We're Best Friends.

My sweet niece Olivia turns three today. We celebrated her all weekend, but that still doesn't seem to be quite enough. Three days with her is certainly not enough and she makes it so hard to leave her when it's time for me to go bye-bye on the train.

Our parting words: "Be safe T-T. Tell Thomas to stay on his tracks."
 
Yes, as in Thomas the train.

This past weekend, I would wake up hearing her tiny footsteps run across the floor above and then make their way down the stairs to the room I was staying in below. She's not a knocker, but her tell-tale twists of attempting to get the door open, suffice just fine. Then her sleepy-eyed, jammed up self appears and climbs up to the bed and asks if T-T's awake yet. I wasn't, but of course I am now because how can a moment be wasted sleeping when I could be spending it with her?

I notice these moments more now that I have two homes and our quality time is face time. That time is never enough. And now that she is a big sis? My heart cannot even handle.

This weekend she called me her best friend. The feeling is mutual, my love.

Olivia Grace, you have taught me new ways to love a human being. Watching you grow has been the most incredible experience of my lifetime and I hope you know how wrapped and surrounded in love you are.

-T-T

The Social Scientist: Looking at Nonverbals, The Media & Trayvon Martin

For anyone that has ever studied Nonverbal Communication, you know that it is theorized within the social scientist community that Nonverbals make up 75%-93% of the meaning we derive from any message exchange with another person. To clarify, when I use the term Nonverbal, I am referring to anything that is not verbal (words) communication. This is from the tone, volume, pitch and inflection of your voice, to your eye behavior, to the clothes you wear, your facial expressions and the way you look. Think about the "look" your mom would give you and you knew you were in trouble. She didn't have to say anything, but you just turned around and went to complete whatever task you knew you were supposed to.

That's the power of Nonverbals.

So it shouldn't come to much of a surprise that this number we attribute to the importance of Nonverbals is so large; we have one mouth but TEN Nonverbal channels for people to create meaning from.

It is also fact that (if we are blessed with the gift of sight) the first thing we notice about another person is their appearance. And what are the two things we first notice? Race and Sex.

I know. People think that they are transcending the times when they say, "I don't notice your race at all!" I hate it when people say this to me because it's simply not true and that is offensive. That means you are blatantly ignoring something I am covered in and that this has nothing to do with my identity and who I am. I love my skin and I don't want it to be ignored. I also don't want it to be the reason that I appear to be threatening. Our appearances can also work against us and whether they want to talk about it in a courtroom, this is the what happened to Trayvon Martin.

ANYONE that says, "race did not play a role in Zimmerman murdering Trayvon," has been separated from this society we live in. Maybe you live in a community where you only interact with people that are the same color, wear the same clothes, act like you and you don't watch any television, read any newspapers, or books. So given that, maybe you are Amish and therefore, you have been severed from the greater world and a nonparticipant in the forming of stereotypes of other people.

But let's assume for the next few paragraphs that you do watch movies, the news, or television. You will see that the media creates and reinforces certain perceptions of people based on their race, hair color, religious affiliation, etc. When we are shown a minority group in the same role over-and-over-and-over in the media but have no real interaction with that group, a stereotype is being created and reinforced. So when we happen to actually run into a person that fits that group, guess what our perception of that person will be if that's all we "know?"

For example, the media shows Mormons as being fundamentalists and having multiple wives in the two popular shows that portray Mormons; "Sister Wives" and "Big Love." One of these is also a "reality show" so of course that's how all Mormons live, right?

Let's look at Black men. Most Black men are shown in a criminal or law breaking role, speaking in ebonics, and they're only made successful by athletic ability or for their musical talent (thanks, BET). When we do see them in a role as something else, we usually count it as the exception to our stereotypical rule of thumb.

On the other hand, when we are confronted with a race that is shown in a variety of roles, it is much more difficult, if impossible, to stereotype them. How would you stereotype a White man? Take a minute and really explore what you could say about ALL White men that you see reiterated in the shows you watch, books you read, news you hear and movies you go to. This task was probably a bit more difficult if impossible for you to do. That's because our media is littered with representations of the White male. You can turn to AMC and see him as a maker of methamphetamine, then to NBC and see him sitting at the nightly news desk, then back to AMC and see him as the guy-in-charge at an ad agency, then to Showtime as a serial killer, wait an hour, and see him on the same network as a secret agent, and then to MTV to show him as a party guy/jock. So when I watch Jon Stewart, I don't think of him as a cook of methamphetamine, but a hilarious and credible fake news guy that I consider to be my TV husband. Do I want Walter White to be my TV husband? Well, maybe in his (Bryan Cranston) role on 'Malcolm in the Middle.' [See??]

