Saturday, February 24, 2007
I found them
I have never met another Trishawna in my life. When I meet someone one and they say, “Trishawna…I’ve never met anyone with that name before,” I say, “Me neither.”
Oh, there was that close call one time in Texas at a gas station. I stayed outside to pump gas while my friends went inside. When I entered Melissa said, “Did you see that other Trishawna?”
“What? Another Trishawna? No! Where? WHERE?”
“Well, I was standing here, and a guy said your name, and I turned around and it turned out he was talking to his little sister.”
I looked around for the two she described, but there was no sign of them. All my life I have wanted to meet another Trishawna, and I missed my chance. I didn't even get a glimpse.
The other day was had a lecture on internet tools, and as I sat there I began to think about googling my name…mostly because I hadn’t done it in awhile. I wanted to see whether my blog would appear.
Later that night I googled “Trishawna” and I am proud to say that “Teeks Goes to Italy” was the top search pick. (That means that it is the most popular site containing the name Trishawna according to Google’s methods of ranking.)
I also found the answer to the fulfillment of my dream. Right there in front of me were links to other Trishawnas' myspace pages.
So naturally I asked them to be my myspace friends. (Hey, meetlng them virtually is better than not meeting them at all.) Both have accepted. One is from California and goes by Trish, and the other is from Abilene, Texas, and uses her full name. (One interesting note is that I almost went to college in Abilene. Two Trishawnas in the same city! Can you imagine?)
Just goes to show you that dreams do come true.
Oh, there was that close call one time in Texas at a gas station. I stayed outside to pump gas while my friends went inside. When I entered Melissa said, “Did you see that other Trishawna?”
“What? Another Trishawna? No! Where? WHERE?”
“Well, I was standing here, and a guy said your name, and I turned around and it turned out he was talking to his little sister.”
I looked around for the two she described, but there was no sign of them. All my life I have wanted to meet another Trishawna, and I missed my chance. I didn't even get a glimpse.
The other day was had a lecture on internet tools, and as I sat there I began to think about googling my name…mostly because I hadn’t done it in awhile. I wanted to see whether my blog would appear.
Later that night I googled “Trishawna” and I am proud to say that “Teeks Goes to Italy” was the top search pick. (That means that it is the most popular site containing the name Trishawna according to Google’s methods of ranking.)
I also found the answer to the fulfillment of my dream. Right there in front of me were links to other Trishawnas' myspace pages.
So naturally I asked them to be my myspace friends. (Hey, meetlng them virtually is better than not meeting them at all.) Both have accepted. One is from California and goes by Trish, and the other is from Abilene, Texas, and uses her full name. (One interesting note is that I almost went to college in Abilene. Two Trishawnas in the same city! Can you imagine?)
Just goes to show you that dreams do come true.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Writing on the Wall
From an e-mail to Jessica just after I arrived in Milan:
"First impression of Milan: feels like Brussels, a lot like Brussels,
there's grafitti everywhere but it's better designed than in the
States."
Here are some examples of that well-designed grafitti, Jessi.
I see that girl character a lot of places.
Note the pupils of the Monster. Yes, folks, that's li'l Webster.
Before:
After:
Since the miniature horses of Portland are one of my favorite things about my former city, I'm not surprised that my favorite things about Milan are the Grafitti Penguins. I thank the artist who does this. It make me smile.
"First impression of Milan: feels like Brussels, a lot like Brussels,
there's grafitti everywhere but it's better designed than in the
States."
Here are some examples of that well-designed grafitti, Jessi.
I see that girl character a lot of places.
Note the pupils of the Monster. Yes, folks, that's li'l Webster.
Before:
After:
Since the miniature horses of Portland are one of my favorite things about my former city, I'm not surprised that my favorite things about Milan are the Grafitti Penguins. I thank the artist who does this. It make me smile.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Very Special Music
Last Sunday evening I attended an international church here in Milan. After a few worship songs as a congregation, 3 men in sweaters approached the stage. None of them were pastors or part of the worship band so I wondered what was coming next. They proceeded to nervously arrange themselves in a line and take mikes from the stands, and I knew it could only be one thing.
Special Music.
Oh, evangelical churchgoers can remember special music. It was a phenomenon of the 80’s & 90’s where well-meaning church members would sing or play a song in addition to the normal music offering on Sunday. In most cases, the performance was accompanied by a background tape and done in a very amateur fashion.
