Category — MMelore

The Turkey with an attitude has been a recurring joke every fall. Once the leaves begin to change colors this Turkey comes out from the closet and graces my family with beady eyes and bad attitude. As you can see this particular Turkey chooses to wear it’s wattle over it’s beak instead of letting it hang out like a good Turkey. He refuses to be part of the mainstream poultry culture, therefore he is labeled a threat. His antisocial behavior must be reformed, but, oh boy, is this Turkey stubborn.

There are two types of people in the world, people that work for companies and people who work for nonprofit agencies and the government. Basically everyone in my family started out their careers with a government job  and I plan to follow suit. Most people in the U.S. end up working for corporations or small businesses. Demographically speaking, the poorest, richest, least educated, and the smartest people end up working in a for profit industry. On the other hand, government jobs are jobs for the middle class, while people that work in the nonprofit agencies usually don’t stay there for long. Take for example Doctors Without Borders, Red Cross, and the Salvation Army. What makes people decide between nonprofit agencies, a government job, or working in the private sector? I think it has something to do with money, job security, and persons’ choices. Obviously someone who loves political science would want some experience in government, and someone who is interested in finance would probably want to work for a large corporation. But what motivates lawyers, doctors, teachers, accountants, mangers, and everyone else to choose between the two?

I never heard of Richard Price before Professor Bernstein told us about him. I thought it would be boring listening to an author I never heard of talk about a book I would probably never read, but the reading and talk back session turned out to be a lot of fun. Richard Price turned out to be a really interesting guy.

I’m not much of a book person, instead of reading I mostly watch movies. While listening to Richard Price read from his novel, Lush Life, I couldn’t help comparing his book with movies like Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, and Mystic River. His writing is gritty and straight to the point. He doesn’t waste time with too many adjectives, metaphors or poetic language. From what I could tell his books try to be realistic about crime and tensions in the city, which is similar to a lot of movies I’ve seen.

I also was interested in his opinion on the gentrification of NYC, since I have always been interested in demographics, especially when analyzing certain trends like the shifts occurring in the Lower East Side and Harlem. After asking him whether or not he would rather have NYC be the way it was in the 1970’s or keep it the way it is now, he said that the question was “a mess” and was unable to give me a yes or no answer. For one thing, he said he misses the diversity, the culture, and artsy way NY was back in the 70’s compared to the white, yuppie, hipster, bohemian bourgeoisie demographic that represents most of NYC today. On the other hand he said that the crime rate and drug problems today have greatly improved since the 1970’s and it would be hard too hard to choose between what boiled down to be the culture of the 70’s and the quality of life today. He ended my answer with a self referential anecdote: he said that back then no one ever talked about the kids who grew up in the projects, went to college and became relatively successful. The things that we hear on the news about the kids who got into the drug business and gunned down someone in the street are only a small minority of the population, even in the 1970’s.

When I was young my grandpa used to pick me up from school and drive me home from school until my parents got off from work. My grandpa’s car used to always smell strongly of eucalyptus, which caused me to become nauseous, and to make matters worse, during the ride home my grandpa would play this terrible music that only amplified my nausea. I vividly remember trying to stick my head out the window of the car while covering my ears in an attempt to prevent myself from throwing up.  These were my first memories of the genre they call opera. Thankfully, these events have not influenced my feelings about opera today. For all intensive purposes, my viewing of Rigoletto, last Thursday evening, was my second intense experience with the genre, one that was a much more positive and fulfilling experience than the music that I heard in my grandpa’s car.

The production of Verdi’s Rigoletto revolves around three main characters, a hunchback named Rigoletto, Rigoletto’s daughter, and the Duke. The Duke is your typical ladies man, he proclaims his love to different women every time we see him. Rigoletto is the Duke’s jester, but Rigoletto also has a secret, a daughter who he has hidden from the rest of the world. His daughter, Gilda, who is your typical naive damsel, falls in love with the Duke after they catch eyes in one day in the church. In the opening act we see the Duke courting a married woman while Rigoletto mocks her husband. Her husband, before being dragged away to prison, curses the Duke and Rigoletto. Only Rigoletto takes the curse seriously. After Rigoletto’s daughter is captured and violated by the Duke, Rigoletto seeks revenge by hiring an assassin to kill the Duke and avenge his daughter’s honor. This act of revenge, as well as the curse drives the plot for the rest of the opera. In the end it is clear that Verdi takes a cynical view when it comes down to what kind of person ultimately suffers the worse fate in life.  The plot is contrived and outdated, but that’s okay, because everything else about the opera, the most important parts, is done beautifully.