I wouldn't call myself an expert per se on Nonverbals or Stereotypes, but I would credit myself as an expert in progress. I study this stuff, I teach this stuff and I am constantly thinking about this stuff as I apply it to everything I consume and draw these connections. I surely thought about it before the tragic day where a grown man saw a Black Kid in a hoodie and decided that was reason enough to follow him, despite the fact that there was no weapon in hand, unless you feared a Skittles attack. Tell me: Why else would Zimmerman consider Trayvon a threat if it weren't for his sex and skin color? I bet if I had been walking down the street dressed the same, I wouldn't have warranted the same suspicion. I'm black, but I'm also a female. Due to Black female stereotypes, I'm allowed to be loud and obnoxious, but I'm only a threat if you are trying to 'get with my man.'

Unfortunately, if I ever have a son, he will be considered black no matter what half his other is. Look at President Obama. And unfortunately, as long as the media shows that a Black man is to be feared, my child could be perceived in this same way. So this isn't a distant story I can ignore because it happened in Florida (although it's safe to say, I will never live in Florida), because this could just as easily be my story.

Nonverbals are powerful. And what we see on a daily basis creates our long withstanding perceptions of how we view the world. "We see things not as they are, but how WE are." Zimmerman didn't see Trayvon for what he was on that evening; a kid getting a snack from the store. He saw him as a scary black man.

I want to end on an exercise that I recently referenced in my last blog that I was challenged to do at a conference back in April:

Dr. Eddie Moore Jr. began the session with having us all close our eyes and then told us there is a door. The door opens. Dr. Moore then told us to picture a nigger walking through the door.

What did you see?

Black. Man. Saggy pants. Gangsta. Weapon. Fear. Danger. Chains. These were some of the things our collective group of 80 or so [Black, White, Asian, Hispanic, Native) people came up with.

Perhaps my favorite part of the session came at this point. Dr. Moore said "How many of you in here consider yourself a George Zimmerman?" People looked at their descriptors and maybe down with shame as George Zimmerman might be in all of us. "He made a quick point of judgement and stereotyped this young man. We were all so quick to tweet about Trayvon and order and wear, 'I am Trayvon Martin" sweatshirts,' without looking to see what part of us were also George Zimmerman's."

Thoughts on Privilege: Why race STILL matters in the 21st Century.

Thanks to my wonderful employers, I had the pleasure of attending the 14th Annual White Privilege Conference that was held in Seattle this year. After three days of intense discussion about the disparities between race, sex and class, I am still digesting some of this information, but I want to share with you some of the take-aways from my workshops & speakers. But for those wondering, I should probably first define what White Privilege is and why we were there.

White Privilege: "...[T]he various ways society confers unearned social, economic and political advantages on those who are perceived to be part of the white group. This can range from social courtesies, to housing, employment, educational, and judicial decisions."

If you are white, please continue to read. This isn't a place to make you feel guilt for being born of a certain color but instead to realize that white privilege does exist and the goal of the workshop was to engage in this discussion but also offer solutions to help create a world of equity. I imagine it may be hard to digest, thinking of yourself as privileged based on one's skin tone, but it's more difficult for us that are on the receiving end of not having this innate privilege. Have you ever been followed around a store because someone suspects you'll steal? I have. When you're in said store, can you find the products that you need (hair care, food, make-up shades)? I have this struggle. Have you ever been called arguably the worst word in the human language because of the color of your skin? I have. Have you ever met a stunned person that has only conversed with you via telephone and when they meet you in the flesh their look conveys the shock of "she's b l a c k?!" I have. Because according to some, I'm an Oreo (Black on the outside, White on the inside). Or I'm "white-washed." I'm not sure which qualities make me white, but I'm interested to know. It certainly isn't my skin color.

I attended about 10 sessions, key notes included, but I just want to highlight the sessions I found most applicable in the education field as I am an educator. There were also things that related to my personal life and some things that have occurred and still are occurring.

