I cannot emphasize enough how rapid development in technology really is a two-edge sword. As much as new advances can expand our innovative possibilities in pertinent fields like science and medicine, it can also become a crutch on which tenuous interpersonal relationships stand on. Think of how many of us will like a Facebook post, but will never contact the poster for coffee in person. Think of how busy parents often shove an iPad in their toddler’s face in order to keep them placated during dinner at a restaurant or a long drive in the car. We have become somewhat withdrawn and incapable of socializing healthily. At a party with strangers, we can seek familiarity in our phones and feign busy social lives, but really we are lonely and insecure. We live in a constantly plugged in society where our virtual interactions are more frequent than our real-life ones and it is problem.
The generation that I am a part of, call it Generation Z, the iGeneration, or the post-Millennials, grew up in a world tinkering between the real and the virtual. We emerged into a society that was in the midst of a technological revolution. When I was born in the mid-1990s, floppy disks and tape cassettes were still the norm, cell phones looked like Kim Possible gadgets, and e-mail was in its early stage. Throughout elementary school, my family had dial-up Internet and surfing the net was a privilege rather than commonplace. By the time I entered high school, technology had improved drastically. Everyone had an iPhone, an e-mail address, at least one social network account, and “Google” was a casual verb. How is it possible that someone who grew up carrying a bulky Walkman, now can listen to music, browse the net, play games, and text on a slim smartphone? The tech industry is booming and our culture is changing as our dependency on electronic gadgets and virtual communities grows at a terrifying pace. However, what direction are we really heading in?
I cannot emphasize enough how rapid development in technology really is a two-edge sword. As much as new advances can expand our innovative possibilities in pertinent fields like science and medicine, it can also become a crutch on which tenuous interpersonal relationships stand on. Think of how many of us will like a Facebook post, but will never contact the poster for coffee in person. Think of how busy parents often shove an iPad in their toddler’s face in order to keep them placated during dinner at a restaurant or a long drive in the car. We have become somewhat withdrawn and incapable of socializing healthily. At a party with strangers, we can seek familiarity in our phones and feign busy social lives, but really we are lonely and insecure. We live in a constantly plugged in society where our virtual interactions are more frequent than our real-life ones and it is problem.
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Part Four of an Insider’s Look at NYC’s Specialized High Schools SerieS I know what you are thinking, "Aglaia is almost graduating college and she is STILL writing about high school!" For the record, this last installment of my specialized high school series has been sitting on my computer for a while. It has been passed over for more time sensitive and appropriate posts, like reviews for movies still in theaters. So why is this conclusion finally making its debut? Well, I had the same idea you were thinking- it is about damn time!
Despite all that I have loved and hated about attending a specialized high school, I have no doubts that it has influenced the person I am today. Being part of a dynasty of specialized high school graduates is like being part of an exclusive club of students who share the same experiences as you. It does not matter which school you attended, the stories you have from high school are often quite similar. In college, two of my close friends are from Brooklyn Tech and although our high schools may have been rivals, we share a bond being all products of an elite public school system. The education I received at Stuyvesant may not have topped that of private schools, but it did provide me a foundation and many opportunities to explore different subjects. It was many of the special electives I took in high school that sparked my interests in college. I couldn’t have cared less about chemistry when I took the introductory, regents-level class my sophomore year. Even the more challenging AP chemistry did not attract my attention, thanks to subpar teachers. Instead, it was the optional organic chemistry class I took my senior year of high school that really made me rethink further studies in science. Now, more than halfway through my time at college, I am majoring in chemistry. My passion and love for history also was not nurtured in my early days at Stuy. It would take a semester of New York City history and many field trips for me to accept history for more than just a pure recitation of facts about the past. Now, I am a history major and pursuing a history thesis on, you guessed it, New York City. Perhaps I have gotten super cheap. The last time I went out for a meal, I found myself very frustrated having to pay close to ten dollars for a turkey sandwich. I was even more livid when I took a bite and found that there was more mayonnaise than turkey between two slices of stale bread. How can anyone charge $9.95 for this terrible excuse for food? For some reason I always find myself being somewhat stingy when it comes to eating out. Even at restaurants with rave Yelp reviews, I am reluctant to relinquish my hard-earned twenty bucks for an allegedly delicious meal.
Really, the source of my problem is less about money and more about knowing how to cook. I have always loved being in the kitchen and creating my own food. There is just something so rewarding about watching your meal come together from conception to frying pan to plate to mouth. It would be a stretch to say that I am the next Iron Chef, but all in all, I do not think I fare too badly when it comes to cooking. My parents seem to enjoy my homemade edibles, although, they seem to have a soft spot for food (and also for me). Disney has always been a huge part of my life. I grew up watching classics like The Lion King and Beauty and the Beast, belting “Part of Your World” around the house, begging to go to Disneyworld, and snuggling with my Dumbo stuffed animal at night. Now, as a college student, I am still somewhat obsessed with Disney. I belong to a Disney a cappella group at my school, still dress up as my favorite princess for Halloween, and still make trips to the cinema to see the newest cartoons. However, as a racial minority, I am far from the ideal demographic that Disney was originally meant for.
