Category — LBaburov

Woosh, woosh, woosh. Oops, excuse me, coming through; oh what a beautiful tree.. Woosh, woosh, woosh. Hard right turn – woooooshhh.

Eventually the run is finished and you look back up the mountain in awe. It’s There isn’t much that can give you as great of a rush as snowboarding down a mountain at speeds sometimes exceeding 30 miles per hour. Today is a terrific day with mind-boggling snow conditions. There is enough powder on the ground that you would sink if you were to stop the continues zig-zags, slides, and carving. Any skier or snowboarder can tell you the thrill of going down a mountain, but few can convey the beauty (and danger) of doing it in Park City, Utah.

My brother is an avid skier and he oftentimes takes me with him on his journeys to such exotic places. Snowbird mountain was where I had the most thrilling and inspiring snowboarding experience of my life. The sounds and beauty of the nature there just can’t be described in words.
You stop for a moment to admire it, knowing well that you will need to rebind your bindings to get back on your feet. The hassle is worth what you see. Spruce and pine trees covered in a heavy layer of snow swaying to and fro from the heavy winds at such high altitudes. Then you look down and see a family of porcupines – some scurrying around looking for food, and others just looking for a way to stay warm.

WOOSHHH. Those damn skiers always cutting so close… Don’t they know it’s rude to spray snow on someone taking a break and admiring the view? Enough is enough; your friends and family are waiting for you to get off the mountain.

Woosh, woosh, woosh. A photographer taking powder shots all the way on the other side of this 30 “lane” slope!! I just have to get this perfect shot now.. You start cutting across the slope making sure you have enough powder trailing behind you to make a trail, at the very least, to the height of your head. You’re ready, focused on making the perfect pose and getting for what will be a beautiful snapshot. The photographer now focuses on you and is lining up the shot. Just a few more seconds…..

WHAM. You suddenly feel the impact of another rider. You fall to the ground spinning, tumbling, and sliding down the slope. You can’t get up because it’s too steep and you can’t regain your balance. You start attempting your very best to at least SLOW DOWN because the edge of the slope is fast approaching and you really don’t feel like falling down a cliff to your death just yet.

ICE!!

Perfect.. Really; the last thing you need right now is an even slipperier surface so you can’t stop. You close your eyes and hope for the best..

Peace.. Calm.. Quiet.. You see in front of you a tree – no longer covered in snow because all of it just fell, burying you. You also see the poor skier you collided with whose skis are now broken in half. You take a minute to recollect what just happened..

The cliff ended up being only a few feet high with a forest backing it. The skier seems to be conscious and you seem to be physically fine as well. “Not the safest way of cutting across the mountain, now is it?” he asks to you with a smile on his face. You apologize incessantly and he seems to understand that you’re only a beginner and in no position to replace his skis. A short conversation ensues and then you both start heading back down the mountain to rejoin your friends and family. You on your snowboard; he on foot.

Oh the irony…

My family is really big on traveling. Not to make this sound like a laundry list or anything but I have been to Russia, Spain, France, Egypt, Armenia, Canada, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic. Traveling to different countries offers the ultimate cultural encounter, and I will not forget many of the customs specific to each region from around the world.

I have already written an entire separate post about my trip to Armenia, but here, I want to focus on traveling in general. My parents have always been very cultural and have tried to keep up the traditions of our heritage. They value the importance of culture, and that’s why they tried to diversify me as much as possible when growing up – by immigrating to America instead of Australia, by sending me to all these countries to get a glimpse of how others live their lives, and by constantly reminding me of my own heritage.

Each country that I visited offered something unique that I never saw before in my life. Even the countries that I visited for pure leisure like the Dominican Republic and Mexico had a ton of traditions flowing around in the atmosphere. Things as simple as the dances that the performers performed during shows, the accents they spoke with, and even their average facial expressions all gave hints as to who they are ethnically. In Russia, people look like they are the most miserable people on earth – no one ever smiles in public. In Spain, they seemed very proud of their history and it definitely showed in the ancient cities like Toledo. In Egypt, the merchants spoke every language you could throw at them. In France, people were really nice – until you turned around and were out of earshot. Canada… well it was actually pretty similar to America to be honest.

I definitely think that my cultural encounters around the world have benefited me in one way or another. Although I wasn’t a fan of spending my summers touring the Hermitage and Louvre because I was too young to appreciate any of the art, I now realize that my parents wanted the best for me in having an education that was not only intellectually stimulating, but also diverse.

