Ore Zaccheus- Ratchet Culture Day 2

I wake up this morning ready for my second day of ballet class. When I go get my leotard and my ballet shoes I see a snapback and some sneakers instead. The same friend that taught me about ballet was now wearing baggy clothes and a snapback. She took me to what she called a Jersey club music party where the popular dance was to twerk and sexy walk. Boys would dougie as their dance move. They served  a lot of chicken at this party enough for everyone to have a wing and a thigh. Some of the music they listened to was I don’t like and love sosa by chief keef. I started saying things like “to be honnnnesstt” “three hunna”. All of a sudden swag was the most important thing to me, and that was all I valued.

Anastasiya Klimova – Ballet Culture Day 2

When I woke up this morning I expected to find myself in my cold, dark room, wearing my plaid pajamas and my band t-shirt, but ended up in a completely different environment. My room was now powder pink and extremely girly, which is basically the complete opposite of what it was when I went to bed. I looked around my new room and saw many hair ribbons and scrunchies, a huge collection of dance CDs, and many ballerina trophies with alternating poses. I was very confused once again and had no idea what was going on. I opened my closet and my band t-shirts and black jeans were gone. My new closet was full of stockings made from all kinds of materials, over forty leotards that had all kinds of different colors and patterns, leggings, cardigans, and last but not least tutus. I had no sneakers in the closet, only ballet slippers and flats.

I put on a powder pink leotard and stockings, a lavender tutu and the most comfortable looking ballet slippers I could find. I then looked around the room once more and felt inspired by all the hair ribbons. I tied my hair back tightly, and formed it into a delicate round bun at the top of my head using scrunchies and a ribbon. I went downstairs to eat breakfast, and felt ridiculous and uncomfortable in my new outfit. The only things I could find in the fridge was fruit, and ingredients for a protein shake so I was forced to make one for myself. At 7:30 I heard a honk outside of my house and realized that my driver was here to take me to school. I grabbed my purse, headed out the door, and into the car.

I had an entirely new driver and I was sincerely hoping he knew how to get to school because I was not in the right state of mind to be giving directions. “How did I find myself in the Heavy Metal culture one day, and in a completely new and unfamiliar culture the next day? How was this transformation happening?” I thought to myself, as I noticed that the car was not driving in the direction of my school. “Perhaps this was a detour? Or maybe a shortcut?” Before I had a chance to gather my thoughts and tell the driver that we were not going in the right direction, the car stopped and I was inclined to get out of the car. I stepped outside and found myself in front of The American Ballet Theater. I was now in the Ballet culture! Why did it take me so long to realize it?

I walked inside reluctantly because I was never a fan of ballet nor was I ever good at it. I walked inside and ended up in a room that had one wall, and three walls of mirror. On the bare wall was a waist high barre, which was a bar used for support. In this room was about ten girls who were also wearing leotards and ballet slippers, but only about six of them had tutus on. I watched them and how gracefully and elegantly they moved, and a desire to try what they were doing ignited inside of me. I placed all of my stuff down on the floor and walked all the way to the corner, as far away from everyone as possible. It was my first time trying something like this, so I did not want to kick or fall on top of anyone. What I learned was that ballet took a lot of balance, strength, patience, control and stability. Never in a million years did I imagine myself ever trying ballet, and liking it! It was never something I was interested in and therefore did not pay attention to. I spent all day at the ballet theater slowly learning the steps the others were doing, at my own pace. I was getting the hang of it it! I became friends with most of the girls there and they helped me learn and realize what ballet was all about.

At 8:30 my driver picked me up from the theater. Although I had spent the day doing a lot of fun things and getting to know some really nice people, I was exhausted and could not wait to go home. I changed out of my clothes and put on something that could pass for pajamas, and laid down in bed. “Where will I end up tomorrow? Hopefully I wake up back in my own bed tomorrow morning. Although visiting two different cultures was fun and extremely educational, I would kind of like my normal life back,” I thought, as I slowly drifted off into sleep. That night, I dreamed that I was playing the electric guitar in my ballerina outfit.