The singing was like nothing I had ever heard before. The richness of the voices, the fact that the entire opera was sung, and the beautiful melodies were beyond anything I had ever encountered. It did not matter that it was in Italian, because the emotions were so obvious that just by listening you can feel what feeling the singer is trying to convey. Even though the singer, who played Rigoletto, George Gagnidze, had a cold, there was only one word that could sum up the performances given that night, “Bravo!”

Honestly I wasn’t very surprised by the singers amazing voices, I had been expecting some of the best singing I had ever heard in my life, what I was genuinely surprised about was the elaborateness of the sets and the costumes. Every time the curtain opened there was a different set, which was interacted with throughout each Act in different ways. One minute there could be dozens of people walking around on stage, moving up and down stairs and through doors, the next minute a singer is on stage, behind him is the elaborate set, but all he does is stand in front of it and sing. These shifts from the elaborate use of sets to a more minimalist approach was shocking, something I had never seen before. What was even more impressive was that every time the curtain came up it revealed an even more elaborate and unbelievable set than the last one.  Not only were the sets great, but also the lighting was constantly changing from once scene to the next. In the third Act alone there was a sunset, a moon moving across the sky, and lightning signaling an incoming storm. This wasn’t just for looks though, the lighting and set design amplified the mood which was trying to be conveyed by the opera singers, the plot and the orchestra.

It was a pitch perfect production. At first I thought it might be boring, or too long, but I quickly learned that operas have a right to be long because they are epic. They throw everything that can be done live on stage and jam it into one production, making sure that each individual part is the highest quality on all levels.  When it fires on all cylinders, like Rigoletto did, the only outcome is an overwhelming sense of spectacle. The songs, the costumes, the music, the final curtain falling on the defeated husk of a former man, the opera is like magic.

It was last weekend, while I was on the 7 train on my way to the required Macaulay Tech Fair when I stumbled upon an awesome cultural encounter. I was just sitting down on the train at Main Street Flushing, waiting for the it to finally leave the station, when a tiny Asian woman with a big pink suitcase walked through the doors and sat next to me.

This was all fine and dandy, but then she started to lean over me. I just sat there thinking why is this woman leaning over me. But then I noticed that she was trying to read the little sticker that listed all the stops the 7 train made. All of a sudden, in broken English, she asked whether or not the train went to Grand Central.  “Yea,” I said. She smiled, but I didn’t know if she got it or not. Then she asked me how many stops till we got there.  I told her, but she kept leaning over me looking at the sticker. I then realized that she was probably confused by the fact that we were already passed 40^th street and proceeding on to 33^rd st. She knew she was getting off at 42^nd street. This meant that she probably didn’t know the streets were different in Manhattan. She got really nervous, until she heard another lady on the train, who was apparently speaking her native tongue.  This was a relief to me. After a quick back and forth between the two, for the first time, the woman sitting next to me looked satisfied and relieved.

Eventually, a mariachi band decided to come on the train wearing the costumes and everything. To make matters worse for the poor woman, the lady who spoke the woman’s language got off at Queensboro Plaza, making the woman stand up, probably out confusion and distress.  This forced another conversation between the two until finally the train doors closed. I realized that the lady leaving, because she was using her fingers, had told the woman that the train would eventually get to Grand Central in four more stops.

By the time we got to Vernon Blvd. the lady was leaning over me again staring at the little sticker while glancing at a piece of paper with a bunch of writing on it. All I could make out on it was, “42^nd Street Grand Central.”  In an attempt to reassure her I said, “Next stop,” trying not to confuse her, I put up one finger. She understood and looked relieved, at least she stopped leaning over me. Four minutes later we were pulling into Grand Central, I said, “This is it.” She proceeded to thank me, picked up her enormous pink suitcase and left through the train doors.

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After watching four distinct companies perform their own genre defining performances at this years Fall For Dance festival I was left more impressed with how varied the medium of dance can be, proven by how unique each production was, than the actual performances themselves.