Opera focuses on two senses that a human possesses: sight and sound. Rigoletto not only focused, but also pushed our senses to the limits with eye-popping set design, costumes that would put Queen Elizabeth’s garments to shame, and beautiful voices like no others that you have ever heard before.

“La donna è mobile; Qual piuma al vento, Muta d’accento — e di pensiero.”
The words have been stuck in my head since I have left the Metropolitan Opera a few hours ago after seeing Rigoletto. The opera featured many famous arias that have left an impression on me, but none like “La donna è mobile.“ There was a fundamental musical harmony and catchy tune to the aria. Perhaps it is due to the numerous times I have heard it in my childhood, but the catchy tune being combined with the beautiful voice of Francesco Meli evoked a unique feeling of connection to the opera. It would be unfair to say that the other arias like “Caro nome” and “Questo o quella” played a lesser role in the opera, since their presence augmented the opera in a different way – it is the combination of all these famous arias into one opera that makes Rigoletto such an astonishing performance to witness, and, more specifically, listen to. One voice in counterpoint with another, in harmonic conjunction with a third, while being bolstered by the orchestra’s music made the singing a pure delight for listeners’ ears.

The chandeliers rise up, the lights dim, and the curtains withdraw. The setting of Rigoletto starts in the castle of the Duke of Mantua. I could not believe my eyes when looking at the set design. Three-dimensional sets that fooled me into thinking they were made of genuine stone, real fire from torches used for effective illumination, and a gorgeous cloudy backdrop, which I wished was resembling our New York City weather last night, all put the viewer in the setting of the 16th century in France. The setting was only half of the visual drama going on, however. The actors had on some of the most elaborate décor and performed very dramatically to give the viewer a true understanding of what the definition of “drama” truly is: an episode that is highly turbulent and emotional.

If alluring music and fancy costumes do not impress you, the storyline of Rigoletto truly will. Rigoletto is a jester to the Duke of Mantua and during one party, where the Duke starts seducing Count Ceprano’s wife, he takes his jesting too far. Monterone, the countess’s father, shows up very dramatically at the party with the words “My voice like thunder will reach you everywhere.” He tries to denounce the duke for seducing his daughter, but instead is mocked by Rigoletto, whom is soon cursed by Monterone. Suddenly, the music gets darker and you can feel that the spookiness of this tragedy begins with Monterone’s curse.

The scene soon changes to another beautiful setting – Rigoletto’s home. Here, he meets the assassin, Sparafucile, whom he agrees to pay in exchange for having the Duke killed for the numerous times he has abused his poor jester, including the latest wrongdoing being the Duke taking a liking towards Rigoletto’s daughter. Little does Rigoletto know that his daughter’s fate will end up in the hands of this assassin. A great example of dramatic irony is presented to us immediately following Rigoletto’s ordeal with the assassin when we get to see his daughter being taken away by noblemen, and he himself helping them because it is dark and he is tricked into believing he was abducting Count Ceprano’s wife.

Like any tragedy, Rigoletto has an ending that breaks the hearts of its viewers. What piqued my interests in the final scene, however, was not the fate of Gilda, but rather the contrast that Giuseppe Verdi decided to use in his music and visual spectacles. A piccolo playing a joyful tune often accompanied the lightning on the set, and the devastating death of Gilda did not seem so horrifying with the music that was provided at the moment. It made the listener question the effectiveness of, what was supposed to be, a scary scene. However, this was one of the few examples of a dichotomy in Rigoletto that really jumped out at me, and was certainly overshadowed by the harmony and flow of the rest of the opera.

Overall, it truly was a remarkable experience to sit through this classic monumental masterpiece, which has been performed eight-hundred and fifty-one times at the Metropolitan Opera, and countless others at other opera houses around the world. It has left a strong impression on me and I hope that all the future operas and performances in my life will be of equal caliber as Rigoletto, by Giuseppe Verdi.

Exiting out of the Holland Tunnel this morning, I noticed two big signs: New York City Speed Limit 30 MPH Unless Otherwise Posted and New York City Law No Turn On Red Unless Otherwise Posted. Being a driver, I thought to myself “Well that’s pretty much common knowledge to anyone driving a car in New York… You learn that when you take your permit test, you learn it again when you take your road test, and you learn it a third time when you get caught speeding.” After thinking about it for a moment, I understood why the signs were there. They aren’t meant for us New Yawkah’s, who know what’s up, but rather for the foreigners.