Anastasiya Klimova – Heavy Metal Culture Day 1

Something very peculiar happened to me when I woke up this morning. I had went to bed the night before in my purple room, wearing my cloud pajamas and clutching my teddy bear named Mr. Snuffles. This morning however, I found myself awake in a cold room that was painted black. wearing black and red plaid pajama pants and an “Iron Maiden” t-shirt, with Mr. Snuffles no where to be found. I was extremely confused and had absolutely no idea what was going on. I opened my closet to pick out my outfit for school and only found similar t-shirts to the one I was wearing, black jeans of various shades and black Converse and Vans. I had to make do with what I had and I put on a “Metalica” t-shirt, the darkest pair of jeans my new closet had to offer, and black Vans.

The rest of my morning seemed normal; I ate breakfast, gathered my books and went to the mirror to make sure my hair looked acceptable. Except when I looked in the mirror, I was horrified to learn that the ends of my hair had been dyed red. I ran out of the house in shock but had no time to think about how these strange things could have happened because I was late for the bus. I had barely made it, but was embarrassed to go on, thinking everyone would stare at me and make me feel like an outcast. When I got on the bus, everyone greeted me normally but something was strange. Everyone was dressed similarly to me and many other girls had various hair colors. I needed to get my mind off of things so I took my seat and took out my iPod. To my surprise, my usual playlist was swapped with bands that I have never even heard of. The only artists on my iPod were Iron Maiden, Metalica, Megadeth, Def Leppard, Kiss, Deep Purple, AC/DC and etc. I noticed that all the kids around me were also listening to their iPods, and they all had their volume on max playing the same genre of rock music as the one I had on my iPod. And then I realized what was happening to me. I have somehow ended up in the Heavy Metal culture!

Everything began to make sense as I arrived to school. When I got off the bus I found myself surrounded with people dressed similarly to me and talking about the bands that I had listened to on the bus. Many of the boys at school had their ears gagged and had surprisingly long hair. Some even had their hair covering most of their face, and this applied to girls as well. My day consisted of going to class, and watching my peers play the electric guitar violently, eating lunch which consisted of snack food, regular food, and Monster as a beverage, and listening to my iPod with the volume all the way up. Although the culture was strange, I became more and more used to it as the day went on. Everyone seemed very passionate about the music they were playing on their electric guitars and the music they discussed with others.

On the bus ride home from school I wondered how long I would be stuck in this culture, and I decided to learn how to play the electric guitar. I practiced as soon as I got home, and after four hours of practice I realized how exhausted I was from the very confusing day I had, and fell asleep.

Jessica Ortega- Video Gaming Culture day 2

I woke up in the sofa with a headset in my head and with the computers light in my face. I cleaned myself up and ate an American breakfast. I went back to my sofa and see that someone was playing in the  game of “call of duty black ops” so I joined him. It was so wear how good I was even thought o have never played video games before but I was enjoying it and the game was a “beast”. Lunch time came in and I went to see what was for lunch all I found were ships more ships, and soda. So that’s what I ate for lunch. After lunch I went back to the video gaming because it became addicting and I saw that more people were playing it and I was able to talk with them about the games and the secrets of the game, so by now I’m getting this “s***” . I found that the people that play video games a quite the vocabulary. But I keep playing. I got hungry again so I got up to find more junk food and found a lot of them, so I broad them all to the table in front of the sofa and kept playing, but it appears that someone killed me already.

Ohhhh “game on, I’ll teach them how to kill” and so I continued playing video game for the rest of the day and part of the night. By 3 Am I was out of food and drinks but I was not sleepy and I was in a really good part of the game so I was not leaving this game any time soon. By 6 AM the light that came from the window was bothering me so I decided it was time for me to go to bed. When I was in bed all I could think of was, what the “h***” just happen, and I went to sleep.

Michael Abolafia – Video Gaming Culture Day 2

As if my life could not possibly get any more peculiar, I awoke the following morning to the sound of controller buttons being mashed, screaming and yelling and shouts of celebratory excitement, and ceaseless gunfire. I quite literally rolled myself out of bed and fell what seemed like a hundred thousand feet to the dirty floor beneath me. My room was inexplicably strewn with the detritus of laziness and youth: mountain ranges of soiled, foul-smelling clothes covered the carpeted areas of the floor, and the scarce areas not covered with articles of clothing were littered with garbage in the form of empty cans of Monster and Red Bull and Mountain Dew, and greasy bags of Doritos.

