Teeks Weekly

teeks returns from italy.

2008-02-13T20:23:00.000-08:00

To all those who have been sitting in suspense since November over my internship decision...I deeply apologize for making you wait.

Teeks is back from Italy.

The internship was all wrong. I felt it in my bones and my pocketbook.

I've been waiting to update this blog with a new name and direction, but it turns out it's taking me a while to find my personal new direction, not just for this blog.

There is a lot going on in this head of mine.

I came back to Portland, OR, at the beginning of January. Since then I've been doing some soul searching....walking on the beach and journaling.
(you know, the stuff you're supposed to do when soul searching)

So please resume your patience with me and return to my blog in a few weeks. By then I will be able to talk about some of this soul searching in retrospect.

decision time

2007-11-28T10:48:00.000-08:00

hiya. 2 months of silence...yes, I know. I have good reason for it, and that reason is "thesis." It's over now...only a few loose ends to tie up before I graduate on December 14th. However, in the next 16 hours I need to decide whether I am going to take an internship that would keep me in Milan for another year. The internship is with the company with whom I did my thesis. I knew this internship was a possibility, but I was thinking it would be 3-6 months. Nope, it's a year-long commitment. So any prayers would be appreciated. Much love and more details soon.

grazie mille, amici.

2007-09-27T11:17:00.000-07:00

ladies and gents of my circle,
Many of you know I've been struggling with my thesis. I hit a rough patch a couple weeks ago and progress has been slow since. For all ya'll who've been praying and thinking of me, thanks so much. I had a really good day of designing today, and I feel like I'm truly back in the game. Only 2 more months until it's due...and 2 more months until I graduate.
I'm taking bids for where I'll end up...highest bidder get a TQ in their city! Or maybe we'll just see how the job search goes...
much love,
TQ

about time, teeks.

2007-09-03T13:50:00.000-07:00

After 9 months in Italy I finally found a church.
Wait, that statement is inaccurate...
I actually found the church online only days after arriving in Milan,
BUT
my initial infamiliarity with the city +
a detour to a nearby church I did not like (see posting: Special Music) +
project busyness resulting in substituting church with podcast sermons =
the excuses for my 9-month delay.
Oddly enough, I met a girl who's originally from Omaha, Nebraska, and graduated from Millard West (Timberlakers, she knows Emily Krogh and Chuck Mullikin) and went to college at Iowa State (SMR people, she knows Melinda Feldkamp-Tweedt). Miniature world.

Below: No longer my church.

In every tree I see stick men.

2007-09-03T02:56:00.000-07:00

One thing about project research is I often run onto things that are completely useless for my project yet incredibly useful for the part of me that needs to laugh.
From 1978 Girl Guides (Scouts) Annual:

Of course may favorites are the eccentric dancers.
So many ideas...so little time.

they are the champions, my friend.

2007-08-30T08:42:00.000-07:00

“Let’s get ice cream,” Alessia said one night while we were roaming around in Bodrum, Turkey. The food in my stomach from dinner had started to move a bit, making room for ice cream, so I said, “Sure.” We walked down to the nearest ice cream parlor, bought a couple cones of our favorite flavors, and started to walk down the street again. Alessia took two licks of her ice cream and looked at the cone with the same sour look she gives a lot of foods.
To tell you the truth, I had predicted that face the moment she brought up the idea of ice cream.
"This is horrible." she said.
“Alessia, you come from the country with the best ice cream in the world. This is what ice cream tastes like in the rest of the world.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, this is pretty typical.”

Even though my taste buds have become accustomed to Italian gelati (there are two places less than a 3 minute walk from my apartment), I can still appreciate just about anything that falls under the category of ice cream.

It’s the same thing with other things too. I wanted to visit Ephesus in Turkey. It was a day trip from Bodrum and was relatively cheap. Alessia went last year so she said she didn’t want to go again.
“It’s not much to see."

“Well, I’m pretty sure I still want to see it. I've never seen anything like it.”

"Yeah, you're probably right. You should see it. It's hard for me because there are better ruins in Italy."

What is it like to be a person who grew up in a country with so much history and “the best” of everything? What is it like for these things, that are so breathtaking for the rest of the world, to become normal? Does it make it difficult to appreciate anything that’s not as superior?

My friend Roberto grew up in Rome. His university was less than a minute from the steps of the Parthenon. He used to sit and eat his lunch on the fountain facing the Parthenon.

As I examined the interior of the Parthenon for the first time, I asked Roberto, “What’s it like to grow up with THIS in YOUR city?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “I’ve never known anything else.”
(Here's where it'd be cool to say that he has an odd obsession with parking garages and fabricated homes, that he's most-impressed by those things, but to my knowledge, he doesn't.)

---
Alessia said she doesn’t understand why a lot of restaurants abroad, as in outside of Italy, don’t know how to make a good pasta.
“Pasta is so simple,” she says.

“It IS so simple, “ I think, “How can restaurants screw it up? Silly restaurants.”

Of course, I don’t recall ever eating a bad pasta in a restaurant...
She goes on to describe to me the process of making a good pasta.

“Have I ever made pasta for you?” she asks.

“No.”

At this point I recall having made it for her while we were working on a project together. I also recall her plate not being empty at the end of the meal. I just thought she wasn't hungry.

“Well, I need to make pasta for you,” she says.

But then I wonder if I will even be able to tell the difference between her pasta and something inferior (like mine), but I honestly don’t think my taste buds are sophisticated enough to know if she uses table salt or rock salt.
(cause she says it makes a difference.)

And that's actually okay with me.

I had the time of my life

2007-08-27T10:08:00.000-07:00

Somehow the movie "Dirty Dancing" (circa 1987) became the theme for my summer 2007.
I did not plan this, the events just began to unfold.
July 2, 2007: "Will you Still Love me Tomorrow" by the Shirelles is chosen by Pete for our Americana bash playlist. This invokes in me a craving for 60's dance music.
July 4: I carried the watermelon...home from the supermarket to the Americana Bash.

July 5: Late night computer work + 60s dance fever causes me to download the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack from Itunes.
Later on July 5: My curiosity about Patrick Swayze's single "She's Like the Wind" leads me to an unplanned YouTube break. The first line of this song is "She's like the wind, through my tree..." I know the video must be fine entertainment.

Further "research" leads me to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7ShNpH1Fj4 (sorry, it couldn't be embedded)
porcelain dolls + lighting + Swayze = Best video on YouTube
August 15: While in Ephesus, Turkey, I meet a dancer and a singer who are currently in the cast of the stage show "Dirty Dancing" in London. Coincidence? I think not.
August 26: While participating in all-area-bike ride in Switzerland I pass a karaoke group singing "I Had the Time of my Life." The song invigorates me...I cycle on...

Bubby marries Bubby

2007-08-27T09:25:00.000-07:00

I had the pleasure of being the only American accomplice to the civil wedding of Leslie and Swiss Chris Haedinger in Arbon, Switzerland. Their church wedding will be in October on the same day as my best friend's wedding so I won't get to be there, although it's only a 5-hour train ride from Milan. In Switzerland it's necessary to do both a civil wedding and a church wedding. Most people do both weddings on the same day or within a few days of one another, but they did their civil wedding early for visa purposes...gotta get Swiss Chris to the States by November.

This "get-away vehicle" took the newlyweds (and the rest of us) across the border to Germany for din din.

This is how the Swiss do it up.

"Cin Cin!" as Italians would say.

That flower was edible, and I ate it.

delayed thoughts from England

2007-08-20T07:20:00.000-07:00

another lingual boo boo...
The word "pants" in England corresponds to the American word "panties."
This caused trouble for me, as I often said things like:
"My pants are wet," during a rain
and
"I have sand in my pants," after a walk on the beach.
Phrases like these seemed to bring shrills of laughter from the Lauren.

