ASB Woes

“Mr. Scrappy, come back!”

The team got only a glance of the black loafers as Ed ran out of the room. While the oppressive heat of the day wafted into the room, the tired paint seemed to flow down the vanilla-scented walls, dead to the world, lacking the energy to keep its place. In the sharp corner, even the plastic tree drooped it's faded green leaves to the floor. The air was moist and thick as it covered the gang in a slippery layer of perspiration. Melanie, sprawled out on the couch, desperately fanned herself with a stray leaf of paper, the notes of the day's meeting. Hanna, surviving on a minimum of her normal sleep was thrown against the wall like a limp doll, too exhausted to seek oasis in the sanctuary of the pitiful fan whispering its pathetic breeze against the backs of Dani and Madison. Sonia was God knows where; the most cunning, she had probably put a down payment on a gorgeous pool, fully equipped with a diving board and a British butler months ago. Keaton sat on Uncle Fuddrucker in the centre of the room, slipping in and out of a dull consciousness, trying desperately to recall the team's purpose for being at school in the first place.

"I think I'm going to throw up," mumbled Dani under her breath, barely capable of being understood.

"I second that," replied Madison.

"Me three," said Melanie.

The words, hardly audible to Keaton as he pictured a tall glass of lemonade before him, seemed miles away. The team had two weeks to plan for Tolo yet hardly any work had been accomplished during this hiatus caused by the recent heat wave that had hit Seattle like a wrecking ball. One might as well have asked them to clean the school rather than make any progress, the former being more likely. The recent memories of the past ASB teams seemed to offer some solace, as their events always appeared to be miraculously pulled off in the allotted amount of time.

"You're the president, Keaton, take charger!" Mr. Ed's advice from the day before floated in some random area of Keaton's delirium. His face revealed no motivation, and the team mirrored the same.

"Another day," he said to himself, "no one will be disappointed."

No sooner did he let out his last remark, a little freshman strolled past the room in her bright pink t-shirt with the Nepal mountains standing hopefully on her back. She turned sharply spotting the team in their devastating condition and offered a luminescent smile.

"Oh my gosh, are you guys planning Tolo? I'm so excited!" she excitedly burst out.

As if awakened from their slumber, the team turned slowly to the youthful voice in the doorway.

"You guys are the best! I wanna be on ASB when I'm a Senior, maybe even when I'm a Junior! Bye guys!" She rushed out of the in hot pursuit of her date which she spotted in the hallway. His quick footsteps could be heard retreating from the clicking of her heels.

Suddenly, as if a cool breeze had flown from the tip of Mt. Rainier to rejuvenate his body, Keaton jumped up from the fluffy Panda with a newfound energy in his eyes. He saw the sunshine pouring through the hallway windows and could smell the sweat autumn leaves as they danced in the wind. The soft sound of the breeze outside seemed to overpower the light clanking of the ancient fan, and he looked down at his weary comrades.

"Well what are you all doing lying down? We got work to do! Allons-y!"   

  

Personal Statement

                  When I was little, I absolutely hated jazz.

                  Of course my definition of "hate" was much different in kindergarten or second grade. I hated jazz like I hated eating new foods; like I hated wearing three layers of tight, uncomfortable clothing when I wanted to play in the snow. Jazz was that extra hour I had to sit still in church, listening to an abstract message by the preacher. It was foreign and irritating. I didn't truly understand the genre, and I hated what I didn't know.

                  I clung to the common stigma that classified jazz as outdated and irrelevant to my generation. My naive understanding of music hadn't yet spread to the complexities of jazz. As a result, I was missing out on an entire social, historical, and musical culture that was more valuable than I could have anticipated. However, as fate would have it, a childhood filled with daily piano lessons, emphatic music teachers, and a willingness to learn would set me on a path of musical discovery that ultimately fostered my desire for higher learning and a diverse lifestyle. 

                 The first jazz seed was planted by my energetic and passionate elementary music teacher, Mr. Smith. Pulling from his own prejudice, during class, he played soundtracks from films like Star Wars and Lord of the Rings; while the music was playing, he explained how a composer could tug at the emotions of an audience simply by creating a beautiful melodic contrast in the score. In his class, otherwise bland and repetitive tunes transformed into exciting and masterful pieces. 

                  Near the end of fifth grade, our high school jazz band performed for us during a surprise assembly. As the students on stage mirrored Mr. Smith's passion, I felt something tug at me inside. I wanted to be on that stage with them. Listening to the classic tunes like "In the Mood" and "Sing Sing Sing", I was hypnotized by the blend of the sound and I felt a longing to share the buzz they got as they played. 

                  That summer, Mr. Smith gave me my first jazz tunes to practice in hopes that one day I would join the band. When the desire was finally fulfilled in eighth grade, I remember that first day, sitting in the front row of the band, nervously waiting to begin. The fifty minutes that followed were filled with a freight train of color and emotions as music gushed out from the bells of the instruments. I distinctly remember my sensitive ear drums being especially sore for the remainder of the week. 

                   Five years later, I still get that feeling when I play jazz. However, I've gained something even more valuable. As I began to understand jazz theory, I also started to see these connections between my experience in band and new areas of learning I might not have otherwise understood. 

                   Recently, I've become absorbed in the realm of psychology and have begun to discover how elaborate and complicated it can be and how in many ways it relates to jazz. For example, just as a performer cannot construct the best solo without an advanced knowledge of say a blues scale, neither can a therapist help a patient if he or she does not have an in-depth understanding about the intricacies of a relationship. Jazz is like completing a complex mosaic in that, once one can comprehend the tie between the drummer and the pianist or between the baritone saxophone and the bass trombone, the overall picture becomes clearer and the music richer. In the same way, psychology must be approached from multiple angles to accomplish anything practical. I've come to see that both subjects have to be taken as comprehensive wholes, and by integrating the tools gained from one practice, a student becomes more successful in the other field of learning. In all cases, it is critical to look beyond one's understanding of the basic tune. A base knowledge is insufficient to master any significant area of higher learning. 

                     Because of jazz, I feel empowered to delve into new horizons completely foreign to me. In the future, I hope to approach the unknown with less hesitancy and to ignore the social stigmas that may hold me back from discovering a breath of knowledge that might one day become a part of my identity. Regardless of the subject, it's my dream encounter another unique genre of learning that will give me the same impassioned feeling that consumes me whenever I play jazz.