i thinkkkkkkkkkk
a true test of friendship is how well friends can jam together. Musically foremost, but also making jam. I imagine that it would be a giant pain in the ass.
Sidenote: posted this motherfucker just for ben.
STORY FROM MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!
haha.
http://soundcloud.com/jordan-link/your-call 
emily baer and myself.
“Your Call” - working title.
college.
Beyond your impressive academic credentials and extracurricular accomplishments, what else makes you unique and colorful? We know that nobody fits neatly into 500 words or less, but you can provide us with some suggestion of the type of person you are. Anything goes! Inspire us, impress us, or just make us laugh. Think of this optional opportunity as show and tell by proxy and with an attitude.
There I stood, in Casual Male XL, when the stark realization slapped me across the face: my shoe size has matched my age for the past seven years. The shopping process had finally taken the final drastic swing. No longer could I enjoy the luxury of shopping in person due to my abnormal feet. As I am only feet and ten inches tall, the boats that carry me are highly disproportional. Despite all the swirling negative thoughts about my feet at the awkward age of fourteen, I now see that my feet are unique. Not “unique” as one would describe the texture of their grandmother’s new dish: marsh-mellow and ground beef casserole. “Unique” is the only positive adjective to describe such an atrocity. This instance of unique is genuinely unique. My size fifteen feet have paved a road of experience, as well as been run over countless times by grocery carts.
The first time I truly understood how different my feet were, was at the age of twelve, during a family trip to Richmond. We drove in a car that could fit seven people, with third row seating. I was required to sit in the back most row, due to the fact that I was the youngest in the car. Thirty seconds after I sat down, I saw the problem. In order to fit, my feet had to form a ninety degree angle with my ankles, facing to the left. There I sat like an awkward flamingo for two and half hours. Hope for circulation of blood flow was gone an hour ago. But with this seemingly unfortunate uniqueness, I learned a valuable lesson; sometimes you just have to bear and grin through things in life, and make the best of what you have.
It is a universal belief that every individual can ride a bike. At a certain interval in my life, this statement was true. However, I have since grown out of the truth. When I pedal, my feet trudge forward, and act as a battering ram against the rubber tread. The wheel turns sharply, and I topple over the steering wheel, into the embarrassment that is the ground. The proportions simply do not work. The lesson learned through this unfortunate fact of uniqueness is the essence of true individuality. Want to go for a bike ride? Sure, just let me grab my adult sized scooter and helmet.
I missed my call as a swimmer. I have come to terms with not being able to use my natural born flippers to my advantage, and I am perfectly fine with it. Michael Phelps can have glory, whole and unshared. Having elephant feet is a humbling experience. I know my feet will not fit on steps. I know I will never wear flashy shoes. I have learned to be realistic from my feet. How many people can say that?
college.
- Discuss your favorite place to get lost.
Every Friday, the sunroom connected to my basement is the “place to be”. Countless high school musicians have poured their heart and soul through their instruments in that room. Tenor saxophones, guitars, pianos, violins, cellos, upright and electric basses, and even an accordion have let their respective melodies flutter in the light, and reverberate against the clear glass windows. When I join in with my saxophone or guitar, I am instantly lost within myself and the music. Hours have passed without a single word, the only communication coming from the amplifiers and microphones. The roads of classic rock, rhythm and blues, jazz fusion, and rap metal have been traveled, all without a map of a definitive process. But ultimately, the sunroom is a springboard for where I love to get lost. Occasions have presented themselves, such as a performance at the 930 Club in Washington D.C., allowing for me to be lost on stage. When the lights drop, and the crowd stares with vivacious anticipation, I am lost. I grasp onto my instrument, and let the notes fly. My feet dance wildly, and my head bobs with the beat. I am timeless, in a limbo of bliss. Only when I remove myself from the stage, do I find myself, heart beating with passion, and face dripping with the sweat of emotion.
college.
Free Choice Common App
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” is a timeless question that every single individual is asked at some point in life. For some it is a terrifying question that has no answer. For others, they come out of the womb living and breathing what they desire most in life. I am somewhat in the grey area.
First to answer that question, I most pose a question. “What is your favorite song?”
Now think of the first time you heard the song. Remember the music coming from the old and beaten up pair of speakers attached to a record player, or a circulation of notes emitting from the car while you drove, or on a television commercial for an iPod. Recall all the memories drawn from it. Maybe it was playing during your first kiss, or maybe it was the first song your child danced to before your eyes. Now think of the emotions connected to it. Every time you hear it, visualize all the people that are related to the song. Maybe it is the song your grandmother sang to you in the bathtub. (Regardless, people and their respective faces are attached to it.???) Relive the audience in the crowded venue when it was performed live for you. Recall all the inspiration from this song. Remember all the times when you had a horrible day, and this song made you feel better instantaneously.
To continue, I will have to ask, “What is your favorite book?”
Remember sitting in bed as a child, waiting for the death sentence of your parents knock that it was time to get out of bed. You were torn from the book, currently your inner most desire. The pages flew and the story unraveled in your head. The protagonists became close friends that you understood and related to. The antagonists were now responsible for names you would never bear upon your children. Time around you ceased to exist as you dove deeper and deeper into the words.
If not a book, perhaps poetry?
Oh, how neat and pure the words appeared in order upon the page. The similes made you relate the impossible. The metaphors opened a new door to step through and see the world. The personification made inanimate things leap into your imagination. Alliteration allowed objects to ascend from your vocation in awe. The rhymes exploded in memory, making couplets imbedded in your mind for weeks on end.
When asked, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” my response is now simple: Whether it is rooted from a melody on my saxophone, dictated from a short story, expressed in a poem, or drawn from a yet untapped source, I want to be responsible for every single emotion you are now feeling.
Chalk Board theme