Star Search Istanbul Presents...

2007-08-19T19:55:00.000-07:00

With much prodding from Ale, Ips, and the man with the microphone, TQ steps forth for her 15 minutes of Istanbulli fame. (I get embarrassed when I watch this, but I'm going post it anyway. It's all for you, folks, all for you.)

the Quirky Turkey

2007-08-19T19:14:00.000-07:00

One word: VARIETY. NO, we did not eat here.

I'm not kidding when I say the Turkish love the letter "K"

Posing at the Sultan's palace. Sultry.

For bays and bayans of all ages...Advertised as "Modern Toilet" with arrows pointing in its direction 50 meters before, this toilet cost a whopping 1 Lirra to use (1 USD=1.25 Lirra).

Back of an Istanbulli mini-bus

The sentence just before the conception of this idea,"So...we have 400 dolls, 300 units of various piercing jewelry, and some gel foam stuff leftover...what should we do with it?"
who the target market is for these little monsters is a mystery to me.

Another way of saying this is "Real Imitation".

beach scene: Bitez, Turkey on the Aegean Sea

2007-08-17T15:00:00.000-07:00

Five times a day prayers are said over the town's speaker system.
Yet nothing could seem to contrast more with the surroundings...
a beach full of people at leisure.
Kelly Clarkson blasting from the seaside restaurant directly behind us.
People play on, barely noticing.

I bobble around in the salt water.
enjoying my newfound buoyancy...
gazing at the colorful umbrellas on the seashore.

Four tubby, blonde British tourists laze about on the deck chairs in front of us.
They haven't moved all day except to turn their bodies over in order to even their tans and to sit up when the waiter from the restaurant brought their hamburgers.

I contemplate cultural differences...
There seems to be a sense of awe when I tell people here I am an American. I can begin to understand this as I watch television in the hotel room. So much of it is from America, shows about people from a a land faraway that has little to do with their culture. Last night I watched the beginning of CSI NY with the eyes of an outsider, examining every character's face and thinking to myself, "That's an American,"...simply trying to understand what Alessia means when she says, "You look very American, Trish." I'm happy about the fact that I haven't run into even one other American tourist. The place is crawling with Europeans, but I'm a novelty.

I read Orhan Pamuk's book Istanbul as I lie in the sun. He paints a picture of a city in a state of corporate melancholy...living modern life in the ruins of several great empires, his words casting clouds over this perfectly sunny day at the beach.

istanbul not constantinople

2007-08-17T13:29:00.000-07:00

Istanbul inspired within me a craving for the past, more to know it than to live in it...a city so rich in history that 3 major empires have held it.
It is my custom to go to cities and look for the heart of it...
"Where is it?" I always ask,"How do I really experience it?"
We drank apple tea (which is more like apple cider) on the banks of the Bosphorus Straight, which separates the European part of Istanbul from the Asian part.

We stayed in the 3-bedroom apartment of my classmate Ipek's family, drinking Turkish coffee every morning and conversing with Ipek's mother through smiles and thank yous.
Ipek's mom, whose Mother's name is Betty (but probably spelled in a more Turkish way) just like my mum's.

Our personal Istanbuli guide shuffled us from place to place, pushing us onto taxis (or taksi in Turkish) and mini buses with a much command as a woman of 5'0 can muster. (and daily showing us more inner-strength than I've seen in any woman of 25.)
My friends Ipek, Alessia (Italian), and I on our daily "commute" across the Bosphorous.

We visited Mosques (a first for me)...having to cover our shoulders and heads with the provided cloaks to enter.

We ate lunch at a famous restaurant that has been serving the same exact meal to every customer since it opened in 1907. (Turkish meatballs, bean salad, bread, and a nut-based cake for dessert.)
We stopped in the covered market where one can buy anything "Turkish"
with salesman standing in front of their stands trying to get our attention...
"Hello. Do you speak English? We are here." Their pronunciation and rhythm straight from "Teach Yourself English" cassettes.

We went to the Turkish bath and were clothed in towels like picnic blankets...I received the exfoliation scrub from a woman three times my width. I had precisely the reaction I predicted...silly laughter, which is my kneejerk reaction to all things that cause me minor pain. The same occurred during the filling of my 1st (and only) cavity and my first leg wax.
What I looked like in the Turkish Bath

A shot Post-bath, smoother than a baby's bum.

With the urging of Ipek, Alessia, and the man in charge, I danced in the center of a 20-person drum core on one of the busiest shopping streets of Istanbul. Perhaps beginning my career as a street performer. I felt at ease with home videos recording, pictures snapping, and hands clapping as danced. My friends were very pleased.

We dined in a restaurant that felt more like a TGIFriday's than anything Turkish. It was the most American restaraunt I've been in in the last 8-months (besides McDonald's). I had fajitas and a magarita just because I could.
Afterwards we went to see Ipek's friend play in a band at a bar. The band's songs were 100% covers of nearly 100% American bands. Each song, sung in near perfect English, was followed by a break of a few Turkish sentences, a transition that always caught me off guard.
Even with all of these experiences, as with most cities I merely visit and don't live in, I didn't capture the heart of the city. What's crazy about Istanbul is that to get to know it, one would have to go much deeper than a couple of centuries of history...and that would take longer than 3 days.

on the bus

2007-08-09T14:38:00.000-07:00

An English woman on the bus from Scarborough to Liverpool told me I speak very good English.

I didn't respond. I just slowly looked away.
I went to Liverpool, a 5-hour trip from Lauren's hometown, simply to fly back to Milan. I didn't get to see the sites, unless you count the John Lennon Airport as part of the tour.

When I finally reached Liverpool and hopped on the bus labeled "airport shuttle" I said to the driver, "There's only one airport in Liverpool, right?"
"Well, there's the Paul McCartney." he said with a believable tone.
Luckily, I'm not that gullible. Otherwise, he might have had me running to the bus parked "just past the shuttle to the Ringo Starr and George Harrison Train Station." (They were never indispensible enough to warrant their own transport centers.)
Instead I walked to my seat, imagining how the bus driver must repeat a variation of that joke to a lot of out-of-towners.

On the ride to the airport I spotted a small, murky body of water. "Is that the pool?" I thought. That's when I realized, for the first time in my entire life how distasteful the name "Liverpool" really is. Other countries in the world use picturesque terms to describe their water-related cities...Oceanside, Laguna Beach, etc.
"Liver" is a slimy meat of an indeciferable color (between grey and brown). In my brain it's associated with Dad's "dinner suggestions" that he made simply to get his daughters riled up. (In later years he realized the reply "chili dogs" would get the same reaction from me.)
England also has a city called Blackpool. Sounds Inviting!
Onto Istanbul...

Tea Time

2007-08-02T03:09:00.000-07:00

I'm in Scarborough in the north of England with my friend Lauren this week. (see above)
It's my first time in an English-speaking country in 8 months, but I still find myself learning new words. Here's some new vocab for you and yours
BINGO WINGS: the extra flab under a woman's arm that shakes when you raises her arm to yell "bingo!"
DINNER LADY'S ARMS: refers to the same area as bingo wings, good eats bring treats
WELL GOOD: it's not just good, and it's not just well, it's "well good" or very good
WELL BAD: it's not just bad, it's "well bad"
TURRAH: goodbye, commonly used in the sequence "Turrah, love."

read it and weep.

2007-07-26T16:30:00.000-07:00

I woke up with an acute pain in my heart today…a need to go home…and a crying in my heart for a God I sometimes feel hasn’t followed me here.

