitled
by Christi Warren
She left me with her keys
and her old records and the player
but she forgot to take our evenings in the kitchen
and she forgot to take the smell from the leather.
She left me with her tangerine lipstick, and pearl earrings
and collection of art books
but she forgot to take her glasses resting on the nightstand
and the sound of my name, when she said goodnight.
She left me with her silk robes
and her Cherokee necklace left on a rack in my bedroom
and she left her wedding ring, resting on a Bible
but she forgot to take her name,
forgot to take her smile.
She left me with her Mexican boxes
and the stamps and inkpads on her desk
and the fountain pens she refused to throw away
but she forgot to leave me with a goodbye.
Christi
32
Cake
by Max Cenoz
Cake.
Cake is said to be a lie.
But what is a lie? Is it the elaborate scenario you repeat thousands of times in
your mind to convince someone of how amazing you are/ or the plan to convince daddy that it definitely wasn’t you who ate all of the cake in the fridge?
And now we arrive at the point.
What is cake?
The most fattening desert? Or is it the perpetual castle at the wedding, you
know, with the shrunken wax humans at the top, which always make people
smile. Is cake a band with inane and humorous lyrics?
What if cake were just cake?
C A K E?
Letters on a page.
It could be chocolate, mint, strawberry, or vanilla. It could have been stolen
from the pastry shop and used as a bulletproof vest to help save the world from
the buggers of space. Who knows?
Cake should have lips, Cake should have carrots!
Cake should be a homeless man violently flinging himself around a city bus,
shouting about someone not really there.
Cake is Chicken After Killing Elections.
x
a
M
33
Birds
by Wyatt Pyrke
Birds are funny creatures; they
say they evolved from raptors. You
know, the kind that eat your face if
you go to the Jurassic Park. Birds don’t
eat faces anymore for some reason,
but that doesn’t mean they aren’t
entertaining. For example I saw two
crows walking around today, they
moved their heads forward and backwards as they walked. It reminded me
of that “Walk like an Egyptian” dance.
I find this funny. Maybe crows that
were giant built the pyramids; it’s more
reasonable than a bunch of people
doing it. Toucans are birds too if you
weren’t aware. I like toucans, they
have a cool beak, I bet it could peck
someone’s face off… When did it go
from biting to pecking? If birds went
back to biting we would surely be in
trouble. We would have to make our
own bird army to fight them off. That
would cost a lot of money. We don’t
have the money. I feel our country
should rebuild its economy so we can
fight the birds. That is why we should
elect Barack Obama as president of
the United States of America.
34
Wyatt
The Quest
by Taylor Van Winkle
Baracade got onto his trusty
raptor and rode off weaving between
trees and bushes in search of the
wolves; he was assigned to exterminate. There off in the distance. Baracade dismounted and snuck within
charging range. The wolf pawed at
the ground not knowing of the unrelenting power that the oncoming assault was to bring upon him.
Bam! He charged, ramming
full force into the wolf, stunning it for
Taylor
a brief second, just enough time to
slice the wolf’s hamstring and prevent it from fleeing. The wolf regained
consciousness and whipped around
to bite him. The wolf snapped and
Baracade lost a part of what little
undead flesh he had left. This enraged
Baracade. This rage only made him
stronger. Baracade swung his axe at
the wolf as a mortal strike to the chest
cavity, a crushing critical hit. The wolf
tried to limp away but Baracade intercepted him and swung his axe down
across the wolf’s jugular vein, splattering blood in an execution swing. The
wolf, with its chest caved in and its
throat in two halfs, fell to the ground
sputtering, and Baracade moved on. 35
Senior Year
by Alyssa Taylor
Not senior year as in old people days
Senior year with college due dates
High school fun
Playin’ in the sun
Adulthood days are on their way
Home or away it’s still a good day
High school days will always stay
With the memory from the first to the very last day
We all stay waiting for graduation day
Chilling on Fay with time to kill
We heal from finals, reminiscing on the last couple years.
When “our senior year” comes to an end
I look back and say “I hope days like those never end.”
Alyssa
36
Rhyming Poem of My Life
by Nic Sonderegger
When I was 12 we had a van that we called the “death van”
We used to live at salt and sea beach in the summer and I had a mini fan
When I was 8 I lived in a zoo and got to feed the lions every day
I used to be in junior lifeguards at mission bay
I broke my brother’s tooth with a hammer
I am really bad at grammar
Me and my brother threw mac and cheese in each others’ eye
I beat my brother in a contest of eating pie
At choir camp I used to catch frogs
At salt and sea we would make boats out of frogs
I raised ostriches at the zoo
I fed 4 wallabies and a kangaroo
I was born in Switzerland and came to America at 6 months
In the circus I never did stunts
On the 30th I’m going to Mammoth for a 4 day trip
To hopefully land a perfect front flip
I really hate rhyming for the sake of rhyming
That’s the whole reason I used to go climbing
Nic
37
Letter from the Editorial Board
Dear Period 3 Writers Workshop,
First and foremost, we would like to congratulate you on getting your submissions in. We’d like to follow that up with a scoff. >:( Bad class! Just kidding...;)
It brings us great happiness to know that no longer will we have to worry
about harassing the class with pictures and requests, or about naming the magazine “shark-punching magazine” or “razzle dazzle.” Now you’ll get to take a look
at your peers’ deepest, darkest, and sometimes dirtiest thoughts...or not. Go read
some fluffy poems about lilypads and dandelions. (And our cover is ah-mazing<3)
We don’t love you. Bye! :)
-Staff
38