The most generous and, by far, my favorite affordable ticket initiative is New York Philharmonic’s Free Fridays, which provides free tickets for select Friday performances to anyone 13 to 26. Though I now graciously enjoy several concerts per season, I was not always interested in classical music. I grew up playing piano, yet rarely showed interest in listening to the repertoire independently. In college, I probably would not have set foot into a music department performance if it weren’t for extra credit or to support my friends who were a part of many a music group.
Young people affordable ticket initiatives are an integral part in the continuation of performing arts in our society. Most orchestras, operas, and ballet companies are non-profit organizations and rely on the support of audiences- be it donations, subscriptions, or ticket sales- to keep the curtain up. With the current crowd being of an older demographic, one begs the question: who will fill these seats in the future? Needless to say, the youth of today are more transfixed by the suave choreography of BTS or the latest pop song than a Balanchine-choreographed ballet or a Beethoven symphony. Discount programs are thus an important step in developing new audiences and I am one of those success stories.
The most generous and, by far, my favorite affordable ticket initiative is New York Philharmonic’s Free Fridays, which provides free tickets for select Friday performances to anyone 13 to 26. Though I now graciously enjoy several concerts per season, I was not always interested in classical music. I grew up playing piano, yet rarely showed interest in listening to the repertoire independently. In college, I probably would not have set foot into a music department performance if it weren’t for extra credit or to support my friends who were a part of many a music group.
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This year, I was fortunate enough to work in midtown for my summer internship around many iconic New York City landmarks. With a mandatory hour lunch break and relatively beautiful weather for most of June and July (and then it got hot...like I-want-to-die hot), I took advantage of this time to go exploring in the city. My spontaneous adventures have led me to the New York Public Library where I not only did research for my history thesis, but also saw some Alexander Hamilton documents and the original stuffed animals that inspired A.A. Milne’s beloved Winnie the Pooh; Broadway in Bryant Park where I stood stupidly star-struck four feet away from Sierra Boggess; the Princeton Club/Williams Club where I got a personal tour from a sweet Williams alum; and even a street fair where I spent over an hour’s wage on cute muscle tees and zeppole.
Yet, nothing was more embarrassing and sadly hilarious as my ordeal through the labyrinth that is Grand Central Terminal. Long story short: I, a native New Yorker, alum from Stuyvesant High School, student at Williams College, managed to get lost for thirty minutes. Here is the story. The visit to Grand Central was entirely unplanned. It had been a muggy, overcast day. Thinking that rain would be improbable (mistake number one), I left the office to eat outside and then go for a nice stroll. However, not even five minutes into my lunch break, menacing dark grey clouds rolled overhead and unleashed an onslaught of rain. So I ducked quickly into an indoor public space on 42nd Street to take cover. After eating my lunch, I was just settling in to read a magazine when a hobo walks through the door and sits maybe three feet away from me. The smell was horrific! The poor guy just reeked of bad BO and probably weeks (years?) of no showering, only made mustier by the rain. I felt bad about changing my seat so I packed up and headed back into the rain. Standing on the curb, I noticed that Grand Central was right across the street. Perfect, here was the opportunity for a new adventure! Although I have been there in passing, I never fully explored this prominent station. I rushed over and headed inside. Baseball is said to be America’s pastime and it is definitely a sport that many Americans fully invest in. They pledge their unfaltering loyalty to a specific team, usually their own regional one, and will follow the players through season after season of wins and losses. Ticker parades will greet World Series winners (but ironically rarely celebrate the return home of our soldiers abroad anymore). Avid fans of opposing or rival teams can even get into heated arguments and personal debates that cost friendships and relationships. Only in America will being a Red Sox fan in New York City potentially be grounds for a breakup with your significant other. Thankfully, I do not know this because of first-hand experiences.