Last night was the big goodbye, the last get-together of our class before everyone takes off for August vacation. The majority of my classmates will be spending the next five weeks in the destination they call home. When looking toward August, I saw an opportunity to do a bit of exploring in the countries around me and take advantage of the hospitality some of my new friends in their home countries. It never once occurred to me to go to the States during August.

But when I woke up this morning, with “buy a ticket to Turkey” on my to-do list, I found myself going to Travelocity to do some other searches…”Milan-Omaha”…”London-Omaha”…even ”London-New York.” All options were over a thousand, answering my desire to go home with a firm, “No.”

But it’s not Nebraska.
It’s not the heat of summer that peels off make-up before I step past the screen door…
or the miles and miles of roads that lie between pieces of civilization.
It’s not Portland, either, although I’ve dwelt on that city a lot in the past.

I miss the unmistakable feeling of being known.
I miss my own laugh.
I only see glimpses of myself here, and sometimes I wonder where she’s gone.

It’s not like I’m walking around sad with a frown upon my face…
Nothing of the sort,
but
Sometimes laughter is only felt as deeply as the one who instigates it knows me.

And if you’re reading this, I probably miss you.
baci e abracci.

go hard or go home

2007-07-18T04:50:00.000-07:00

Newman Grove volleyball team slogan 1994?? or 1995?? I remember the t-shirts with block letters on the back saying "GO HARD OR GO HOME." This statement has been going through my mind this morning.
I didn't adopt it then, but it seems to fit my life right now. As I type I am on the longest no-sleep stretch of my life. It's currently Wednesday at 7pm. I haven't slept since Monday at 9 am. The last 24 hours have been sans caffeine, fearing a jolt would make me crash before this morning's presentation.
---
I wrote that yesterday. All in all, I was up 60 hours straight, unless you count the 3 minute naps I took during other people's powerpoint presentations.
More soon...

Vote now!

2007-07-08T12:11:00.000-07:00

With all the election hype...that I'm missing...I thought I'd get in on the action by creating my own election. Please cast your votes for TQ hair of your choice. Okay, so maybe this is more on scale of American Idol rather than the American Presidential election, but remember that YOUR VOTE COUNTS! (If phone lines are busy please try back.)
Hair A

Hair B

(Yes, I realize that picture B belongs in a hair salon window. It's my "drama" shot from glamour shots Milan, if there were a glamour shots Milan.)
(Indulge me a bit, and I'll give you some substance when I have time.)

This Tweek in History

2007-06-28T12:34:00.000-07:00

(Title by Pete-za)
The mosquitoes are abundant in Milano during the summer months. There are two canals that run through Milan, and anyone who lives close to the water get hit with the bugs. I have, in the past week, had up to 40 bites at one time. They seem to attack mostly at night, and that means they can bite places they wouldn’t normally, like the bottom of my foot. Do you know what it's like to have a mosquito bite on your heel?

I noticed I was getting bit more at night. I found out Sylvana started wearing repellant to bed and using a plug-in bug killer without telling me. I went to the store to buy repellant the next day.

When we have new people in the house, the little buggers seem to attack the new blood. So come visit me in Milan! (Aren’t we great hostesses?)

The Brits live right along the canal, and they have no experience with mosquitoes in Britain. They sleep with mostquito nets over their beds like they’re in some sort of jungle. It turns out Lauren is allergic, and when she get bit they swell up the size of a tennis ball…not kidding. She takes it in good humor and references herself as the elephant woman until the swelling goes down.

Mel C, another one of the Brit’s has been doing project work at my house this week. Their loft doesn’t have a lot of work space. I, of course, was playing autopilot dj, with my ipod on shuffle. Her comment after 2 days of working together was, “Listening to your music makes me feel like I’m in an episode of Dawson’s Creek.”
Compliment? I’m not sure.

So this next week is 4th of July and we are having 4th of July at the Brits’…partly for convenience and partly for the irony. (Pete was really against the idea at first, but it was mostly because he is jealous of the male models that live next door. :)

I want to stage a revolution re-enactment, but none of the Brits have signed up. I guess volunteering their apartment for a stellar dance party will have to do. The mix? American favorites mixed with techno. Can you imagine? I can’t wait to hear Dolly Parton woven into techno. (If you have any MUST HAVE songs for the play list, swing ‘em at me.)

The party will be an all day event, Pete and I are declaring it an official holiday although we don’t have the day off. We want to bring American things to the students of Domus. We will begin with an all-day BBQ, but I'm deadset on doing other silly traditions that are out & out American. Mel C. suggests a beauty pageant. She also wants to wear a cowgirl outfit with the Union Jack. I told her to not bring that flag to this revolutionary party! In my opinion a pie eating contest or hot dog eating...anything with overeating...is in order.

More later, for now Versace is calling.

and the world spins madly on...

2007-06-17T11:36:00.000-07:00

(title by Andrea)
My view of the world was shaken today, but to explain I will start from last week...

Last Saturday night I was over at a friend's house with a very eclectic group of people including photographers, designers, male models :), and English teachers....at some point during the evening it occurred to me that 4 continents were represented. Asia, Africa, and (of course) Antarctica weren't there. I knew with only a few quick phone calls we could have made it 6.

Some wheels started turning in my head about having a 6-continent dinner, a novelty I have never experienced and don't know if I'll have the opportunity to create again once I leave this environment. I mentioned the idea to my friend Andrew, who was in town at the time, and he said he'd personally been part of a 7-continent dinner, but he couldn't remember how they managed to get Antarctica. (?!Me neither?!)

This morning I passed the idea onto Sylvana, hoping maybe we could host such an event here at the apartment. She said, "Whaaat? Whatareyoutalkingabout? ThereareFIVEcontinents!" (Sylvana talks very fast.) I consulted my Italian friend Roberto, and he agreed...only 5 continents.

Now, how did I I live my entire life without knowing how many continents there are?! I mean, there are a lot of things taught in schools that are presented as theories, but the 7 CONTINENTS was presented as pure, solid (land-mass) fact.

By the end of these conversations, Sylvana conceded to 6 or 7, but Roberto held steady to his measly 5 continents (and declared himself my geography teacher).

Worldwide the opinion ranges from 4-7 continents, here are some of the discrepancies according to my friends and Wikipedia:
1) America is one continent. Both the the Peruvian and the Italian agree on this. Andrew-7-continent-dinner-winner says he recently had an argument with a Spanish 9-year-old on this very subject. He came out the victor when he pointed out the separation of the two continents by the Panama Canal. I hope this kid's parents don't come after Andrew when little buddy flunks geography.

2) I was told Antarctica is not a continent because it is ice and not land. However, this is not a true statement. (Andrew declares the exclusion of Antarctica as "a crime.") Although, not included in my friends' count, both Italy and Peru have formally declared Antarctica as a continent (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antarctic_Treaty_System).

3) Although my friends don't agree with this, it is believed by some that Europe and Asia are one and, therefore, Eurasia. Those who believe there are only 4 continents include Africa in this ensemble.

4) Not included in the numbering but still an important difference, Australia is not the name of a continent but rather the name of the country only. The continent, according to Italy and Peru, is Oceania. No matter what you call it, Australia is the only continent staying decisively continental from all counts.

There's a great chart here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Continent

I need some feedback. Does everyone know about the continent controversy? Am I behind because I haven't studied geography since 1993? Am I the only one who refers to Australia as a continent? Please, please tell me I'm not the only one.
FYI I still vote for 7 continents, but I'm a loyalist. Go North America!

sorry for the absence

2007-06-14T15:58:00.000-07:00

Ciao tutti! (meaning "hello everyone" I have Trishawna-ized it to "Ciao-sers Tooters." SOME people think this is funny.) I have been a silent blogger for the last month, which means I haven't blogged at all, and for this I am deeply apologetic. I think it had something to do with my vow to truly be here. The more I'm connected to the internet, the less I am truly here. So I will do my best to balance because I believe this is an important communication device.