Completely confused and more than a little disoriented, I managed to get myself, sluggishly and hazily, to stand up and walk out of the confines of that entropic, chaotic room. I was wearing nothing but a pair of ill-fitting, stained sweatpants, and a t-shirt that appeared as though it had never been washed nor cleaned in any way. I felt strangely at ease, despite the fact that I was ordinarily much more neat and orderly and tidy. As I emerged into the adjoining room, four strange young men cast their gazes instantly towards me. I realize now that, had they been in a game and not waiting in the digital lobby, they probably wouldn’t have seen me at all. They all had hair that was uniformly caked with grease, wore clothes wholly similar to mine, and were hell-bent on eating more junk food than is safe for human consumption. They were holding their controllers like graven idols and eagerly awaiting their opportunity to get into the next match of Halo, so as to “pwn n00bs.” I learned a veritable dictionary of words from these strange young men while I sat with them, contemplating the absurdity of what had befallen me.  They consistently used the words “ownage”, “noobs”, “gg”, or good game, and “ftw”, which they reluctantly told me stood for “for the win.”

I was initially scorned by these gamers, since they regarded me as a noob. As the day progressed, however, I was accepted into their fold. We whiled away — or, rather, wasted away — the entire day playing one game after another. Call of Duty, World of Warcraft, Starcraft, Battlefield, Oblivion then Skyrim — they were completely obsessed with the endless possibilities of virtual worlds. We dined on finely-wrought portions of potato chips, Hostess cupcakes and other sundry confections, and drank countless cans of Monster, Red Bull, and Mountain Dew, all of which served the very focal purpose of keeping us awake and alert. They listened almost exclusively to the music in the video games themselves, exhorting that it helped them focus and that the songs were “epic,” especially in the case of Skyrim. They explained that the most important part of being a video gamer was being absolutely devoted to not having any sort of social life at all. They preferred the artificial graphics of games to real life, which they said was completely boring. They emphasized the importance of relaxation and laziness over activity and exercise, which they saw as pointless. They were competitive the whole time I played with them, but when we were all allied on the same team, the sense of unity and brotherhood and solidarity and fraternity was overwhelming. This sedentary life was a far-cry from the usual excitement and loudness that I was accustomed to! Eventually, as the sun rose after an eternal night of ownage and endless gunfire, I went to bed. When I awoke, all was gone and faded, and I sat upright in my bed for a long while, wondering how and why the world could be so strange.

Sang Min Kim – Russian culture day2

I woke up Monday morning feeling somewhat sick. All that junk food that I have eaten must have caused problems in my digestive system. I also felt very dizzy of playing game the whole day, and told myself that I would never again play video game in my life. This was strange because just yesterday, I was going crazy to play video games with my friends. For some reason, my blood was craving for some more alcohol today instead of video games. I began to see differences within my room also. My room was extremely cozy filled with antique furniture and taxidermy animals. Outside, I heard someone calling my name. However, I immediately recognized that the way the my name was pronounced was a little strange. As soon as I walked out of the room, I heard bunch of people speaking in weird language. I then realized that this is not my home.

They spoke very little English, and with the minimum vocabulary, they told me they want to introduce me to the Russian culture. They first gave me a thick fur coat, gloves, and boots to wear. I heard a very neat music playing on the background, and I assumed that it was the Russian folk song. Layered with a thick pile of clothes and furs, we decided to go outside. Mr. Pustalnek, who’s house I was happened to be in, told me that he wanted to take me to somewhere special, a place where Russians love. The people in Russia were very friendly. Even though I did not encounter many people due to extremely cold weather with snow piled up everywhere, every single person I met said “privyet” to me, which meant hi, according to Mr. Pustalnek.

Finally, we have arrived to the “special” place that Mr. Pustalnek was talking about. Afterall, it was only a bar. surprisingly, even though it was only 12 in the noon, the bar was packed with people drinking not just a beer, but a VODKA! Curiously, I asked Mr. Pustalnek, and he told me that Russians visit the bar and have a drink daily even during the day time. Drinking was just part of their daily life and culture. He told me that Russians value generosity and hospitality greatly, and therefore, sharing a drink with others and having a conversation with them is valued greatly.

