Since I'm not a curator of resemblance and pattern, I have to be positively tonic and unpredictable in every blog I write because somewhere along the line of life my healthy self-regard has exploded into obliterating narcissism. But it's that unpredictability that results in the pleasures of reading an exceedingly sharp pen connecting with an exceedingly inviting subject spawned out of nowhere.
Defiantly opposing repeated recourse, everything has to be new and different or I run the risk of getting bored. So it satisfies me tremendously when I write the following blog topic: JJ McLaughlin's College Application Essay, Revised (Almost 10 Years Later)
I would have little trouble convincing YOU, the reader, how amazing I am, in writing, but how would I stand at persuading an admission's director at a prestigious Ivy League college?
Let's push the envelope. I'm going to convince the admissions director to admit me, simply by explaining my hardship via a pop culture TV theme rap song.
Sure, I showcase a sharp wit in writing (thinly disguised as a dull one) that slashes with blunt slice-of-life insights and cutting remarks, sometimes nicking myself with self-deprecation in my dexterous jaunts with dopeass, mother fucking shit, but an admissions counselor doesn't care about my accomplishments in convincing girls to strip in hot tubs that contain no water. They want to hear my story of overcoming the odds. They want evidence that I've been tested in life and came out on top.
To that end, I present to you a glimmering narrative culled from the bowels of the early '90s, packed with a clobbering transformation of myself, embedded into every sentence which explodes with the delighted electricity of its creation. Enjoy.
Dear Harvard College of Fine Arts person,
I am presenting you with an autobiographical account of recent events that led to a topsy-turvy time in my life. I beg of you to remain seated as I take but a scant few moments of your time to recount how I transformed into the heir apparent of a tiny municipality referred to as Bel-Air, California.
Amidst the occident of West Philadelphia I was birthed, sprung to life and nourished. A lion's share of my youth and adolescence was consumed by the outdoor entertainment facilities at the park. Carousing with my pals, merrymaking to my maximum ability, and unwinding, I often participated in a friendly match of basketball at the schoolhouse's arena. It was during one of these excursions that a pair of rabble-rousing fellows instigated malevolence, wishing me harms and trouble. I took part in nothing but a single skirmish, yet my mother became entrenched in fear, at which point she commanded me to transfer my residence from her dwelling to that of my aunt and uncle in Bel-Air, California.
At the next moment, I proceeded to hail a taxi and, upon its arrival, I made out an inscription on the license plate that read "FRESH" and I was intrigued by a pair of dice draped over the rear view mirror. If nothing else, a claim could be made that this particular taxi was atypical; however, I came to the conclusion that recollecting this occasion in the future would be a fruitless venture, so in lieu of attempting to implant this incident within my memory, I implored the chauffeur to transport me to my destination of Bel-Air, California.
At approximately the seventh or eighth hour of the day, I disembarked and proceeded to inform the driver that I would inevitably become acquainted with his pungent odor at a later point in time. At this juncture, I looked on and beheld my new abode and came to grips with the fact that my mission to become the heir apparent in Bel-Air, California, had been consummated.
Respectfully -- Fresh Prince of Bel-Air
Post Script. I was once mandated by the harsh perils of poverty and reality to take risks and avoid law enforcement, but I gained invaluable life experience, building and developing street credibility in my business ventures and endeavors at the tender age of 15. Urged by older brethren to market and deliver an unknown product to older, wiser superiors in low lit alleyways, I have come to grips in understanding that there is always a way out. You can make 'change' happen.
I'm convinced I would strum a tender chord with this story and earn a pretentious point or two.
This is my first blog entry in far too long. In fact, I'm ashamed of my delinquency. A lot has happened recently and I have neglected you for too long. I know I promised I would write a giant end of year review ... but alas, I have failed you in meeting that requirement. But let me summarize 2008 in two sentences and we can move from there.
There were icy patches that marred life's sidewalk, but the ice in my life was much more slippery and the falls much more spectacularly funny, but now that I know where the ice patches are I'll know to avoid them. Ironically, it was the falls that made 2008 a cartwheeling year of whimsical exclamation points and joy.
I'll continue 2009 in my unbending social samurai ways, remaining mysteriously unpredictable, shrouded in pseudonyms and rumor, untouched by expectations while writing my own rules.
(I'll add a new music play list this evening. It's dope as fuck too!)