I started thinking about it today, and each of the fifty states has its own unique culture. Think about it – every state has its own laws that govern its people who behave differently in accordance to the laws. In Florida, the driving laws aren’t really enforced so the people from there tend to drive aggressively. In Staten Island, people tend to drive relatively normal – it’s the roads themselves that make a driver want to stay indoors (they’re terrible). In Wyoming… do people even have cars there?

But why limit the analysis of driving cultures to this country? I’ve visited Egypt, Russia, Armenia, Spain, and France and the driving there is a key part of what makes the cultures in these countries unique. In Spain and France, wherever you can find a space that can fit your car, you park it there. Such spaces can be found on: sidewalks, rooftops, bridges, inside buildings, in parks, etc… In Russia, every single car on the road is a potential taxi – just wave at any random car and they’ll pull over to give you a ride. In Egypt, honking is so common and prevalent that they call it “Cairo music.” When two cars crash (stand around for 10 minutes), it’s called “Cairo kiss.” In Armenia, the traffic lights serve as nothing more than Christmas ornaments decorating the streets.

Driving is an essential part of most commuters’ lives and we oftentimes don’t stop and look at ourselves. Is there a unique feature of our driving style that would seem absurd to people of other countries? I’m sure there are… One time, a relative from Moscow came to visit my family and my dad was driving him around. An ambulance was coming up from behind with it’s sirens and lights on so my dad pulled over, along with every other car on the road, to let the ambulance pass. The relative was shocked at how organized everything was but his first question was “What happens if you don’t let him through?” A question like that never even pops up in driving courses – it’s just something we all do because we know we have to. Can you think of any other practices we Americans do on the road that would seem unusual to an outsider?

It seems as though the word modern nowadays is oftentimes – perhaps too often – associated with abstract, especially when it comes to the arts. XOVER was one of the most unique dance performances that I have ever seen in my life and pushed the concept of “modern” way past what any of us could have expected. At first, I actually believed that something was wrong with the music player, but after a few seconds of watching the dancers continue their routines, I understood that the sounds emanating from the speakers were intentionally distorted. Not many people would call these sounds “music,” but being a long-time fan of psy-trance, which is very similar albeit having actual rhythm and melody, I could sort-of appreciate the exotic nature of it. What I found most intriguing was how the dancers were all synchronized, even without any downbeat to keep them on rhythm. The contrast of the sharp cut-offs in the music and the smooth, fluid-like movement of the dancers made the experience very engaging. At some points, however, the harsh vocals in the Fontana Mix were too much too bare. The perpetual dissonance makes the listener feel like his or her own ears are out of tune or that something is really going terribly wrong with the music player. During the pause that followed, one classmate pointed out that it was mocking opera in a way. I thought about it for a moment and it seemed like an appropriate theory, although I disagree. The opera was there to provide a contrast to the radio static and I felt as though it was added a relieving touch to the piece. Overall, it was not a bad introduction to the modern dance compilation and it contrasted very well with the upcoming performances.

Following XOVER came I can see Myself in Your Pupil, choreographed by Andrea Miller with music by Balkan Beat Box and Bellini. Bellini is famous for creating one of my personal favorite songs – Samba de Janeiro. To me, this performance seemed like the most modern of them all, as well as the least abstract. I, as well as many others in the audience (judging by the enormous standing ovation), could connect with the samba genre of music and the dancing that we oftentimes see in subways, concerts, and even some clubs. Of all the elements modern music has, most appealing to me is the bass. Music can be loud and if it is loud enough, it can hurt your ears. The beauty of bass, however, is that your ears do not do much of the listening. Low frequency notes penetrate your skin and your nerves are what actually feel the beat because they are pulsating, leaving your ears unharmed no matter how loud they are. There was a moment in the performance that had very strong bass emanating from the speakers and it seemed as though my heart was trying to beat along with musical tempo. The music was not all that made this performance stand out the most, though. Miller captured us from the very beginning with the dancing and kept us captivated till the very end with fast-paced moves and the upbeat rhythm. This performance was so engaging that I wanted to go up on stage and dance with them. I was not wearing the proper attire, however, so my dancing was limited to the confines of my seat.