Enough excuses and apologies!

I have created a plan to get me creatively writing again, but I need your help. I would like some title suggestions...not subjects on which to write, just title suggestions. Then I will do my best to write a story based on that title. The sillier the better. If you really want to give a subject suggestion, that's okay too. You can send them as a comment to this blog, to my myspace page, or to my e-mail account.

Thanks for your assistance. Over & out.

Dedications

2007-05-17T14:28:00.000-07:00

"Peas and other minor objects" is dedicated to Pete (see blog under Petate) who always takes pictures of his plates of food before he eats them. Pete flew back to Orlando on Tuesday for a short stay. Over a month ago he rattled off to me his plan for every meal he would consume on this trip. The kid likes food, and he really misses the food back in the States. C'mon, Pete, get on the Piadine bandwagon.
I simply found this meal heavy-on-the-peas highly ridiculous and therefore picture-worthy.

This second pic is Alessia, my best good Italian friend, and I. Alessia: for the stress, the coffee breaks, and the late-night spontaneous dance breaks...here's to you, cusser.

A great big public THANKS to miss ruthie fisher for the lovely package she sent me this week, which included Andrew Bird's new release "Armchair Apochrypha."
I betcha didn't know, I created almost my entire entry for the Domus competition while listening to Andrew Bird's "The Mysterious Production of Eggs." This new release seems to pack even more of a punch, and I should be able to shuffle a coupla projects out during airtime. If you don't have this album, run out and buy it right now. Or quickly point your mouse towards iTunes and purchase. That's an order, Mista!

forgotten thoughts.

2007-05-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

Journal Entry July 30, 2005:
"I woke up this morning with thoughts of Milan on my brain. Where did those come from? Why Milan and why now? This is the first time Italy has come up. But perhaps this is something for me???
My thoughts about Milan were to go to design school, preferably grad school for creative entrepreneurship and learn Italian. Is this crazy?"

I remember that summer morning, waking up with these ideas out-of-the-blue, a revelation of sorts that bewildered me. After moving to Portland, I had a period when I was trying to figure out a new plan, avoid settling there and move to the next spot. I'd thought about other places before, LA, NYC, Colorado, but never Milan.

That morning I stumbled down to the Portland Coffee House, my Saturday morning wi-fi spot, and looked up possible grad programs. I felt I finally had some direction of where to go, and I was going to research it. I told a few friends, and Alan even bought me a book on learning Italian. The idea of going to Italy continued for a few months, but nothing ever panned out. In all honesty I didn't pursue it beyond a few internet searches and some passing prayers.

July 30, 2005 continued...
"I am very smitten with the idea of going far, far away. I am very smitten with learning a language, just really pursuing that. I want to own my own business, I want to live a creatively charged life. And at this point I am not pursuing any of those things.
I am in Oregon (which I love)
spending tons of time with friends (whom I love)
working a job (that I like)
and spending a lot of time training for the triathlon (which I love)"

I had been in Portland less than a year at that time. I was just getting to know the city. It was only a few weeks before that I ran the Nike Run Hit Wonder with over 10,000 people right past my apartment in downtown and thought, "I love it here." And a week after this entry I moved in Peter and Jessica's with Ruthie...a real home with real friends (some of my best friends) instead of a studio apartment for one. There was still a lot of life to be lived there.

I stumbled onto this entry, filed in a random folder on my computer, a few nights ago. My current brain had forgotten about those thoughts. This fall when I e-mailed Alan to tell him I was moving to Italy, he said his mom always says that I always make good on what I say I'm going to do. The idea of school in Italy came from another place entirely this last fall, a suggestion from Barbara, and even with Alan's words I never fully connected the two. Running onto this entry has been just another link that has calmed me and settled me into this here foreign city.

There comes a point in every situation in which I stop running and settle in. Summer '05 was when it happened for me in Portland, and May '07 is when it happened in Milan.
(I still love you, Portland.)

turning the leaf.

2007-05-09T10:54:00.000-07:00

Pops is learning Italian. Danyelle sent him a CD set to get him started. At the rate I’m going, with design work taking precedence, he’ll be better than me by the time they come to visit.

I went to Paris this last weekend. I visited my friend Kathryn but found myself alone all day on Sunday while she worked at her boyfriend's shop. I visited all the familiar places: Notre Dame, The Eiffel Tower, Musee' D'Orsay...I was surprised at how well I remembered the city. It's the first time I've visited since I studied there in 2003.

Overall it was a time of thinking and refreshing after the last project. I considered some of the things our project leaders said during my critiques. Through their words and my own honesty, I realized that I have been fighting my own education.

Those of you who know me well know that I really struggled with the decision of whether to come here or not, whether to get my masters in fashion or even to stay in this field of work. That same debate has raged in me here. Although I have been working hard on my projects, I have taken all the fun out of them with this internal fight. Our last project leader said to me during a critique, “Design school is the most fun part of a fashion designer’s life. If you are not having fun, you might want to rethink this.” Besides the fact that that statement is the most depressing news I've ever heard for designers, he could obviously tell that something was amiss.

This week I feel like I’m starting anew. I know there’s no way I’m backing out of this program, it’s all been paid upfront. So this internal struggle is useless. Why am I preventing myself from learning everything I can, from soaking it all up? I'm ready.

Today a new brief was assigned, and it’s a beautiful thing. The project is to design ecologically responsible product for an outdoor and sportswear company. Could it get any more perfect? Meanwhile all my classmates are groaning. One girl even said, “I’m not designing clothing for safari people!” (Although her last collection was done entirely in safari colors.)

And so the summer begins…

This week in my life.

2007-04-22T05:02:00.000-07:00

MONDAY
Revisions with Raphael Lopez, famous fashion designer, leave every single fashion student lying on the ground with our guts hanging out. A few of us go out to apperitivo (aka happy hour) and 3/4 of the conversation revolves around our dramatic revisions. Everyone has a story to tell. My personal story: Raphael scoffed at my purse shaped like a strawberry. “Un Borsa Fragola, ha!” Can I help it if my style is whimsical?

The project is on the femme fatale. We are to create our own version of the femme fatale. However, the character of the femme fatale is contrary to everything I stand for. In addition, the typical clothing style of the femme fatale is opposite to my personal style. I thought the key to the project was making it personal, but after the revisions I feel like they want us all to be part of a pre-made femme fatale mold.

TUESDAY
The morning lecturer is one of the project leaders who is assisting Raphael. She begins her lecture by giving an overview of Monday’s revisions. My borsa fragola makes it into her comments. “For instance, the femme fatale would never carry a strawberry purse, ” she says. I don’t take it personally.
The Salone di Mobile, one of the biggest furniture/design fairs in the world, begins today in Milan. It’s a one-week event, and the whole world is here. The Accessories majors were assigned their project: go to the Salone and design 6 bags from whatever you see that inspires you. This is my dream assignment. Meanwhile the fashion students are bogged down in a project that keeps us from the most important design event in Milan.

I throw off my responsibilities and attend the kick-off party. A box that I helped create is displayed in the Domus Academy area of the fair. The party is fun, and I look like Alice in Wonderland gone monochromatic.

