Security Cameras

Security cameras are bad. They are meant to catch villains, and if you are trying to steal 1,000,000 on you day off, they suck. This is most everybody's view on security cameras in a nutshell. There are also those really annoying ones that catch you (or if you're a middle schooler like me, your parents) one inch over the parking line and someone comes and yells at you and gives you a ticket and you end up being late to soccer practice or whatever. The guy in the security room booth must have a very boring job, too. Maybe that defeats the purpose of security cameras, if the guy monitoring them just falls asleep.
But one thing that occurs to me just now is that security cameras don't just capture all of the bad stuff that happens in the world, they also capture the good stuff too. It's not like they're monitoring all of the happiness that goes on in the world, it's just, well I guess that you could say a hazard of looking for crime and law-breaking and criminals. I bet you that the guy watching the security cameras all day doesn't just see boring stuff and occasionally maybe the crime that they were looking for in the first place, I bet they see random acts of kindness, spontaneous hugs, and happy dancing and singing. So maybe that wouldn't be the worst job in the world anyways.
Just something to think about.

SOL 3/7/14 Daydreaming and songs and why everybody should read books

I thought all of this in less than a minute and decided to write it down:)

Have you ever wondered why books always end the way they do, with a happy ending? Me too. They say books are supposed to take you away to another world, and make you imagine things. But what's the point in imagining things if you can't transition them to your real life? When I was a really little (and pretty cute) 5 year old, I loved to imagine things, and play "pretend games". I even made an alter ago for myself, a horse named Cannonball, which is pretty creepy if I think of it now.  But seriously...why do only children daydream, and make believe, and not adults or even most teenagers. And what am I even doing questioning it?

So what was I doing daydreaming when I was five? I really don't know. Why would I want to be someone else and somewhere else if I liked my life in the first place, which as a five-year-old, I think that I probably did. Maybe it was that my five year old self knew something that I didn't, which was that my life could always be better. I was happy as a five year old kid, but I was dreaming about everything I would LOVE to do, and hoping that it would come true. As I started to grow up, and went through kindergarden, first grade, all the way up to now, in 7th grade, I learned slowly how to accomplish these things, but I forgot one thing which was actually what goals are in the first place. And what's the use in knowing how to do stuff if you don't know what they are in the first place anyways?

But what about books? Here's what I've decided; the people who write books, write songs and music, and poems are the people who haven't completely grown up yet, and never will. They pour their fantasies and emotions into the story of the song, or the book, or whatever, hoping that someone out there will listen, and try to make the world a better place, or even an almost perfect place, if that is possible. Maybe that's why books always have morals, or happy endings. After all, the stories did come from the writer's mind in the first place, so it's basically like playing pretend when I was five. Maybe everyone is born with that gift, but some people lose it just as they figure out how to accomplish their wildest dreams. The authors, the songwriters, and the artists are the ones that secretly convey these messages to the rest of the world, maybe unknowingly. And the cool thing is, I think that I could be one of these people in the future. I don't know yet, but I think that every one could be their own form of Peter Pan an in some small way, never, ever grow up. This is why books, and songs, and poems are so amazing. Convinced yet?

AS Play

"Oh, brother". I finish my last line with Brynn and Lydia and go sit down next to Kate on the risers. Where's my iPod-Danielle! I go and steal it back from her as Max Davidson starts to do an interpretive dance of something. I nudge Kate. "Quickly, let's video it" and grab her phone. Max stretches his hands up to the to the sky as Kate and I try not to giggle as his face turns redder and redder. Max finally brings his hands to his heart and promptly starts a tuba solo. Welcome to the Logan School AS Play, everyone. It's really fun, actually...well considering that I have about the hardest harmony in the play. Or maybe it just seems hard because I'm the one singing it. That's probably true. People always bring homework here or something, and I should, but it's like the only time I get to listen and play on my iPod and phone at school. I mean, really? So who cares about homework if I don't need to do it, at least. I turn on my iPod touch and put in my headphones.

SOL 3/31/ L.A.