1. Listening is Power.
The first workshop I attended was by Dr. John Igwebuike and this was a wonderful place to start the conference. For those that know me, I have a tendency to talk. I get paid for talking. He highlighted the importance and responsibility that we have to listen to one another. No, not planning what you are going to say next and gathering your language to encode that message while the other person is talking, but being fully present and listening.

We live in a society that rewards those of us who speak up and we frequently dismiss each other's ideas by way of interruption or insulating our listening (not listening to those things that we find uncomfortable or are not interested in). One of my fellow conference goers made the revelation that we aren't formally taught to use our ears. We are taught how to speak and how to use our language, but not to actively engage and listen. After all, what is our First Amendment right? Oh yeah.

It's only when we are protecting ourselves that we then mention silence: "You have the right to remain silent..." so that big mouth of yours you've been training won't get you into trouble.

Take away: "Let us acknowledge before we assert."-Dr. John Igwebuike

2. Racial Justice & Classism.
Every time we make a comment according to the following, we are judging someone by their class status:
White Trash. Trailer Trash. Ghetto. Rednecks. Elitist. Welfare mom.
We usually blame the victim for their class status and make overarching assumptions about the character of these people based on their class status: "They're poor because they're lazy."

I've heard this comment in the very recent past and it disgusts me.

Ask yourself, have you had a personal conversation with any of these people to check your perception? We need to give people the opportunity to open their mouths before we write an entire lifestyle for them and check them off as measuring up to our small-minded stereotype. Are people lazy? Sure. But let us not assume that all of any group abides to one lifestyle.

If this is how you are trained to think about all poor people, you my friend have been led astray and you are a part of the problem by victimizing them.

We can all agree that we came into this world involuntarily, right? None of us chose to be born-our parents made a choice. Are we all born in the same house? In the same neighborhoods? To the same family? No.

There is a very real difference between people having wealth in this country and people having income. Wealth is when your family possesses stocks, assets and these have had the opportunity to build overtime, leading to the ability of a family to pass money down to subsequent generations. Think to yourself: Who has had the opportunity to build wealth in this country?

Not Native Americans.
Not African-Americans.
Not Latinos.

One groups possessions were taken from them while others started out in this country as a part of a White mans' wealth; as their very property. And we are probably fully aware of the inequities that Latinos face currently.

When we discuss income we are looking at periodic payments to pay for our day-to-day living costs like your groceries, electricity, water, etc. You can certainly be rich in your lifetime, but accumulating wealth takes time. One of the examples Betsy Leondar-Wright uses for looking at the disparity is the GI Bill after WWII. Was it the White soldiers or the Black soldiers that took home money after they both fought for this same country? And who did that allow to save money for their kids' education?

On the note of education, Leondar-Wright also brought to light this shocking fact: There are more legacy students admitted to higher education institutions than there are...

a) Affirmative Action scholarships
b) Athletic Scholarships
c) Geographic Admissions

combined!!...Who has the privilege? Please, do not tell me that Affirmative Action is negative until you have looked at all those people who are simply let in because of who their great grandfather was.

Take away: Class does not equal race although sometimes, there are these very obvious connections between the conditions that some have experienced because of the way this social construct of race has perpetuated in our society.

3. N!gga/DJANGO.
This was probably the most challenging workshop I attended. Although Django was only mentioned in the title and very briefly in this room, the session still offered some very insightful techniques for us to realize our stereotypes as well as dealing with the N-word.

Dr. Eddie Moore Jr. began the session with having us all close our eyes and then told us there is a door. The door opens. Dr. Moore then told us to picture a nigger walking through the door.

What did you see?

Black. Man. Saggy pants. Gangsta. Slave. Weapon. Fear. Danger. Chains. These were some of the things our collective group of 80 or so people came up with.

Perhaps my favorite part of the session came at this point. Dr. Moore said "How many of you in here consider yourself a George Zimmerman?" People looked at their descriptors and maybe down with shame as George Zimmerman might be in all of us. He made a quick point of judgement and stereotyped this young man. We were all so quick to tweet about Trayvon and order and wear, "I am Trayvon Martin" sweatshirts," without looking to see what part of us were also George Zimmerman's.