After sharing few drinks with Mr. Pustalnek, we came back to the house. I went to the bed that I woke up today. Mr. Pustalnek told me that Russians in the old days drank to keep them warm in the cold weather, and it surely did warm my body as well as my mind. Through sharing a drink with Mr. Pustalnek and his Russians friends in the bar, I realized that the Russian culture and its emphasis on the alcohol is actually not that detestable. I guess I went through a cultural debunking on Russian culture through today’s experience.

Michael Abolafia – Ballet Culture Day 1

The past several days have been among the surrealist and strangest that I have ever experienced, and I still wonder if what I experienced was the result of madness or delirium or merely a very realistic dream. It all began when I returned home from the Black Sabbath show, clad, as I was, in my heavy metal attire, which consisted of gauntlets, a dark and furtive band shirt, and a pair of well-worn jeans. Upon arriving at home — slightly intoxicated with the night’s excitement and festivities and revelry, but not altogether out of line — I laid down and fell almost immediately asleep. I had a thousand wild and many-colored dreams, and when I awoke, the most peculiar and absolutely unbelievable change enveloped me, and I am reticent even now to relate the circumstances of what befell me on that fateful morning.

Something almost intangible was immediately perceptible to me as I lay in that interstitial state between dreaming and waking: I had the most powerfully inexplicable desire to dance with the summery daylight that spilled into my room! Despite my falling asleep in the darksome attire that I often wore, I was somehow wearing tights and a singularly strange article of clothing around my waste, pink and ruffled and airy. My hair was tight back tightly into bun, and I was wearing, of all things, a pair of pristine sheer stockings that reminded me, at the time, of the softness of a slow-falling blue twilight. The whole of my apartment had been decidedly changed seemingly overnight, and my building’s mezzanine was, perhaps, the most strikingly different. I ambled away from the body-length mirror that stood tall and imposing and meditative in my room, and glided into the elevator down the hall, still clad in the feminine uniform that I, for whatever reason, felt no true compulsion to remove. Once inside, I pressed the shimmering buttons and, in that dream-haze, somehow reached the floor level of my apartment complex — or where the floor level was.

Far from the slatternly and haphazardly cobbled together collection of the usual fare one sees in apartment buildings — magazines, fake flowers, and other artifacts of artifice — I found myself in a room filled with a thousand dancing angels who lilted about like fairies or seraphim or the delicatest of daisies in summer wind. The vast expanse of room was covered from floor to ceiling in mirrors, and the floor of exquisitely polished maple wood. The dancing women were the classical archetype of female beauty: slender and long-haired, neat and prim and proper but possessed of an innate elegance, they were perfection made flesh. It seemed as if the ballerinas were guided by invisible hands, like gorgeous puppets, as they danced to the echolalia of violins that echoed from some unknown source and resounded throughout the room. I recognized the tune as Stravinsky’s “Swan Lake,” and while I was in this queer place, I recognized other tunes, too: Beethoven, Bach, Brahms, Bizet, Vivaldi, and Tartini, among others.

They all wore pink leotards and tutus — the same attire that I was wearing, strangely — and spoke in cadences unfamiliar to me. A thousand strange, foreign-sounding words assailed my ears: adagio, cabriole, pointé, pirouette, écarté, plié, riqué, relevé, and so many others. When I finally garnered the courage to speak to the women, they told me all about their dreams and goals and aspirations of elegance. They explained to me that the life of a ballerina was an arduous but artistically rewarding and fulfilling one. They agreed to take me through the motions of what a typical day is like for them, and they explained to me that hard-work and unwavering devotion to their art were two values they held most near and dear. They explicated that they ate very little save for foods low in carbohydrates and fat, foregoing anything that would negative affect their lithe and strong physiques. I practiced with them all day, learning several new dances and the essential techniques of ballet — which was incredibly strenuous and exhausting — and we ended up having a very slight meal of egg whites and water and low-fat cheese and an array of vegetables afterwards. Nearly every facet of my life was so markedly different: the music, the workout routine, the diet, and the values. I was glad to be able to stumble upstairs to my apartment. With achy joints and a dull, concussive pain throughout my body, I drifted off once again into slumber.