The program for Fall For Dance opens with the genre melding modernist production Xover, followed by the bombastic and colorful I Can See Myself in Your Pupil. The third production, Vistaar, a world premiere, sticks to a more rigid form of dance in the Odissi tradition, traditionally performed in India. The closing act, performed by the Miami City Ballet is the most mainstream of the four performances, containing all the pirouettes and energetic leaps onto the stage that one would expect from a major ballet company, but it too is also unique for the fact that it is choreographed to the music of David Byrne, whose mellow vocals added a interesting contrast to the animated dancers on stage.

Xover, the most experimental, as well as the longest running dance performed that night might not even be considered, by many, to be a dance in the traditional sense, but a melding of audible art, as well as the two different types of visual art. The piece combines the sounds of the infamous composer John Cage with the kinetic choreography of Merce Cunningham, as well as the static backdrop and costumes designed by Robert Rauschenberg. The three interpretations of modernist art in each of the respected mediums tries to transcend preconceived notions about the mediums as well as question the idea of distinct and separate mediums altogether. On an artistic level it is fascinating, but for those that just want to be entertained it is too bizarre and detached to elicit any meaningful emotional response. What hurts the piece, in my opinion, is the music by John Cage, which overwhelmed the dancers and backdrop with distorted voices, combined with loud, often random bursts of various sounds; It often made the performance hard to grasp a hold of.

I Can See Myself in Your Pupil was a stark contrast to the opening act. Colorful costumes, as well as wacky haircuts set up the mood for a fierce, wild, and seemingly improvised dance routine. The production’s physical chemistry and crowd-pleasing moments replaced the avant-garde intellectualism in Xover with raw fun and energy. The choreographer, Andrea Miller, did not seem to care about melding genres as much as hammering out the most emotional energy she could from each of her dancers as possible, then storing that energy until finally throwing into the crowd. This was done in the form of a mock kiss or by further egging on the audience with wild hand gestures.

The final two dances were just as unique as the first two. Vistaar represented the Odissi dance form, focusing on a rhythmic dance that does not change tempo throughout. The costumes, music, and dance fit more as a cohesive whole more than any other dance that evening, but this also made it less memorable than the other dances. Expert ballet dancers dressed in bright gold leotards, bathed in golden light, and accompanied by David Byrne’s new wave vocals performed the night’s final production. It represented ballet in all its purity and form bursting forth sunshine as over a dozen dancers darted across the stage. Compared to the other performances it was alone by being what most people would imagine when they think of the medium of dance.

Fall For Dance did not blow me away, but the varied performances kept me entertained without ever getting me bored. Whether or not you will like the dances themselves is really a matter of taste, since each company portrayed astute technical skill in their own genre. There really is something for everybody, and for those who are newcomers to dance, the four performances offer a nice taste of how varied dance as a medium can be.

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I remember a story my AP World History teacher told me back in high school. He was an alumnus of Yale and in his spare time he interviewed seniors in high school that had applied to Yale. Sometimes he would end up interviewing a student who had, as a high school student, already read scholarly works extensively. These students most often always attended private high schools, and either had parents in academia or parents who were rich. Other times he would interview students who were middle class or poor, with little academic stimulation other than what they got at school. These students had massive potential to succeed, but did not have the same instilled knowledge. He asked us this question: which student should get the better recommendation if they have the same GPA and SAT?

My uncle brought up a similar predicament. He was distressed about the fact most college students will have to learn how to write a research paper at some point. He says that most people who get a regular job will never have to know how to write a research paper, unless they themselves enter academia. He says that colleges should only be focusing on preparing students for their careers, instead of relying on old methods of teaching, which were only important a century ago, when most people who graduated college would enter academia in some form. This brings up the clash of the academic culture with a newer culture which tells people to achieve academically only for the sake of getting a job sometime in the future.

On August 27^th 2010, for the first time in my life I would be separated from my twin sister, Sarah, for a longer amount of time than either of us had ever experienced, she would dorm at the University of Connecticut, while I would stay home and attend Baruch in the city. For as long as I can remember we were together. We had surgery together, we took the SAT’s together, and when our mom and dad got divorced we were together.

