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Columns
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Written by Erica Edwards
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Susan Lau
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“Can you take off those freakin’ headphones for once in your life?” my dad screams at me every morning as we drive to school.
I bop my head, mouthing the words to my new favorite song, drowning out the hum of his voice, the engine of the car and the sporadic honking of the usual 7:30 a.m. Lowell traffic.
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Written by Megan Dickey
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wha da tah
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“Driving is not a right, it is a privilege.” I recently learned from experience that I cannot get away with anything and that privileges like driving are easily revoked, and not only by law enforcers, but by Officer Mom, as well.
I’ve had my license for almost a year. Previously, this would be long enough to allow me to legally drive people under the age of 20, as a provisional driver only had to wait six months from the date of issuance of a license to drive under aged passengers. However, as of January 1, 2006, the waiting period was extended to one year, challenging my status as personal taxi driver for my friends.
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Written by Beatriz Datangel
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Now that's just ridiculous
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It was two in the afternoon and I anxiously waited at the door, jumping at every sound, picking at my nails and tearing up pieces of paper to add to the large pile beside me.
Does this nerve-wrecking anxiety sound familiar? This is what many eighth graders go through every year in March waiting for much-anticipated high school acceptance letters.
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Written by Sabina Hatipovic
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February comes and suddenly you start seeing MTV commercials where well-known black artists comment on the civil rights movement in an attempt to raise awareness among youth. You start hearing excerpts of Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have A Dream” speech and discussions by various black leaders on the radio. Passing by the library, you may even notice a glass case with posters and books written by black authors — a display that vanishes before the end of this very, short month.
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Written by Daniel Chin
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Sometimes I’m so caught up in the college craze that I forget about my own life. Is that possible? Is life more than applying to schools and taking tests and doing homework? If you had asked me four years ago, I wouldn’t know. But taking a year off of school gave me something of an answer.
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Written by Elan Lavie
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If there is one thing worth fighting for in this world, it is self-scheduling. I know a bad pick can be a pain in the patootie, but the ability to determine one’s own classes is one of Lowell’s most enjoyable and unique experiences. Wait, let me rephrase: One of Lowell’s most enjoyable and unique experiences for athletic upperclassmen who have first pick and no sense of civility.
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Written by Gaston Guibert
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You’ve Seen the scenario unfold many a time: You’re sitting in class, with a timid shadow named Timothy perched two seats in front of you.
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Written by Michelle Lambert
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Language matters: Depending on what you say you could sound like a dopamine addict or a Mr. Drain.
For example: If you went to the store, you could say, “I walked to the store,” or you could say, “I gleefully skipped to Albertsons, singing all the while.” One sounds bland: The other sounds like you’re on Prozac.
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Written by Erica Edwards
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Early Saturday Morning I lazily open my eyes, and grab the remote control next to my bed. Color fills the screen, and suddenly, my weekend begins with a devastating line-up of horrible shows.
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Written by Mellina Stoney
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As I lay alone with the sight of another tree-memorial fresh in my mind, tears fill my eyes because another young black man has died… Children are forced to stay inside because of the cycle of violence that plagues their lives.
These words are from a poem I wrote, “The Cycle of Violence,” about my life on Potrero Hill, the violence I see and the fears I have every day walking home. This violence occurs often in my neighborhood and has lately been on the rise.
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Written by Laura Fong
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Can you hear me now?
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When I was a freshman, I used to carry around a walkie talkie. Yep. A walkie talkie. My dad was too cheap to buy a cell phone for me, yet too protective to let me wander without a way to contact him.
I wielded a yellow device and used the code name, “Unit Five,” while my dad called himself, “Base,” insisting that I contact him by saying, “Unit Five to Base, do you copy? Over.”Finally, during my sophomore year, my dad realized I needed the “real thing” — a cell phone. What more do I need? Well, to start, how about some peace and quiet?!
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