I recently attended a major league baseball game for the very first time and was taken aback by the experience and the culture. For the record, I do not hate baseball as a sport and yes, I am familiar with the premise of the game and its basic rules. I know how you supposedly “score,” what counts as a strike, what counts as an out, how you get a walk, what is considered fowl, etc. – thank you very much, years of public school PE. Yet, for some reason, while I was not flat-out bored at the game, I did feel very uncomfortable and out of place at the stadium. Twenty-four hours. To some, that is by far enough time in a day, especially if you are stuck with mundane and tedious work. However, for others, twenty-four hours is nowhere near enough time to get everything done. As a college student attending a demanding, prestigious institution like Williams College, I happen to fall in the latter camp. Much like my peers, I have interests that extend beyond homework and school. I want to take piano lessons, sing with my a cappella group, attend talks, shows, and concerts, and sometimes, just catch up on television. Even during the summer, what is supposed to be down time, I find myself still struggling to find extra hours to maximize my productivity, especially when my personal projects are coupled with a full-time ten-week internship.
Consequently, I have turned into an obsessive multi-tasker. Multi-tasking IS a good skill. In many jobs, you may be expected to manage various projects with overlapping due dates. You may have to take a phone call while working on a memo with a fast approaching deadline. However, I take multi-tasking out of the office and apply it religiously to my own life. At home, I will watch videos on my phone while I run on the treadmill, read books while I hula hoop, work on a DIY project while watching a movie, and listen to music while I do research for my thesis. I have gotten so used to it that I must have at least a few projects going at one time to feel at ease. Even as I write this article, I have ABC’s 20/20 on the television in front of me and am switching between typing away at this and reading my cousin’s blog. In the past, I have definitely been accused of “complaining.” I do confess that I may have exclaimed, “It’s too hot outside” or “I have too much homework” quite a bit, but let’s face it, hasn’t every young person? However, I do find myself being, perhaps, more critical and opinionated than others. In the words of Hamilton, “I can never be satisfied.” It seems like I cannot go to a restaurant and simply enjoy the entire experience or see a Broadway show without fixating on the plot holes. In some ways, it is kind of annoying, but I guess it also means that I have a very good idea of what I like and what I do not.
Thankfully, I do not go around volunteering my criticism to the rest of the world (or, at least, I hope not), but you can be sure that if I am asked to, I will share and quite bluntly and relentlessly too. Instead, I have found a better way to channel this “complaining” into something much more meaningful and productive: reviewing. If you have been following my blog (big shout out to Mom and Dad!), it may have become apparent that I review pretty much everything under the sun- restaurants, movies, museum exhibits, Broadway shows, etc. Reviewing is my way of creating personal standards and seeing how others match up to that. Former New York City mayor Al Smith once joked he received a degree from the “FFM,” which stands for the Fulton Fish Market. At first glance, we assume our late mayor is merely poking fun of his humble beginnings and lack of a formal education. However, New York City, being one of the largest and busiest urban metropolises in the world, is the perfect school for people of all ages. The lessons the city teaches are practical and undeniably street-smart. Growing up in New York City, I have learned much about the people, the sights, and sounds. I have learned how to own the streets where I live and take care of myself in a city that is both friend and foe. However, many of the lessons I have been taught by our marvelous city have been learnt underground.