When Mo, Tana, and I were young (between junior high and high school) our church would ask us to sing special music a few times every year. Each time they asked we would say yes and spend the next few weeks regretting it. Then after the service we would walk directly out of church after the service. (This was to avoid the “thank you for singing” comments that came instead of the “Wonderful job” like phrases.
We never understood why thy kept asking us, nor why we continued to say yes. Monae, Tana, and I each had our own talents, but singing as a trio was not one of them. Tana could play guitar and piano, I could sing, and Mo could…play basketball really well. This combination never made for a bearable 3-part harmony. In fact, we didn't even try to harmonize. What's a harmony?
So when those men gathered on stage and a background tape started up, I just couldn’t believe it. I felt like I’d been transported in time back to the early 90’s, back to Fellowship Bible Church.
In true special music form, the singing was horrible. The worship pastor, who had chosen to stay sitting on stage, was having trouble not distorting his face during painful notes. I had to resort to staring at my shoes to keep from laughing. It really brought back memories.
Mo and Tana, I wish you could have been there.
Special Music.
Oh, evangelical churchgoers can remember special music. It was a phenomenon of the 80’s & 90’s where well-meaning church members would sing or play a song in addition to the normal music offering on Sunday. In most cases, the performance was accompanied by a background tape and done in a very amateur fashion.
When Mo, Tana, and I were young (between junior high and high school) our church would ask us to sing special music a few times every year. Each time they asked we would say yes and spend the next few weeks regretting it. Then after the service we would walk directly out of church after the service. (This was to avoid the “thank you for singing” comments that came instead of the “Wonderful job” like phrases.
We never understood why thy kept asking us, nor why we continued to say yes. Monae, Tana, and I each had our own talents, but singing as a trio was not one of them. Tana could play guitar and piano, I could sing, and Mo could…play basketball really well. This combination never made for a bearable 3-part harmony. In fact, we didn't even try to harmonize. What's a harmony?
So when those men gathered on stage and a background tape started up, I just couldn’t believe it. I felt like I’d been transported in time back to the early 90’s, back to Fellowship Bible Church.
In true special music form, the singing was horrible. The worship pastor, who had chosen to stay sitting on stage, was having trouble not distorting his face during painful notes. I had to resort to staring at my shoes to keep from laughing. It really brought back memories.
Mo and Tana, I wish you could have been there.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Ham (and other Meat Products)
Italians love ham so much that they have two words for it: Cotto (regular ham) and Corto (spiced ham). If there is a restaurant serving only one kind of meat, it’s going to be ham.
Although the word was a nickname of mine as a child, I don’t prefer ham. “Turkey or Ham?” Always turkey. “Ham or Chicken?” Always Chicken. “Ham or Bologna?” Well, that’s a different story...
For some reason Italy makes me want to drink Diet Coke or Coca Light. I’m not a soda drinker at home, although I do crave it when influenced by the likes of Andrea Nelson. The other day I went to the store to buy some Corto (what other choice do I have?) and laundry detergent. Instead of the detergent, I walked out with 3 cans of Coca Light.
Today I ate McDonald's for the first time since I arrived. (Please hold your disappointed groans.) I was shopping around for school (yes, the assignment was to go out and assess Milan's shopping districts) with a Turkish girl and a Chinese girl. In the weakness that hunger creates, I followed them into McDonald's.
I don't even eat McDonald's at home, my consumption of the McProducts is limited to ice tea and the occasional drive-through ice cream cone. In this foreign country known for its glorious restaurants, I sat down to a meal of fries and chicken nuggets with BBQ sauce (the same meal I chose after dance class when I was nine). I was telling my friends about how I don't eat McDonald's in the States. They were astounded and asked why. "It's not healthy," I said. The Chinese girl, who speaks little English, looked up from her Big Mac with a wide grin and just said, "I LOVE McDonalds." In that moment I was frightened.
Although the word was a nickname of mine as a child, I don’t prefer ham. “Turkey or Ham?” Always turkey. “Ham or Chicken?” Always Chicken. “Ham or Bologna?” Well, that’s a different story...
For some reason Italy makes me want to drink Diet Coke or Coca Light. I’m not a soda drinker at home, although I do crave it when influenced by the likes of Andrea Nelson. The other day I went to the store to buy some Corto (what other choice do I have?) and laundry detergent. Instead of the detergent, I walked out with 3 cans of Coca Light.