WEDNESDAY
All project progress is stopped by lectures that could be scheduled some other time. The afternoon lecture leaves me feeling claustrophobic because of the absurdity of the “small in-class project” vs. the mountain of work I have ahead of me. However, a mention of a famous dancer from the early 20th century inspires me for both my big project and the small in-class project. During the presentation of this mini project I announce to the class that if I could, I would dance in the street for money, a street performer like in the 80’s movies. One classmate interjected, “A stripper?” I decline that suggestion.

I walk over to Duomo to run some errands and want to strangle all the people walking slow in front of me. I am in a bad mood. This project is making me very violent, and I have begun to swear in Italian in my head. It doesn't help that my closest friend Alessia swears all the time in both English and Italian. During project 3 I nicknamed her "Cusser." She didn't know what it meant before, but now she is proud of it.

Pete moved out today due to space complications that were occurring over a month ago. Pete has become my good friend, and I sorely miss him already. Sylvana is gone a lot so he’s the one with whom I talk. Plus, he downloads episodes of the Office.

THURSDAY
Fashion students attend an all-day trend seminar that is part of the Salone Di Mobile. I am sitting there trying not to be nervous about the project that is waiting for me at home.

I fall in love with Sam Buxton, a guest speaker at the event. Reason 1: English accent, Reason 2: when describing the design for which he is the most famous, he uses two of my favorite words “miniature” and “theater”.

FRIDAY
I work on the project all day but feel as if I get no where. The wind has been taken out of my sails. And as I talk to my fellow classmates, they feel the same way.

Danielle, a British classmate, turns 22 today. (Do I feel old? Yes, some days.) She has a party at her apartment. I think it’s foolishness to plan a party when the Salone is going on. The Salone turns into party central at night. I go to Danielle’s party out of obligation to a classmate, but the entire time I want to go to Zona Tortona where things are happening. My time is limited with this project, so I want to maximize my fun time.

Danielle is petite, blonde, and feisty. She is one of the most sought-after girls at Domus even though she has a boyfriend. Despite this fact, there are only 3 boys at the party. Boy 1 is gay,
Boy 2 is that guy from class who’s always around,
Boy 3 (who showed up quite late) is the guy that all the girls in school are after. I see the competitive claws come out when this guy walks in the door, and I immediately avoid the situation altogether.

The one saving grace about this party is the music. Lauren, who has good musical taste, is running the ipod, and I just lose myself in the dancing. Most of my classmates have never seen me dance so I immediately become a spectacle. At one point I am dancing and everyone else is standing around clapping. The guy from class who’s always there says, “When you dance, it’s the purest part of you.” He is very spiritual about it. Alessia says, “From now on when you say, ‘I just want to dance,’ I will know what you mean.” (I give credit to Paulyn’s and Dance-in-the-living-room studios for making this possible.)

SATURDAY
I work on the project all day. At 6 I go over to Zona Tortona to see some of the exhibitions. I can’t believe we are missing this. There are some amazing things to see.

SUNDAY
Work, work, work. There’s another revision tomorrow, and I’m just hoping Raphael doesn’t tear me apart. I may not have enough time to finish the project the way it is. (Which begs the question: why are you writing a blog, then?) Please pray for me, friends.

I can't take credit.

2007-04-16T13:31:00.000-07:00

I can't take credit for this. I found it on Flickr under the title "Warm Bacon Machine." Classic.

Dead to me.

2007-04-13T14:33:00.000-07:00

I have a new saying:
Italian women want Italian men; Italian men want every woman they can get.

I saw the babies in my classmate Sylvia’s eyes when she said she wants to marry an Italian man. She's Italian, and I’ve come to find out that most Italian women want to be with an Italian. I guess there is something about the attitude and machoism of Italian men.

However…

Italian men cheat on their women. It’s almost a given, as if the boys are raised to cheat. They even have a hand signal they use amongst their friends, a gesture of disrespect. They use it to subtly say, “I’m disrespecting my wife.” The use of it gains them more respect among other males.

I hate to stereotype, but the more I see of this country and its people, the more I believe this one to be true. I have 2 prime examples amongst my own friends.
Two of my Italian girlfriends from school have boyfriends that they know are involved with other women. Girl 1. walked into her relationship knowing, in fact she was more of the mistress. The man was engaged and living with his fiancé. Girl 1. said her boyfriend was unhappy in his other relationship and wanted out. Girl 1. and her boyfriend have been dating for two years, and although he claims the other relationship has ended, he still hasn’t moved out of the same house as the former girlfriend. The old girlfriend knows nothing about Girl 1. Keep in my mind that my friend is very beautiful, smart, and probably the most talented student in our class. But somehow she finds herself staying in this relationship. Everything in me wants to yell at her to get out. The second girl in the same situation is also very beautiful and talented. When people ask her where her boyfriend is on a weekend night, she openly claims he’s with his other girl. For some reason she sticks with him.

All this has led me to a general distrust of Italian men. But as I began to think of it, there are a lot of regions of the world where men are commonly have mistresses. These are also places where women are disrespected in general. I know cheating happens in the States, but it seems to be a private and shameful thing. It also seems to happen more on both sides. In Italy women are expected to be monogamous, and the men are applauded for having mistresses.

There's definitely a sickness here.

Breakin Free!

2007-04-12T14:32:00.000-07:00

Easter break came, and it was my first good opportunity to leave the Milan and explore ITALY. I began the time off with Pete and Roberto in Rome and met up with Maria when P & R went to Tuscany. Maria and walked our bums off in Rome (we don't need no public transport) and then went to Florence for 2 days.

Jumping Jacks at the Parthenon

Things I learned over Break:
1. I LOVE ROME.
I love it, I love it, and I want to go back. It’s packed with tourists, but for some reason I didn’t mind. The beauty around every corner made up for it. My favorite site was the Trevi Fountain. Legend has it that if you face away from the fountain and throw a coin in, you’ll return to Rome. If you throw two coins in, you’ll fall in love with an Italian. I regret that 2nd coin.
Below is one of my favorite pix of the trip. Please note the couple on the right. The entire time Maria and I were at the fountain they were facing away from the beauty and violently kissing eachother. It was painful. They left after the popperazzi began taking pictures. So if you want to see the other pix, just ask.

2. A TRATTORIA is an old style Italian café.
Roberto, a native Roman, took Pete and I to an out-of-the-way trattoria in Rome. Roberto said there was a good chance they’d never had foreign customers. We saw the nervous stares of the staff when the three of us walked in the door. Pete and I, with our light hair and light eyes, were obvious foreigners. After we were seated we overheard two waiters fighting over who would take our table.
“Do you speak English? “ “I don’t speak English.”
Roberto had to inform them that he is Italian and could translate.
The menu was verbal, and the waitress smoked as she listed the items.
The final dish was a plate of 5 meats: 1) chicken, 2) liver (looked like curly intestines), 3) heart and lungs (looked like liver), 4) cowtail (a specialty of Rome), and 5) a cow gland (that I thought was cabbage, then thought it was some form of seafood, then found out the sick truth AFTER I tried it). With a little coaxing I tried them all. The liver was the last one because I don’t trust meat that looks like a slippery curly fry. I was just happy I had filled up on Spaghetti Carbonera during the course prior.