(A photograph of me in media res)

Puerto Rican Subculture Day 2

As I woke up I was immediately shocked yesterday I woke up in Jamaica today however I woke up in another  country again, why does this keep happening to me?  As I ventured outside the room I was greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread pudding a traditional Spanish breakfast and Spanish folk music over the radio. I met a girl she was about my age she told me that I was in Puerto Rico. I asked her to give me a tour of her town to which she agreed.  As we walked around the town saw people from all different walks of life, I had no idea that Puerto Rico was so diverse.  Most of the people that I met spoke Spanish but they were a lot who knew English. Everyone one was either dressed is the traditional western casual or business attire.  The Puerto Rican culture is surprisingly very similar to U.S culture however I think it lacks the formalities. The pace of life is very relaxed and the mood of the people is very festive there is always a reason to celebrate, dance or have a party. While I don’t think my way of life differs greatly from the Puerto Rican way of life there is the language as well as how people view life in America we are always on the move trying to earn more money to elevate our status but in Puerto Rico I was much more relaxed, in the communities everyone knows each other and the get along well versus the U.S where you may not even know you own neighbor.  The Puerto Rican culture is very interesting because it contains many different cultures such as Spanish, Africans and Amerindians but now they are all being heavily influenced by the American Culture. 

Rastafarian Subculture Day 1

As I woke up, groggily I stumbled around the small room trying to figure out where I was. The intense tropical humidity made me certain I was no longer in New Jersey.  I tried to recollect what happened the night before but all I can remember is going to sleep like any other regular night and waking up in this strange location. It was as though I was magically teleported into another country. I sat on the bed and tried to figure out where I was, when I heard the faint sound of reggae music coming from outside. As I ventured outside I was temporarily blinded by the intense tropical sunlight. I looked around, judging from the natural elements as well as the people I assumed that I was in a rural part of Jamaica. I met a young man and after befriending him he explained to me that I was in a Rastafarian village.  He then offered to take me to meet his people.  As we walked through the village I was greeted by pleasant smiles and kind gestures one of the elder Rastafarian man offered me some “ital” food.  Being hungry I gladly accepted, however the food was not at all appetizing for me, I thought it was just bad cooking, but it wasn’t until later that I learned that Rasta’s foods do not contain any salt, milk or meat.  

                Everyone seemed to follow a simple way of life; most were dressed in very simple western clothes; no brand name or elaborate designs while some people wore what appeared to be traditional African attire and everyone had dreadlocks even the children! As the young man took me to see his family he spoke to me in a strange dialect I could tell that it was English however it was accompanied by a strong West Indian accent. This was Jamaica patois. As we reach our destination:  a small hut in the corner of the village I saw a group of men apparently smoking marijuana. I was immediately uncomfortable; I questioned whether the use of marijuana was illegal. To this question one man replied that the western government made marijuana illegal but Rastafarian do not follow western laws nor do they approve of capitalism and government.  As I adjusted my way of thinking and overcame my culture shock I realize that these people live a completely different life from mines.  Their life goes by at a much slower pace and they are more relaxed and in tuned with nature they value close relationship between everyone in the community and the openly reject any form of western style government. 

Anisa Ellis – Rastafarian Culture Day 2

I woke up this morning eager to head to dance practice, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed that I wasn’t even in the same bed I was in last night. Oh man, not again. I really didn’t want to witness another change like this for the second day in a row. Hesitating with every step, I crept towards the mirror mounted on the wall. I could barely see through the thick cloud of smoke that filled the room. Was that weed I smelled? What was going on? As I opened the door to the bedroom, I could hear Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry” playing downstairs.

Then, out of nowhere, it was like my senses took a hit of cocaine or something. I was so aware of everything.  There were pictures of lions all over the hallway, incense were burning, all of my jewelry was gone, all of my tattoos were gone, and… OMG… I had… dreads O_O. I had to be dreaming. I went to go look for my mom and when I found her she was puffing on a huge joint with some man! Wtf!?! He looked at me and said, “Wah gwan likkle one?” I couldn’t believe it. I had become a Rasta overnight! When I rushed out of the door I heard my mom say, “One love!” It made me laugh.

The good thing about all this was that Rastafarians were very cool people. They chilled, smoked ganja, praised Jah, and minded their business. I could definitely get used to living that way. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna live in peace? They kinda reminded me of modern day Jamaican hippies honestly.

I know one thing is for sure: everybody I met these past two days taught me some good life lessons about personal health and control. I’m glad I got the chance to take these trips through different subcultures. I just really wish I knew whether or not I was dreaming it all……..