Following the intermission came Vistaar, performed by dancers in very flashy costumes. The Mudgal family clearly has strong ties to the Indian traditions because the set design and costumes accurately depicted how the cultural dances are performed in India. Being of Armenian descent, I recognized some of the instruments such as the Sitar and the familiar vocals. Indian dances are meant to be colorful and Vistaar illustrated that idea perfectly. The combination of gold, crimson, and silver on the costumes really popped out at you. A bouquet of flowers and a few candles, hinting that the dance was for a ceremony – probably a wedding, decorated the set. Although I had some ties to the style of dancing and genre of music, this performance still seemed distant to me, probably because of the lingering emotions from the previous performance. It seemed as though Vistaar should have came immediately after XOVER as a transition from least familiar to most.

The last performance that we saw, The Golden Section, choreographed by Twyla Tharp, had the most technical dancing of the four performances. The dancers were clearly very well trained and prepared for the numerous stunts they were performing. This was also the only performance in which the dancers wore shoes – they were barefoot in the other three. It made me think why the other choreographers chose to have their dancers barefoot, or rather why Tharp did not. It was almost as though the footwear was what gave these dancers the ability to accomplish more on the set. The music was airy and the dancers were deft – a striking combination because this piece screamed out TALENT. The only thing this composition lacked was the necessity for the observer to understand what is really going on; which is not necessarily a bad thing. The lack of abstract dance and music gave The Golden Section an excellent way to end the night, leaving us with a strong impression and understanding of what the meaning of modern dance really is – not too abstract and non-comprehensive, but at the same time curiously different from what we are used to seeing and hearing on an everyday basis.

America is a cultural mixing pot. I walk onto 5th Ave. and look around. I see Germans, Italians, Japanese and even some natives. What I’m looking at aren’t the people, however, but rather a technological innovation brought about by them – cars. There are more to cars than most people would begin to imagine. To me, the history behind how most of these automobile companies came to be is more fascinating than the history of most civilizations on our planet. BMW started by building airplane engines, Ferrari sponsored racecar drivers, and Volkswagen, which literally means “People’s Car,” came from a government program under Adolf Hitler. My collage will combine all of the best automobiles from the world’s most famous companies into “one” supercar.

What does it mean to have an about-face in one’s life? To answer this question, we must first delve into the meaning of identity. Even in today’s society, one’s identity goes much further than his or her Facebook profile. Identity is about who you are inside, and what makes you different from the millions of others around you. When you have an about-face, who do you become? If you change into someone new, does your old identity get lost forever? How many identities can one truly have until they all unify into what we recognize today as a “bipolar” personality?

Many of these questions lingered in my mind two summers ago as I considered my life plans and what I wanted to work as when I grew older. Even thinking about applying to college was difficult for me because I was not sure what I wanted to do with my life. I have always had an exceptional talent for technology and computers, but my AP Physics class revealed that I had a natural talent for physics as well. Lastly, I was attracted by careers in investment banking because of the mind-blowing salaries the field offered. Everyone says that you should not dedicate your career only for money because you will hate your job. I understood this and tried to keep away from applying to colleges that focused on business and finance.

The time came to apply to colleges and I decided to go into engineering. I loved math, physics, and technology too much to give up going into a career in that field. I applied to seventeen colleges, most of them being top schools, and a few like Baruch and Fordham, which focused on finance. Coming from a Tech school and having a very strong background in computers gave me a sense of “being ahead” and I already felt easier with my choice to go into engineering.

I was shocked and devastated when the last engineering school that I have been waiting to hear from, Cooper Union, rejected me off its waitlist. After spending a great amount of time deciding what I wanted to do in life, planning it out, and actually applying to the engineering schools, the road that I planned to take reached a dead end. I had no other choice than going into finance, a field that I do not necessarily dread, but one that came unexpectedly into my life. Having absolutely no prior experience working in the financial field gave me a feeling opposite to that of engineering. I felt like I was already falling behind the fast-moving financial world and needed to work twice as hard in to catch up.

One thing I realized from this experience is that one’s identity is about who he or she is inside – not what he or she works as. There are plenty of people in the world who, like I, (will) work in a field completely opposite to their interests and they are no less unique and distinguished than the people who do what they like. A word of advice to those who have faced an about-face in their own lives – you are still the person everyone knows as the nicest, funniest, coolest, smartest, and most social one around and nothing will ever change that; not even if you turn around a million times.