3. ROME has NO SEMBLANCE of ORDER to its streets.
I thought Milan’s concentric circles were a bad way of organizing. Roberto said he never uses a map in Milan because it’s so easy for him. I asked him if he always knows his directions in Rome. “No, not always,” was his answer, and he lived there for 25 years. By the end of 4 days in Rome I felt like I knew it better than I know Milan.
Petate and Roberto enjoying gelato:

4. MARIA MEOWS a lot.
Just about everything is an excuse to meow: a cute baby, a poodle, a pair of shoes in the shop window. I remember when I used to have this problem…Meowing as a response to things. I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped. Maria is at the height of her meowing phase, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her to can it. But other people weren’t afraid to give her laser stares to show their disapproval.
Here's Maria:

5. ROLLERBLADING is HOT again.
Maria and I ran onto a crazy rollerblading show in a park. Maria fell in love with long-haired blader with the grace of an eel skating around mini-cones. I preferred Grandpa Splits:

2 Recommendations

2007-04-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

If you don't listen to "This American Life", you're missing out. I have found the website (http://www.thisamericanlife.com) to be a vital connection to home and a great companion during my late-night Illustrator marathons. From the website one can stream or download episodes way back into the archives. I recommend the episode entitled "Kid's Logic." The recent one on TV is also excellent especially because it features my favorite band MATES OF STATE! I almost cried during this episode, but I think I was just lost in nostalgia connected with the endless hours of TV I watched as a kid.

Also, if you haven't checked out David Potter's music in awhile, or have never heard of David Potter, please go to http://www.myspace.com/davidpotter to hear some. (Potter's a friend from Timberlake Ranch Camps/college.) He's also doing some more folky songs with his wife and her sister. To hear that go to http://myspace.com/the curiosities. I'm crazy about the song "Don't be Sour with Me."

call me alex

2007-04-04T11:14:00.000-07:00

You know the book "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day"?
(It's Ruthie's favorite.)
Today I was Alexander.
Sometimes it's the little things that get ya.

For my Pops

2007-03-21T15:08:00.000-07:00

Little things that make me laugh

2007-03-21T13:47:00.000-07:00

CANDY:
Brand name on washing machine in my apartment
LANDGUT:
Brand name of a bread company specializing in heartier breads
FRAGOLA:
Italian word for strawberry

Does this mean there was a baby floating in this water?

Swissfully Clean

2007-03-16T15:34:00.000-07:00

I had Starbuck's last Sunday. I don't know why I feel the need to "confess" everytime I partake in a product from a big American chain. I was in Switzerland at the train station, and Leslie, SwissChris, and I sat down for a drink before I jumped on the train back to Milan. It was my first time in a Starbuck's since leaving America. There are none in Milan, but the only reason I would ever go there over an Italian joint would be if I was feeling homesick and just needed the feeling of a warm disposable cup in my hands. (Also, there's the conversation I'm having with my Italian friends about how there's no place to meet to have a meeting. There are coffee places everywhere, but a place where you can sit down for an extended period with a cup of coffee and a book doesn't exist. Tragic.)

I ordered a Hazelnut hot chocolate. In the land of Swiss Miss there are 4 kinds of hot chocolate on the menu. I guess I shouldn't be surprised...give the people what they want. The hot chocolate was rich and gave me a bellyache and a headache for the majority of the train ride, so much so that I couldn't read "The World is Flat" a book on globalization. Coincidence?

Instead I watched the scenery go by---lush green grass covered with patches of crisp white snow---the sky sunny and blue, the Alps in the distance. Along the rail there are walking trails. I saw Swiss people with winter coats and red noses pushing baby strollers and riding bikes, out enjoying the sunshine. I was jealous.

If I had to pick one word to describe Switzerland, I'd choose "Clean." From the air to the buildings---even the bathroom on the Swiss train was cleaner than any bathroom I've encountered in Milan.

I appreciate the Swiss ideal for cleanliness in their homes and the outdoors. However, I think this idealism can come out in a negative way in many Swiss personalities. There's a tendency to care more about if the house is cleaned the right way than if a guest is taken care of. I kind of look at it as the Martha syndrome over a whole country.

I asked Chris who is planning to propose to Leslie very soon, if his mom likes Leslie. He said, "She likes her, but she doesn't think she's the right one for me because she doesn't clean the Swiss way." I couldn't believe that could be given as a legitimate reason to say she's "not the right one." And for some reason I don't believe this is just an extreme case.

Stopping.

2007-03-14T13:22:00.000-07:00

Monday night I was stopped in my tracks. I just arrived home from a lecture about Fashion and Ethics. The topic of fashion and ethics is broad, but this discussion mostly pertained to good work environments for laborers and sustainability in production processes. I'm a huge proponent of both, but lectures like this usually leave me sitting there thinking, "Why am I adding to planned obsolescence...the overconsumerism and waste of society?" Always.

I walked into my room and was still on my kick about consumerism when my parents called. They began, "Tana and Monae already bought flowers and put your name on it. Randy and Danyelle bought flowers..." I sat there in the seconds between that and the real news...waiting for what would come next...I knew that something happened...death, but I was waiting...
"Sue's oldest son shot himself on Friday."
This was not what I expected. I expected to hear of an elderly person passing away.
I couldn't breathe.

I babysat for Matt and his younger brother Josh when I was in junior high. He was only 17 years old, a junior in high school. He was supposed to be measured for his prom tux at my mom's shop that afternoon. No one knows why he did it, and there were no signs leading up to it.

I told my parents I had to get off the phone. There was no making small talk after such an announcement. I had to process. I had to cry.

The next day I kept picturing his big brown eyes. Memories of picking berries from the mulberry bush outside our house, taking them to the swimming pool in summer, and pouring him glasses of 100% Juicy Juice.

I saw him this summer at Tana's reception. It was the first time I'd seen him since he was in early grade school. He seemed shy, more so than when he was a child. He stayed close to his dad and brother while I was talking to Danyelle and his mom. Sue and Danyelle graduated from high school the same year.

As I thought about that day this summer I wondered if I could have said anything to him...wishing I could go back. Then I thought of all the people who must be thinking that same thought, his teachers, friends, and family.

Death always makes us stop in our tracks and question life. Suicide is the worst of all. We can't write it off as "his time to go."
Why? Didn't he know there's so much beyond high school?
Life is not empty.
I don't know what to do with any of this.
I'm praying for healing and strengthening of his family and asking that somehow the Lord be glorified here. Somehow.

School of Skulls

2007-03-14T12:29:00.000-07:00

Today I received the following compliment: "You have a very nicely- shaped head." This is the 2nd time I have received this compliment, the other time being about a month ago when my friends Sybille, Maria, and I were talking at a bar. Sybille complimented me on my skull. She had been drinking so I thought maybe it came out wrong, so I turned to Maria tell her it was the oddest compliment I had ever received. Instead Maria agreed with Sybille that having a nicely-shaped skull is very important. At this point I felt like an ancient measure of beauty had been kept secret from me. Maria went on to say that if you look at Hollywood actors, they all have nicely-shaped heads. You won't find a flat-headed person in the bunch. So thank you, Mom and Dad, for this nicely-shaped skull.

Another note: Maria is the queen of quirky compliments. She has also told me that I have "very organized toes." She loves birthmarks...she finds beauty in the most unconventional places. I appreciate this.

ARTificial

2007-03-06T14:19:00.000-08:00

For "Trishawna the runner" Milan is a horrible place. There are no parks or green spaces to speak of, when I run I have to stare at the concrete instead of ahead to avoid the dog crapola, and the pollution is so bad that I see many of the occasional cyclists wearing masks (making me wonder about about the safety of my own lungs). All this cumulates to make me miss my Portland a lot, especially considering I had the most amazing running trails out my backdoor and gorgeous day hikes less than 20 minutes outside the city.
The other day I found my favorite spot in Milan. It's this bridge that's painted the most brilliant shade of green. As I crossed I stopped and took in the moment. Milan, you may not have any green grass, but atleast you have this. I'll take what I can get. (This weekend I'm going to Switzerland!)