Today I ate McDonald's for the first time since I arrived. (Please hold your disappointed groans.) I was shopping around for school (yes, the assignment was to go out and assess Milan's shopping districts) with a Turkish girl and a Chinese girl. In the weakness that hunger creates, I followed them into McDonald's.
I don't even eat McDonald's at home, my consumption of the McProducts is limited to ice tea and the occasional drive-through ice cream cone. In this foreign country known for its glorious restaurants, I sat down to a meal of fries and chicken nuggets with BBQ sauce (the same meal I chose after dance class when I was nine). I was telling my friends about how I don't eat McDonald's in the States. They were astounded and asked why. "It's not healthy," I said. The Chinese girl, who speaks little English, looked up from her Big Mac with a wide grin and just said, "I LOVE McDonalds." In that moment I was frightened.
Verde
My most frivolous purchase from Ikea was a tiny green circular rug, but it has now become an indispensable item in our household. I didn’t like the dot in my room, so I moved it to the hallway. Later that day I was in the hallway, standing on the rug, singing a song to Sylvana (that she and I made up). That’s when I announced that the rug would be the apartment spotlight…"stand on the rug and entertain us." Dance, sing, recite a poem…we don’t care…it’s an opportunity to have the floor. Sylvana and I often get silly ideas like this, and we are happy that Pete has come to embrace most of them.
The other night Sylvana decided to get out her flamenco shoes, which she brought to Milan with hopes of getting into a flamenco class here. Flamenco shoes are made for stomping and have small metal taps on the toe and heel. She put them on and went into hallway, which has a marble floor. She began dancing with a fervor, and I followed suit, tap-dancing in my socks alongside her. We were lost in the world of hyperactivity, with no regard for the world around us.
After two minutes of crazed motion, there was a not-so-gentle knock on our door. (Oh, yeah, we have neighbors. We must have forgotten.) Sylvana fled to her bedroom and made me answer the door. I stood there as the man from downstairs chewed me out in Italian. I’m not sure all he said…something about no dancing and other words that were accompanied by a lot of finger wagging. I agreed with him and apologized. Of course, my agreement was only to not dance in flamenco shoes. (Sock tap is still okay, right?)
It doesn’t hurt as much to be chewed out in another language. Italian is a passionate language, but I can’t read anything into the words that I can’t understand. It also doesn’t affect me as much to be cat-called by Italian men. I don’t know half what they’re saying so it doesn’t get into my brain and make me feel unsafe or objectified. On the other hand, the supermarket clerk yelling down the aisle that the place is closing seems to sting quite a bit. This I do not understand.
My classmate Maria was asking me yesterday about my experience with men here. She said I must get a lot of attention with my light hair and light eyes. (Coincidently Maria is an Australian with Egyptian and Cypriot heritage and would be considered very exotic in the US.) I told her there is attention, but I’m pretty good at being oblivious to it. I told her that a couple of guys at school have shown an interest in me, one of which told me in a conversation that he would “Die to go to school in New York.” This got me thinking, “As an American woman, am I a hot commodity because of the green card I could provide?” I have never even considered this as a motivation for a relationship. That’s a little scary, but those who know me know I’m pretty discerning about things like this. (So no worries, folks.) I'll give the boys the benefit of the doubt and will assume that it's my beauty and intellect (and not my citizenship) they're after.
The other night Sylvana decided to get out her flamenco shoes, which she brought to Milan with hopes of getting into a flamenco class here. Flamenco shoes are made for stomping and have small metal taps on the toe and heel. She put them on and went into hallway, which has a marble floor. She began dancing with a fervor, and I followed suit, tap-dancing in my socks alongside her. We were lost in the world of hyperactivity, with no regard for the world around us.
After two minutes of crazed motion, there was a not-so-gentle knock on our door. (Oh, yeah, we have neighbors. We must have forgotten.) Sylvana fled to her bedroom and made me answer the door. I stood there as the man from downstairs chewed me out in Italian. I’m not sure all he said…something about no dancing and other words that were accompanied by a lot of finger wagging. I agreed with him and apologized. Of course, my agreement was only to not dance in flamenco shoes. (Sock tap is still okay, right?)