The Bitter Sea by Charles N. Li is a captivating memoir that tells the story of his growing up in a China during the Communist takeover. Firstly, I would like to mention that the title confused me at first – I could not see a connection to the story itself. There was no bitter sea mentioned at all throughout the entire memoir and I did not have a clue as to what it meant until after I finished reading it. Charles N. Li did an excellent job in selecting the title because it gives the reader room to hypothesize and think about what is really meant. Every reader could have his own interpretation of what the title means to him or her. To me, the bitter sea is the sea of bitter tears that have been cried during the period in China that Li describes in his memoir.

Most of Li’s story is very dismal and, oftentimes, I questioned whether or not I wanted to flip the page and keep reading. The little bits of humor that he threw in here and there make the reader question whether or not Li is exaggerating the stories he tells. It is hard to imagine a person who is honestly able to talk about getting frostbite and endless diseases (that could make the strongest of humans suffer horrible pains and death) and later in his memoir look back at those times and claim they were the best ones of his life. Part of reading a memoir includes having only one view of what went on, and I understand that, but most authors admit that their memory could be fooling them or that some parts are exaggerated on purpose. Li does not do so, telling the reader that he, in fact, recollects all the events in their entirety and tells nothing but the whole truth.

What would touch any reader’s heart, however, is Li’s detailed relationship with his father. He takes us down the road of their relationship and we feel every bump and ridge, every high and low, that Li felt. Having a first-hand account of what the relationship meant to Charles and how he felt gave the reader his own sense of connection with the family. When he embraces his father for the first time, we the readers feel genuinely happy for him. When we discover that Li’s father betrayed him by sending him into a communist camp only to “test the waters,” we feel just as devastated and shocked as he was. He truly does an excellent job at taking us on this roller coaster ride that he calls his life, as though we were sitting right there in the front row with him.

Much like a roller coaster, we are kept in suspense of how the story will end until the big drop. In Li’s memoir, he keeps the action rising higher and higher until the last few pages of the memoir where everything gets resolved. One would anticipate an abrupt ending, but Li ended his epic story within a couple of pages and left the reader satisfied (and partially relieved) of how things concluded. Overall – it was a mighty fantastic read that left the reader with a great sense of fulfillment and a deeper insight into the history of China.

What do we, as American college students, know about the world? To be honest, we do not know much even though we are Macaulay students. Most of us would not be able to point out Armenia on a world map, much less talk about the traditions and culture of the people there. Living in New York City opens up many doors to diversity and learning about different cultures in the world. My high school recognizes the importance of diversity and places great emphasis and effort on events that promote it. One such event is the International Food Festival that is held annually in the cafeteria after school hours.

I attended the food festival for the first time during my sophomore year. The only reason I went was because my Russian foreign language teacher mandated the class to bring a dish and contribute to the festival. Most of us had no idea what to bring in and she had to help those unfortunate enough to be unfamiliar with their culture’s cuisine. I, being of Armenian descent, knew exactly what cultural dish I would bring – dolma.


Image adopted from http://kronbergskrattarochler.files.wordpress.com/2007/05/dolma.jpg

I arrive at school the day of the food festival with the dolma cooked by my grandma. The time has come to bring all the food into the cafeteria and eat to our hearts’ content. I enter the cafeteria and my sense of smell goes crazy. Everything ranging from avocado to zucchini fills my nose and the feeling is nothing short of overwhelming. For the next hour or so, I walk around the gigantic, but crowded, room with my friends and go to each table and ask them “what’s this?” There were approximately forty tables representing countless different cultures and each group spent a minute or so happily talking about the food they brought in to people who they have never met or seen before.

I think that was the first time in my life that I really understood what the value of diversity is. There were probably more than sixty people representing the different cultures in that cafeteria and we were all unified by one thing in those few hours – food. Something as simple as food brought us together and left a huge imprint on me. The thought of being brought so close to other people through something as common as the food we eat really inspired and changed me to admire and connect better with people of different ethnicities. Now, whenever I go out to eat, I always try to go for something new and cultural – whether it is the Halal food on the corner of 25th and Lexington, the Chinese restaurant on 23rd, or Mike’s Due Pizza down the block from the Vertical Campus.