Decaffeinated...sorta

2007-03-06T11:27:00.000-08:00

I've been asked by a reader, let's call him "Jared", to share more about my experiences here. From what I gather he is asking me for a little more depth in my entries. Well, there are 3 parts to my life here: 1) school, 2) cultural experiences & travel, and 3) my inner life. I have shared about the first two. Here's a story from the 3rd.

The other day the French press broke. I had finished making a pot of coffee, poured a cup in my cutesie mug (see photo left), and set the press back down. Two seconds later two pieces of glass came shooting through the air.

One is supposed to heat the container with warm water before pouring the boiling water in, but I didn’t do it that day. I haven’t done it a few times, and nothing has happened. It was odd, though, it burst about 5 minutes after I poured the water in and even after I poured a cup of coffee.

As I stood there at the kitchen counter in shock, I remembered that Lent has begun. I wondered about the Lord…coffee is in my top three worldly obsessions (following closely after boys and clothes). I was praying prior to lent about what the Lord wanted me to sacrifice this year. Coffee has been the thing that I've been convicted to give up the last two years, but I have never done it fully.

I never considered giving up anything for lent until I moved to Oregon. I had always viewed it as a Catholic ritual, one that I rarely saw come from the heart. I recall friends giving up chocolate or pop and not even knowing why they were doing it, or worse yet, as a 40-day diet plan sponsored and monitored by the church.

In Oregon I was surrounded by Christians who were sacrificing for Lent for the right reasons, and the idea began to make sense for me. I was convicted to give up coffee the first year, but I fought it. I shrugged off the conviction for the comfort of a morning ritual. Pretty sad, actually, that I wouldn't sacrifice that little thing for the Lord.

So with a burst of the French Press, this Lenten season has begun. I'm not claiming that God broke my coffee maker as a reminder. But I did ask Him what to give up and then forgotten to note the beginning of Lent. So I decided resolutely to give it up this year.

I suppose I'll wait until after Easter to buy another French Press. For now I'm on Earl Grey. There's beauty in the sacrifice, a direct correlation with the Sacrifice of Jesus, that's a reminder for me every morning as I pour a cup of tea instead of coffee.

me in my room

2007-02-24T12:33:00.000-08:00

a couple results from a recent self portrait project.

I found them

2007-02-24T12:23:00.000-08:00

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.

Introducing...

2007-02-24T10:36:00.000-08:00

TQ and her roommates Sylvana and Pete on the first day of school.

Writing on the Wall

2007-02-23T14:19:00.000-08:00

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.

Very Special Music

2007-02-15T12:59:00.003-08:00

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.

Ham (and other Meat Products)

2007-02-06T14:42:00.000-08:00

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.

Verde

2007-02-06T14:07:00.000-08:00

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.

QuirkItaly

2007-02-02T07:07:00.000-08:00

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.)

Globs, Globes, & Globalization

2007-02-02T06:58:00.000-08:00

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).

LIFELINE - a Haiku

2007-01-30T09:42:00.000-08:00

A Haiku From “Things I miss Already”

Always by my side…
Your endless nights and weekends…
Cell phone, I miss you.

I have a cell phone, but I have to pay-per-call. That's painful...knowing that every second I'm talking on the phone I'm draining my prepaid account. Plus, when it runs out of minutes, I'm screwed until I can get to the store to recharge. As much as I hated the $39.95 verizon monthly bill (or usually $63 since I barely ever stayed within my minutes), I hate this pre-pay thing even worse. So much for chatting for hours about nothing in particular.

Turkish Translation

2007-01-29T09:55:00.000-08:00

“Where are my muffins?" said my Turkish friend Ipek as she looked in her purse for her ear muffs.
Loved it.

The World in a 1-bedroom Flat.

2007-01-29T09:05:00.000-08:00

Last Friday during the day we had our revision for the group project we’re working on. (A revision is a progress check and review before the final projects are due.) Ellen, a Korean girl, invited the 5 girls in the group over to her house for dinner afterward. I had only slept 3 hours the night before, and my roommates were having a party at our house later in the evening so I really wanted to go home and get a few hours sleep before our party. Instead I went with the girls to Ellen’s.

When I got there I was glad I hadn’t skipped out. I could tell from my first moments inside her apartment that Ellen had carefully planned for us, with wine and glasses already on the table. We found out later that she had stayed up until 3 am cooking the night before.

We ate a mixture of Italian and Korean food while the Italian version of Mariah Carey's "Hero" played in the background. One thing that amazed me was how much pop culture we all share. We talked for awhile about music, and everyone was in the know. I was the most out-of-the-loop because Americans don't usually hear all the world artists. (By the way, have any of you out there heard of Faithless? My British friend was amazed that I had never heard of them before I arrived here. My introduction to them was a 3-hour video marathon on Italian TV the first week I was here.)

When working in our group, most things happen in English, but for this party there was an additional person who speaks only Korean and Italian. So she would speak in Italian and the Turkish girl or the Taiwanese girl would translate it to English. Or sometimes I would interpret as much as I could myself. We talked, we laughed…our group finally had fun together. Overall there’s been a tension amongst us, and that night it was finally gone.

The dinner, for me, was a knitting together of our lives and our hearts. (yes, cheesy but it was very meaningful for me.) There were 6 women in the room, all from different countries except the 2 from Korea. The conversation went from English to Italian to Korean and back again. Even with all the translation back and forth, we all understood one another. The topics were the things of life and he heart, and I left feeling closer to the girl who spoke the least English than anyone else in the room.

My favorite moment of the evening:
Ellen bought 3 kinds of beer Beck’s, Heineken, and Budweiser. I took a Beck’s, and I said something how I wouldn’t drink the Budweiser. LuLu, who’s Taiwanese asked about the Budweiser, I told her it was American, and she wanted to try it. I can’t explain how much it made me laugh when I saw LuLu, this really fashion forward Taiwanese girl drinking a can of Budweiser, a beer that reminds me of family Midwestern get-togethers. It was an odd cultural moment.

finally.

2007-01-26T05:26:00.000-08:00

After two full weeks in a hotel room, I have a room of my own.
On Monday night we finally moved our suitcases across town to our home on Via Ponti.
My roommates and I smiled and squealed when our landlord shut the door behind him.
The keys were finally in our hands.
A 3-bedroom on the 3rd floor (or 2nd if you’re a Euro)
My space is perfect---
a big window with a marigold curtain
& a dresser large enough for my year’s wardrobe.
I don't mind that I don’t have a quilt for my bed yet-
I’ll sleep with just a sheet and my bath towel for this week.

Those Brits

2007-01-24T10:12:00.000-08:00

Brit saying of the day: “I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby donkey.” -Mel C.

There are four English girls in my class, all with very distinct Liverpool accents. I’ve always gotten a kick out the slang and quirky sayings that haven’t made it across the sea.
However, I never predicted that my American accent and tendencies would be such an amusement to them. “You’re so American…it’s ‘Totally’ this and ‘Totally’ that.” English Lauren laughed out loud at the way I said Official.
I guess it's not the official way.

The other day British Mel was quizzing me on Prom. I guess they don't have anything like it in Britain. "Do you really dress up in fancy dresses and go in a limousine? And is it a big deal who you take..do you have to go with a date?" Loads of questions flowed from her mouth, probably spurred from episodes of the O.C. and other silly teenage shows that we export. I had a feeling that she wished she could go to prom too.

Clean Streets - a Haiku

2007-01-21T04:47:00.000-08:00

For some reason I have been thinking in haiku. Today's entry is from my Haiku collection "Things I Miss Already."

CLEAN STREETS
Poo is everywhere.
Old cement smells of urine.
Watch your step, TQ.