Going to different colleges, however, was not the first time we had been torn apart. It seems that as we have gotten older we have begun to spend less and less time together, developing our own interests and making our own friends. For the first years of our life we went to thesame preschool, elementary and middle school together, sharing the same friends and doing almost everything together, but when it came timeto choose a high school we went our separate ways for the first time.  I decided that I wanted to go to Bronx Science, while she had always wanted to go to St. Francis Preparatory School. At this point, anyone who knows anything about high schools in NYC should be thinking, how could a pair of twins end up going to such different schools? For anyone that has never heard of these two big schools, Bronx Science is known for being one of the seven specialized public high schools in NYC, while St. Francis Prep has more of a reputation for being the largest catholic high school in the United States and having one of the most active and social student bodies of any high school in NYC.

The reason we went to such different high schools was because, as it turns out, even though we are twins, we are also two very different and unique individuals. In fact, many who have met us both, including many life long friends, have told us that we are the closest examples of polar opposites that they have ever seen. While I never considered myself to be a social outcast, and my sister was always an Astudent, the parts of our personalities that dominated us were always very different. While my sister spent her weekends going to parties and having a social life, I spent most of my free nights watching movies and playing video games.  In fact, the only reason I probably got to go to any awesome high school parties was because my sister invited me to them. Without her I’d never have experienced what a lot of people consider to be an important part of adolescence.

Even though we had our fights and we didn’t always agree with each other we had remained close throughout high school. We had always spent time together, despite our differences. I even like to think that because of our differences we were both able to shape each other in different ways, which would have been impossible if we were boring and identical.

It has been exactly one month now since she has gone away to college. I try to pretend that I don’t miss her, but its hard not to. I try not to think about it so much, but I can’t help it. I can’t help asking questions, now that she’s gone, whose going to get me into awesome college parties, who am I supposed to hang out with during family gatherings, whose going to drive me to Starbucks when I want to get a Chai Tea Latte, and most importantly, whose always going to be there to understand me when I fall down or things get hard?

When I first heard we had to read The Bitter Sea, which documents the author’s life in China from WWII to the Communist takeover, I was slightly disappointed. My last summer assignment was to read the Joy Luck Club; parts of that book took place at the same time and place as Charles N. Li’s book. As it turns out the difference between the two books startled me. While The Joy Luck Club was a work of fiction, The Bitter Sea was non-fiction. The Bitter Sea included details about the author’s time in China that were sometimes gruesome, heartwarming, and altogether unbelievable, while the Joy Luck Club , as a work of fiction, was missing some of the details that made China during that time come alive for me. Charles N. Li never tried to glorify Chinese culture or denounce it. He gave his honest opinion about what he saw, trying to see the situation from a variety of perspectives.

What is most interesting about The Bitter Sea is the relationship between Charles and his father. It turns out the relationships between the mothers and daughters in The Joy Luck Club were very different than the relationship between the Chinese father and his son in The Bitter Sea. Charles father seemed to be trapped in the traditions that come with Chinese Confucianism, while his son, trying to understand his father’s decisions, tries to forge his own destiny in a changing world where traditions are dying.  Charles admires his father and responds warmly when they start a relationship, but the relationship is complicated. They have a falling out when it becomes clear that Charles’ father used him in order to try to gain political favor in Communist China. Even through all of this, after obtaining a scholarship to Bowdoin College, Charles and his father rekindled their relationship.  The book really shows the strong familial bonds, that are part of Chinese culture, remain strong even through the worst of times.

Arriving at the Macaulay building last night, I didn’t really know what to expect from guest speaker Howard Greenberg. I never really took the time to understand photography or research it before that night. Walking in the seminar room and seeing all the photographs I immediately thought that Mr. Greenberg would be explaining in detail the history, angles, lighting, origins, and themes present in each of the photographs. It turned out that we would not only be taught a lesson in photography, but also a lesson in life.

Even though the topic of that evening was photography, the essence of the seminar, which Mr. Greenberg presented to us, was about finding one’s passion in life and the enthusiasm required to turn that passion into a career. Mr. Greenberg almost ended up being a psychologist but after being initially introduced to photography by an ex-girlfriend he dropped what he was doing and never looked back. Not only did Mr. Greenberg follow his passion, he was able to make money in the process without sacrificing his love of photography. He was able to combine the two things that matter most. While most people, especially us college students, seem to be deciding between the two, Mr. Greenberg showed us that we don’t always have to settle.