We gently roll of the highway as I look at my directions. I still can't help feeling super cool in our new shiny white car, even if it is a rental with a broken heater. And a Kia. I don't know if that's good or bad, but it is the official car sponsor of The Voice. Why do my thoughts always circle back around to The Voice?
My dad's voice rings out, shaking me out of my reverie."Sarah, what parking lot are we supposed to be in"? I try to find the map that my dad had given me about five seconds before and I had randomly put down somewhere. Do you ever get that feeling. I reach down into my jeans pocket and realize-oh wait, I'm wearing a dress. So that's the thing that I forgot to tell you; we're in L.A., going to the Grammys. Yeah, it's pretty sweet. It was kind of like a 13th birthday present because 13 is all special and stuff like that, kind of  my dad is a lawyer and got free VIP tickets from his client type thing. But anyways, I was there. Almost. Just around the corner...
My dad looks to turn onto the street that led to our parking lot, called "Figueroa Street", and...it's blocked. A guy with curly dark hair shaved close to his head, and a shiny neon traffic director bib runs up to us. "How can I help you", he asks. We show him our pale blue parking passes, and he points to the next street. "Go that way, and the make the first right on Pico Blvd. Then take the first right."
We do as he says, and drive right by the Staples Center where the Grammys are being held. So freaking close!!! We keep driving and promptly encounter some police officers, blocking off the road. We show them our pass, and they give us some directions that are totally different then the last guy. My dad rolls up the window. "Okay..." I say. At least these guys are police officers and look like they know what they're doing. We take about 10 minutes to follow their instructions and go about 2 streets over, because of the traffic-oh, we did see Wiz Khalifa, that was pretty cool, and come to where the lot is supposed to be, and find these guys blocking off the street, who we show are parking passes. I've seen these pale blue parking passes so much in the last hour that I start making comparisons. I think that they look like the artificial blue lolli-pops they give the little kids at the doctors office, or maybe the blue font option on a computer. Anyways, the people don't let us through. Long story short, we end up just paying 15 dollars and parking in a side lot close to the Staples Center. We missed most of the pre-telecast, but you know. Whatever.

Slice of Life 2/31/Walking to Piano

"You need a coat! It's cold outside." My mom calls to me as I open the door, trying to slip out, of course, without my coat. "OK," I call back and grab the first coat that I see, trying not to argue with her in order not to be late. Dr. Vertenstein would be mad. I sling my bag full of piano books over my shoulder and step out into the cool breeze. I start walking, snow blowing across the yard at my feet. Wow, I guess my mom was right about one thing. It's cold. A neighbor across the street is shoveling his yard. I really don't want to talk to him; he's the obnoxious one who always asks me "is that a new hoodie" or something like that. I pulls out my phone and pretend to text somebody until I reach the end of the block to avoid talking. I reach the end of the second block and call my mom to tell her that I've arrived safely, so I don't get kidnapped or whatever. I call her slightly early like always so my 87 year old Romanian piano teacher, Dr. Vertenstien, doesn't catch me on the phone outside of her house and yell at me and tell me I shouldn't be calling people, just focusing on piano. I haven't tried to explain to her that my mom says it's for safety. She wouldn't listen. I ring the doorbell and try to remember what I was practicing yesterday.

The Extra

This week I read The Extra by Kathryn Lasky. This book is about a 15-year-old girl named Lilo, living in Russia, who gets captured and taken to a concentration camp holding pen and then to a concentration camp, because they are gypsies. After getting separated from her dad, Lilo eventually gets sent to be an extra at the set of one of Hitler's favorite filmmakers. Lilo and her friends are excited to get out of the concentration camp, but soon find out that life at the set isn't much better, and that the star is basically a psycomaniac. Lilo eventually faces the choice of trying to escape, and what to do after that, while leaving her friends and her mom behind, or staying and hoping that someone will come to rescue her. This book was pretty good, but not amazing and a very fast read. I would recommend this book to 7th graders probably.

Intro to me/Classroom Slice of Life #1 of 31/Blizzard

Hi- I'm Sarah:). I'm 13 and in 7th grade. I love music and play piano, guitar, sing, and write songs. I also like animals, and have a lot of them, including a dog, two cats, some fish, and a younger brother. I really don't know what else-I guess I play basketball, soccer, and swim on a swim team. Oh and, I'm definitely the #1 The Voice fan in the history of ever.


I sit on the chairlift, shivering. The wind whips in my face and snowflakes blow across the front of the chair, not like I could see them. So, it's blizzarding.  For all y'all who have never been in this situation before, blizzards are kind of a problem when you're sitting on a chairlift at the top of a mountain, about halfway through the chairlift ride.
I don't even know how it happened. It was perfectly clear and sunny one moment, with great views and blue sky and all of that stuff, then it clouded over about five minutes ago and now I'm freezing my butt off.
"Sarah? Are you still there?" Emily yells into the wind as it howls by us, and dances through the cold metal bars of the chairlift. "Yeah", I say. It's not like I had jumped off or anything, but we also can barely see our hands in front of us. Suddenly the dark shady form of the top of the chairlift rises up in front of us, fast. "Raise the bar up!!!" Mabel screeches from the other side of the chairlift. We all grab the bars and pull, barely making it off. We all collapse over giggling into the snow and watch as the boys in our ski group and our ski instructor basically do the same thing, basically falling over each other to get out of the chair. I'm really glad I didn't bring my iPod or phone today because it would be frozen solid.
So this is the way it works, skiing in colorado, I guess. Some of the time it's totally pretty, and sunny, and warm, and the snow is always great. And then sometimes it gets so cold you think that your hands are going to seriously freeze off. Huh.