One of the most prominent features of New York is the subway, a completely different city that lies beneath the sidewalks. While other urban areas have subterranean public transportation, our city can taut its historically significant and world-known transit system. Growing up just outside Manhattan, I have been riding the subway my entire life. In high school, I even took the subway every day to get to school or work. During this time, I have observed and experienced startling moments, stressful situations, and heart-warming memories that have opened my eyes to the complex fabric of the Big Apple. Unconsciously, these instances have become lessons, both big and small, that have changed my life for the better. My friends were recently having a conversation about how much they read as young children. Stories were swapped about reading under the covers with a flashlight past their bedtime and sneaking books to read during classes in school. Amongst them, they have exhausted almost the entire young adult and children series in the library- Twilight, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Redwall, The Chronicles of Narnia, etc. Unlike them, I do not have fond memories of reading storybooks as a child. Confession: I was not a big reader growing up and if anything, I did not actually like reading. Shocking, right? As a history major and an avid writer, I guess I am the odd ball that has never really had a strong affinity towards books. The joke goes that as an elementary school student, I knew that someday I would become a history major at an elite college and decided that I would save my “reading” for then. This semester, I have tested the limits of what is physically readable for a human being. My record is 680 pages in a week (mind you, this was not all the reading that was assigned) with most weeks averaging in at 600 pages. I guess if you could foresee your future as being glued in front of a book (and not always the most interesting or easy book) for 10 plus hours a week, you may have also thought twice about reading up a storm as a child. My unusual name has provided me numerous of interesting essays growing up. Whenever I had to write about the origins of my name in school, I had probably the most compelling story by far. Long story short, my parents went from planning to call me one of the most popular names of 1995 to one of the most unusual names still to date. I was supposed to be named Ashley. However, my overly cautious parents felt that the combination of my first name and last name could lead to some creative taunts in the school yard: Ash Ho (sound it out, if you don’t get it right away). Out of all the decisions my parents have made regarding my life, that was definitely the best one on their part! Choosing Aglaia….well, I have mixed feelings about that one.
Don’t get me wrong. I think Aglaia is a gorgeous name with such a spectacular meaning. Aglaia is one of the three graces in Greek mythology and means brilliance. One woman I encountered probably said it best, “It reminds me of that girl from Lord of the Rings- Eowyn. It has the same appeal.” If I remind you of Middle Earth, no complaints there. Still, having an uncommon name, especially one that is not the most intuitive to pronounce at first glance can be difficult. Not to mention that you will NEVER be able to find a souvenir with your name on it anywhere you go. Goodness knows how much money my parents have saved because of that! I hate to admit it, but I love shopping. Yes, I have pathetically fallen victim to capitalism and materialism. I know I should know better, but I am not unlike any other teenage girl who loves purchasing trendy clothes, hair accessories, jewelry, and cute wall décor. Who doesn’t want brand new things?! I like to think that I am more financially conscious than the average teen for I do have my limits: over $30 is too much for a dress, over $15 too much for jewelry. I have some self-control. If I know I will never wear a piece of clothing, I can convince myself not to buy it, regardless of how adorable it is. However, there are times when all common sense flies out the window: when I am stressed.
Stress shopping is actually quite common. It hinges on the idea that material pleasure can bring a quick fix to our anxieties. It is a terrible habit because it not only drains your pocketbook, but it also fosters an addictive reliance on materialism. Because most of my stress revolves around school and my future, I usually can avoid stress shopping by focusing on my goals and using them as motivation. However, it occasionally happens that my situation feels REALLY abysmal and I physically need a pick-me-up. It is no secret that I am extremely short. While this used to bother me a lot when I was growing up, I have come to accept my height as just another aspect of who I am. Generally, being short does not present too many challenges. I do occasionally need to grab a stepping stool to reach things in my closet and I might have to change seats in class if I wound up behind someone who has been blessed with several more inches than I have. Inconveniences, yes, but these instances are all solvable.
Yet, the only place I have encountered severe annoyance regarding my height is on the subway. Having ridden the subway for four years throughout high school, I have learnt that being short can be extremely annoying. Not to mention, back then, I also lugged around a ginormous backpack, which protruded, from my back like a mountain peak. During rush hour, being short on the subway becomes almost a dangerous situation as the rest of the world functions a good foot above your head. You can easily get trampled by 6-foot tall businessmen or be propelled out of the subway car (sort of crowd-surfing style) by masses of commuters well before your desired stop. |
About this BlogA collection of random musings from the mind of a native New Yorker. Be sure to find everything from personal narratives, reviews, lists, and rants. SubscribeCategories
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