It doesn’t hurt as much to be chewed out in another language. Italian is a passionate language, but I can’t read anything into the words that I can’t understand. It also doesn’t affect me as much to be cat-called by Italian men. I don’t know half what they’re saying so it doesn’t get into my brain and make me feel unsafe or objectified. On the other hand, the supermarket clerk yelling down the aisle that the place is closing seems to sting quite a bit. This I do not understand.
My classmate Maria was asking me yesterday about my experience with men here. She said I must get a lot of attention with my light hair and light eyes. (Coincidently Maria is an Australian with Egyptian and Cypriot heritage and would be considered very exotic in the US.) I told her there is attention, but I’m pretty good at being oblivious to it. I told her that a couple of guys at school have shown an interest in me, one of which told me in a conversation that he would “Die to go to school in New York.” This got me thinking, “As an American woman, am I a hot commodity because of the green card I could provide?” I have never even considered this as a motivation for a relationship. That’s a little scary, but those who know me know I’m pretty discerning about things like this. (So no worries, folks.) I'll give the boys the benefit of the doubt and will assume that it's my beauty and intellect (and not my citizenship) they're after.
Friday, February 2, 2007
QuirkItaly
In Italy…
-Even vending machine coffee tastes good. (In fact, I have a cappuccino from the machine at school almost everyday.)
-Always push doors to go in and pull when you go out. (This does not make sense because one usually has bags in his/her hands on the way out. Also, it is against fire code in a lot of countries.) I have learned to push as a given and no longer look stupid every time I enter an establishment.
-People don't recycle, and it drives me crazy. I cringe each time I put a water bottle or cardboard in the trashcan. There must be some way to do it. I need to learn the Italian word for recycle, or I could just move to Germany. (I fell in love with Germany when I was 20 because of the color-coded recycling bins they have everywhere, that, and the garden gnomes.)
-Even vending machine coffee tastes good. (In fact, I have a cappuccino from the machine at school almost everyday.)
-Always push doors to go in and pull when you go out. (This does not make sense because one usually has bags in his/her hands on the way out. Also, it is against fire code in a lot of countries.) I have learned to push as a given and no longer look stupid every time I enter an establishment.
-People don't recycle, and it drives me crazy. I cringe each time I put a water bottle or cardboard in the trashcan. There must be some way to do it. I need to learn the Italian word for recycle, or I could just move to Germany. (I fell in love with Germany when I was 20 because of the color-coded recycling bins they have everywhere, that, and the garden gnomes.)
Globs, Globes, & Globalization
Ikea: the mecca for people looking to decorate their homes inexpensively and Swedishly.
My roommates and I took a long-awaited trip to Ikea last Sunday, looking for bedding, candles, and things for the kitchen…in general, things to make the place feel like home.
It made me smile when I walked by the same globe lamp that is owned by Jason Peters. This distinctive lamp was nearly the only thing in his living room for over a year. Seeing it was just like passing by Jason right there in Ikea. I also spotted my favorite piece of furniture that I owned in Portland, my 7-foot tall mirror with black wood frame. I had to sell it on craigslist before I left, but there it was, available for me to buy for my apartment in Italy...if I so desired. After awhile, though, when I walked by my former loft bed, the duvet cover I once used, and half the other things I owned in Portland, I began to feel very disappointed. Wasn't there anything there that was there for Italians…for Italian tendencies and needs? It was all the same.
I think I'll go to the corner store for my next candle (olive or cappuccino-scented, of course).
My roommates and I took a long-awaited trip to Ikea last Sunday, looking for bedding, candles, and things for the kitchen…in general, things to make the place feel like home.
It made me smile when I walked by the same globe lamp that is owned by Jason Peters. This distinctive lamp was nearly the only thing in his living room for over a year. Seeing it was just like passing by Jason right there in Ikea. I also spotted my favorite piece of furniture that I owned in Portland, my 7-foot tall mirror with black wood frame. I had to sell it on craigslist before I left, but there it was, available for me to buy for my apartment in Italy...if I so desired. After awhile, though, when I walked by my former loft bed, the duvet cover I once used, and half the other things I owned in Portland, I began to feel very disappointed. Wasn't there anything there that was there for Italians…for Italian tendencies and needs? It was all the same.
I think I'll go to the corner store for my next candle (olive or cappuccino-scented, of course).
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