Can't Remember a Time Without I-Tunes Essay

I remember sitting in my first grade classroom and staring at the whiteboard while Mrs. Amen talked. “What if all this church stuff is a lie fooling the world?” I thought and would continue to for a while afterwards. Growing up, I had always assumed I became a Christian when I was 6 years old but now I’m convinced it wasn’t authentic. Everyone else in my church and school was one so I essentially thought, "Why not?" However, I was never convinced of its authenticity, having never felt the presence

thanked in part to Guido of Arezzo and predecessors. In Howard Goodall’s Big Bang video, Goodall was able to give extraordinary facts on the history, development, and descriptions that were comprehensive in nature of the incredible ideas of Guido. And without these ideas and application, European music couldn’t begin to flourish and if that didn’t, then music would have to continue to be passed down person to person in an oral tradition; and the world wouldn’t have a system to create complex and sophisticated

Movement and the Vietnam War. In the case of the Civil Rights Movement, and the following decade, we see artists like Bob Dylan and Neil Young playing music, championing the causes, messages and voices of those who were without question, on the right side of history…and at times, differences of opinion and seismic differences in rhetoric were pulled out of the private places where they dwelled, festering contempt on either side, and brought them to the forefront of American discourse and popular

I may have not grown up in Purisima del Rincon, however my culture is what it is because of this little town. I recall as a kid anticipating spring break and summer vacation, knowing I would be able to spend it in a place that was so different from Blackfoot, Idaho. I grew up in Blackfoot, but my family never adapted to the culture or to the culture of Hispanics in in Blackfoot, which is very different to that of Purisima’s. Coincidentally my parents decided to adapt Purisima’s culture and raise

These walls mock me. I can't escape this confinement. I've studied everything in my cell, the walls, the floor, bed, door, window, every pattern, every inch top to bottom. I see scars carved into the wall from people counting their days away. I count every second, minute, hour that i'm stuck in here, everyone seems to be longer than the next. It's hard not to think back to that moment but sometimes I can't help it. His voice fills my thoughts, every time I hear him it brings me back to that moment

began when I was four. I still remember when my mom dragged me, kicking and scratching, to the local Long and McQuade’s for violin lessons. At that age, I was more interested in making music with a purple dinosaur than I was with a wooden box. I have put thousands of hours of practice over thirteen years into taming its rough voice, and now, I am equally capable of producing roars of rage as I am sighs of satisfaction. I tune, I rosin, I play. The routine is the same every day. Even when I get home

Music is a way for people to express themselves without having to make a drastic change. The reason I started to play music was because I love music in general to start off with and wanted the challenge of learning how to play an instrument. In sixth grade year there were probably 120 kids in band. Slowly through my band years many kids have dropped out. By the time I made it to the high school there were maybe 30 band students in, my grade and Mr. Rice the band director said, “They weren't able

Home. I can't remember when that word meant a good thing. To others it may speak of a place of comfort and family, where you could always be safe. Never to be hurt by the outside world, which beheld unimaginable horrors. All I want is to go away from my home. The faded walls of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, which once held vibrant colors and smiling faces, now were cold and deceased from any contact. I traced my hand over the cartoon drawn figures of Bonnie, Chica, and Freddy. They seem so happy

not here; there's nothing. I try to move, but I am restrained. I listen, but I hear nothing. I smell but I smell only something clinical. If it wasn't for my heart pounding and my lungs racing to catch up, I might imagine I am dreaming, but I'm not. I'm not! I fearfully reach out with my right hand and, afraid of what I might find, I try to resist the temptation to clench my fist. With each centimetre I stretch comes a new level of terror. I reach further and further

like <i>that</i> in her house. It won't be the first time Rocky had spent the night on a park bench because of his aunts' sensibilities, and he strongly suspects it won't be the last. Freckle comes running down the steps as soon as he hears the screen door slam, stopping short when he sees the slumped shoulders and hat pulled too low. “Rocky?” he asks, voice small and innocent as nine year olds are wont to be. “Heya, Freckle.” He somehow manages