The streets here are filthy. Dogs and animals alike relieve themselves where they like and don’t bother to “pick up” after themselves. Instead of looking up at the buildings and the sites around me, I find myself looking down to avoid the feces piles and those random puddles that seem to have appeared on the otherwise dry streets.

The other day I was walking in front of the school, and there was an empty Chicken McNuggets box beside a pile of dog feces. The pile was just the right size to fit in the box. The placement was so perfect that it almost looked like some artistic, political mind had put them there as a statement against America. We'll never know.

Hoping for Brilliance

2007-01-18T07:53:00.000-08:00

"I want you to be my love" by Over the Rhine playing in my earbuds.
Old favorite calms me after a rough day.
I'm listening on repeat as I type.

Friday our first projects were assigned. Group projects...groups of 7. The only thing good about groups of 7 is that 7 is a good digit in and of itself. Also a part of the group dynamics equation is cultural diversity:
2 Koreans
+1 Chinese
+1 Turk
+1 Brit
+2 Americans
(x 2 who prefer Italian to English)
= my group
Something is lost in translation everyday...including important things like when the next group meeting will take place.
The project itself asks us to take from each of our own cultural experiences and create a collection that represents us as a group. Depending on how we execute, our end result will be desperately confused or hightly brilliant.

Taking a Breath

2007-01-15T13:42:00.000-08:00

This morning I walked to school for the first time without my two roommates. My walk took me by places I have only seen from the trolley. The endless pizzerias, the newspaper stands, the caffeterias (coffee houses)…

It’s important for me to venture on my own. If someone else knows the way, I just follow and neglect to pay attention to street signs or which way we last turned. For a whole week my roommates and I have been sharing a 3 bed hotel room, and consequently I have spent little time alone or doing things independently.

Today I liked the city. It’s not that I haven’t liked Milan, I just haven’t let myself evaluate it yet. I’ve been in survival mode…"fly to Milan, meet roommates, start school, meet new friends, try to speak Italian for the simplest of things, go, go, go"…I haven’t had time to just be...to smell the Milanese roses.

This week is men’s fashion week in Milan. Each fashion student has received 1 or 2 invitations to different runway shows. At noon our interpreter announced she had invitations for some to the Roberto Cavalli show, but those who received them had to leave right because the show started at 1:30. My name was the first to be called. I don’t know why, but it made me feel special, like I was the first picked for kickball at recess.

But why did I leave my camera at home today?
And why did I wear this outfit?

We had to figure out the show’s location and race across town to make it in time. We were late, but luckily we’re in Italy, where "on time" doesn’t mean anything.

Free champagne at the door.
Everyone dressed in black.
Me in my sneakers and puppy dog sweatshirt.

The male models, average age 18, were gawky and walked with odd form. The only thing I could think was their pants were too tight and were preventing them from taking normal strides. The young men looked unnatural in the luxe fabrics like silk, cashmere, and fur in which they were clothed. The show wasn't as polished as I expected.

It lasted all of 15 minutes.
A short first Milan runway show experience.

Still, my favorite part of my day was my half hour walk to school.

Put a stamp in my passport, I’m FOREIGN

2007-01-12T15:27:00.000-08:00

I became a foreigner the moment I arrived at gate B20 at New York’s JFK. It hadn’t occurred to me when I bought the ticket to Zurich via Warsaw that the only people who take Polish Lot airlines are Polish.

The flight attendant came over the speaker in Polish asking a specific passenger to come up to the desk for an important message. There happens to be a Polish word that sounds a lot like my name…“Rashana” or something to that affect. The announcement was repeated several times over the next 20 minutes and I kept thinking, “Are they saying my name? Am I the idiot who isn’t going up there?” Each time heard it my neck would tense up for 10 seconds, and then I would let it go. No wonder I need a massage.
(Just a note: the first day of school a Turkish girl asked me if my name was Romanian or Polish.)

My last few minutes in the United States were spent admiring the lights of New York out the plane window with the Polish man sitting next to me, who offered me a mentos before take-off. My Polish seatmate was an elderly gentleman who spoke little English but whose genuineness crossed language barriers. He seemed to look after me throughout the 8.5 hour flight. He insisted that I use his pillow in addition to my own and gave me the front page of his newspaper to wipe up the grape juice I spilled when there were no napkins in sight. He woke me up when the drink cart came and even translated “beef or chicken” so I wouldn’t choose the wrong dinner. He was the one who made my flight pleasant in the middle of a foreign world.

(Ever noticed how the person you sit by can make or break your flight? There are times when all you want to do is sit in silence, but the person next to you insists on hearing your life story. Then there’s the person who doesn’t realize that the arm rests are a neutral area, and one’s arm should never be placed far enough that it touches the other person. My personal favorite was my seatmate on a flight from London to Chicago that drank Jack & Cokes starting at 8am and every half hour afterward until he began to wreak of alcohol and fell into a deep, snore-producing sleep.)

"my very own miracle" timeline

2007-01-12T14:54:00.000-08:00

December 19: left Portland on a roadtrip back to Nebraska with hopes to turn in my visa papers in Denver on the 21st.
To get a visa for Italy one needs to hand in the paperwork in person to the consulate in his or her respective area. Since I wanted to use my permanent address and my driver’s license, needed for proof of residency, was still issued in Nebraska, I needed to visit either the consulate in Denver, St. Louis, or Chicago.

December 20: called the Italian Consulate of Denver to check hours and found out some interesting news.
~The Italian Consulate of Denver is run by one woman who runs it out of her home. She sees people by appointment only from 1-3 weekdays, and she informed me that she was booked through Christmas. Who has ever heard of a consulate run out of someone’s home? This was the day I became concerned. This was also the day I started praying.

December 20 & 21: stuck in “the blizzard of 2006” in Wyoming and Northern Colorado.

December 22: called the Denver Consulate 7 or so times to see if I could sneak an appointment in. No dice.
~Since it was only the week before Christmas at that point and I wouldn’t arrive back in Nebraska until the weekend of Christmas, my next opportunity to visit a consulate would be on December 27th, when the offices resumed business. Visa paperwork, once it is handed in, take 4-20 days to process. I was scheduled to fly to NY on January 5.

December 23-26: cried, stressed, prayed, and repeat.
~Can I get a Christmas please?

December 27: flew to Chicago with Mom
~We flew in the morning and took a taxi straight to the consulate. Our goal was to hand the paperwork in and spend some time shopping on Michigan Avenue, knowing that it was all out of our hands. However, we left there with paperwork still in our hands because the consulate asked us for more information, information that was not included in the original list. The man at the consulate had initialed everything so that we could send it in the mail, but I couldn’t take the idea of losing another 2 days.

December 28: Sent the paperwork in the mail, knowing it wouldn’t arrive for another 2 days, the arrival day being a Saturday.
~The consulate is only open Monday through Friday. Considering the New Year holiday, the soonest they would look at it would have been January 2nd, that’s only if the consulate chose not to close for the Gerald Ford Holiday.

January 4: Tried to get word from the consulate to know for when I should re-schedule my flights. No word was received, so I decided to try again the next day.
~I had resigned myself to the fact that I would not fly out as scheduled and would probably be late for school, which started on the 10th. I tried to forget about it and celebrate my birthday by going to Omaha to see my sisters and friends.

January 5: Woke up to my sister saying mom and dad were on the phone. An express mail package has arrived, and they thought it must be my visa.
~There is no reason I should have received my visa on the 5th of January. It was so improbable that I hadn’t packed my bags. I needed to drive 2 hours home, pack for a year in Italy, and drive 2 hours back to Omaha by 7pm. I made it on the plane with two (over)packed bags. My flight was even delayed 20 minutes so I could spend a half hour talking and making toasts with my family before take-off. It was all an absolute miracle.