I have always known that Disney was slightly problematic. It does not take a genius to figure out that Disney has promoted seemingly weak female characters like Sleeping Beauty, who has maybe twenty or so lines in her own movie and has depicted racial minorities offensively, such as the monkeys in the Jungle Book, which were meant to be animal representations of African Americans. I was even aware that Walt Disney himself was a bit of a bigot. He was unapologetically anti-communist and also anti-Semitic. However, these problems really stemmed from the conception of the Disney company and more so, Disneyland. Originally built to be a suburban paradise, Disneyland was built in the semblance of white, middle class Americans. Perhaps most shocking is that the park’s manipulation of space and exclusion of race somehow morphed into a powerful corporation that is synonymous with happiness and Americanism. 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. This was originally supposed to be a review of the new Broadway revival of Barlett Sher’s The King and I. However, I realized soon after watching the show that there was very little to fault creatively or production-wise: Kelli O’Hara did not disappoint (then again, I always knew she was an incredible singer having listened to South Pacific and The Light at the Piazza on Spotify numerous times), Ken Watanabe was charismatic, the choreography was intriguing, the kids were cute, and the Tony Award winning Ruthie Ann Miles was not there (because what is an Aglaia Broadway experience without someone important being absent).
Nonetheless, the show just did not sit right with me. There was a lingering feeling that something…just something was off. It was late in the second act when I finally realized right in the middle of the iconic and beloved number “Shall We Dance.” The scene, which was my favorite in the entire musical as a child, suddenly soured when the image of Anna Leonowens dancing with the barefoot king of Siam reminded me of another poignant image from the St. Louis World Fair. Teachers can make a difference in their students’ lives. We all remember our favorite teacher who inspired us to pursue our dreams. Perhaps it was his or her kindness, patience, or encouragement when we wanted to give up that is engrained in our memories. Not all teachers, however, change lives through empathetic techniques. Some employ harsh, strict, and even degrading methods meant to motivate students to push pass their limits toward success. The controversial Oscar nominated film Whiplash confronts “tough love” or just tough teaching techniques as means of accomplishing greatness. The movie revolves around a freshman drum student Andrew Neiman (played by Miles Teller) who is recruited into the top studio jazz band at the fictional, elite Shaffer Conservatory. Arrogant and self-assured of his talents, Andrew encounters his match: the cold-hearted, rude, and impossible to please Terrance Fletcher (played by J.K. Simmons). Fletcher does not only expect great things from all of his young charges, but craves perfection. His intense tactics and unattainable expectations quickly begin to consume Andrew’s world. Andrew’s determination and unhuman drive turns into an unhealthy obsession with his drumming. He slowly relinquishes aspects of a normal, teenage boy’s life from friendship to romance to family in order to focus on his music career. New York City, in its efforts to “go green,” has implemented many new programs in the past to encourage biking. Citi bikes provide convenient access to bicycles all around the city. New bike lanes have been placed on many streets. However, while we may have lessened our carbon footprint by a bit, we have created plenty of new inconveniences and problems, collectively known as bikers.
I have developed a strong distaste for bikers in the city. Yes, I know this is quite a broad statement and I am sure most bikers are perfectly decent people. I would probably get along with most of them as long as they are off their bikes. Mounted on their annoying two-wheeler vehicles, they are not only obnoxious, but also unbelievably reckless and pose a great danger to anyone who steps foot on a New York City street. Every time I am in the city, I witness at least one close call or actual accident between a biker and someone else, either a pedestrian or a driver. In my own experiences, I have nearly been wiped out by speeding cyclists many times. Part Three of an Insider’s Look at NYC’s Specialized High Schools Series At the end of my junior year of high school, a cheating scandal erupted amongst students in my grade during a standardized Regents exam. Within hours, every news outlet had our story in the spotlight and op-eds were spawning all over the Internet. Sweeping allegations were made and harsh criticisms were doled out. Even the end of the school year and the start of summer vacation could not divert the media’s attention. It did not matter whether you were involved in the scheme or a complete stranger to the culprit. You knew you would feel the heat of the consequences.
On my first day of work that summer, I barely walked through the front door when my boss immediately asked, “Did you hear about the Stuyvesant cheating scandal?” My family was also captivated by the story, so intrigued and shocked that my grandmother even asked if I was a cheater. At every college interview the following year, I fielded questions about the incident, my school’s tainted reputation, and my own integrity. I was not involved in the cheating ring that electronically passed around answers during an exam. I did not even know the stupid kid who started the whole plot. All I knew was that one kid wounded up ruining so many lives and futures, including his own. When I was in high school, I did not care too much about how I looked and it showed. I was never the type of girl who could just burst out of her front door effortlessly dressed to perfection. I had barely enough time to eat breakfast in the morning, let alone choose a cute outfit or even brush my hair-yes, it was that bad. I was all about fast, casual, and comfy. T-shirts, jeans, and beaten up sneakers were my fashion staple. What I wore to school was literally whatever was on top of the pile of clothing in my dresser and that made for some seriously questionable attire choices.
The worst part was that even when I had time to contemplate colors and textures and combinations, I did not. My weekends, holidays, and summers were all just as unfashionable as the rest of the school year. I must have been thankfully unaware that I looked like a total mess even though it was probably quite evident to everyone else. You see, when you live in a fashion mecca like New York City, what you wear probably triggers plenty of judgments, right? I am not saying, it should, but the reality is, it must. Thus, I was ultimately the least fashionable person in New York City. |
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