teeks returns from italy.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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!

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

(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...

(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!