Hey, you. You probably just saw my picture, and I bet you’re wondering if there’s “more to me than meets the eye.” That’s pretty cliche, but I’ll give you an answer:
What you see there is what you get. I’m a young Caucasian male in his late teens. My hair is browner than it is blonde, although it wasn’t always that way. My eyes are windows to my soul, pools of vibrant azure that are always searching and questioning. They’ll suck you in if you’re not careful. Take a step back.
I was the product of an Icelandic shoemaker and a Lithuanian businessman. I’ve never had what most of you would consider a “home;” frequent relocations took that opportunity away from me.
What I did have was music. My mother had her own special style of shoemaking, and she would use her various techniques to play these fascinating rhythms on her supplies. Add to this my father, with his experienced ear for quarter-tone scale patterns and startling fondness for Himalayan yodeling, and you have the basis of what you could call our little “family band.” Not a day went by without some associate of my father’s asking us to perform at his upcoming weekend conference, his son’s bar mitzvah, or his niece’s baby shower.
So what role did I play in this musical conglomeration of my parents? Favorite bands of mine today include Protest the Hero, Sigur Rós, Unicorn Kid, Crystal Castles, Arcade Fire, and Justin Bieber. Does that give you any ideas? I thought so.
Eventually, though, I got sick of the fame and I got sick of the fortune. With the death of both of my parents to a rare strain of streptococcal infection, I was released from their shadow and left free to follow my dreams. I was going to go to France, rent a camera, and make a difference in the world.
But, instead, I’m here in the Brick City Singers, a fourth year Culinary Sciences major at RIT with a burning desire to produce the best traditional Tunisian goulash this side of the Berlin Wall.