[Deep breathe]

He later had us engage in a repeat after me exercise. "I am a nigger. You are a nigger. We are niggers." I had great difficulty with this as I can imagine some of you might no matter what color you are, so I responded to the room:

"This exercise was really hard for me, particularly saying 'I am a nigger.' Like some of the other people in this room, I've been called this and that is not who I am. Every time we repeated it and is repeated, the word stings more. Most words lose power when you repeat it, but this one doesn't take that same pattern."

Take-away: The ending of something doesn't make it all better. Ending slavery, ending Jim Crow Laws, shutting down internment camps, giving Natives land in the form of reservations, does not make it all better. It's a start, but everything doesn't get neatly swept away as if it were dust. Think of it more as flood damage that has caused pipes to burst, streets of garbage to be waded through and mold to grow in the very foundations of us.

Dr. Moore offered this metaphor: "If a parent cusses in front of their child from the time they're born for the next 20 years and on their 20th birthday decides they aren't going to cuss anymore, is this going to change what the child has heard?" This may be a positive decision, but does it erase the conditioning in that child's brain? Is that child going to magically forget how to cuss and not have that as a part of their vernacular? I can make the same metaphor to the abuse of drugs, smoking, drinking, but I think that example really vivifies a complex issue.

---
The uneducated think that our work for racial equity is done simply because we have a black (talk about the one drop rule-he is equal parts black and white) President in the White House. You are sadly mistaken. Here are some examples of blatant racism that no one can argue with, that were blasted across comment sections and message boards on our lovely internet, but there are also things said daily by people in power (Senate, House) to their boss, our commander in chief.

-----

"@Walken4GOP: "Why did Obama's great grandaddy cross the road? Because my great grandaddy tugged his neckchain in that direction."

@pukingvagina: "So the nigger is still living life in that big white apartment."

@KG39baseball: "The movie 2012 first New York floods and there is a nigger in office also. See a coinensadince."

Yes. A coinensadince.

@madhouse12345: "No NIGGER should lead this country. #Romney"

@madhouse12345: "Only thing black people are good at is basketball #run #shot #steal"

------

I'll continue this discussion in another blog later, but this should have us all thinking. And not just thinking about it today because you read this, but look how our lives are determined by privilege of race, sex and class; arguably the most visible things to another person. We should also be thinking of our place of privilege and if we have a job we can do. When someone is being bullied, do you stand there and turn away? When someone is being mistreated, do you turn a blind eye even though your contact prescription argues that you have 20/20 vision?

Ask yourself: "My silence allows . . ." 

At the end of the day, we are all human beings, folks. Let's not forget that. We can no longer wonder why our gun crimes are so high when we have all of the information as to why. We need to treat each other with respect, like they matter, like they have blood in their body and flesh just like you, and skin just like you...it just may be a different color.

We can do better.

Note: This conference had 2,000 attendees from all over the US and I believe 21 countries. We were made up of all different skin colors with a large portion being white.

Dos.

The debut of 'OZ' was this past weekend and I hear it's all about how James Franco became the wizard of OZ. Yesterday marked my two year anniversary of when I found myself in the Emerald City as well, although not in the capacity of a wizard [some may beg to disagree and I'm okay with that]. My route didn't entail a yellow brick road, but it did involve courage, heart, smarts and the realization that there really is no place like home.

Okay, enough with the Wizard of Oz metaphor.

Moving is difficult. Especially when most of the people you care about are within a 15 mile radius of you. How conveniently spoiled I was to be able to get to one side of town to the other in 30 minutes or less in Portland "traffic." Ahh, I do miss what is considered traffic in Portland. So why remove myself from the coziest of comfort zones? I didn't move for a job, for a relationship or any concrete reason that most people that move have, except that every single day I woke up and did the same thing, I wondered what else I could be doing if I were somewhere else. After four years of feeling that way, I did something about it because pretty soon, I knew I wouldn't. 

So I did. I realized my fears that I had before moving wouldn't disappear; I'd just have to do things that challenged me which I wasn't really put in the position to do before. Here I was in a city where I had just as many friends as I had fingers [maybe less at the time], so I had to make an effort to involve myself. Or to do things alone. Not always did I want to have solo dates, which have been commonplace for me, but sometimes there wasn't an option. If I wanted to go try a new restaurant and my contact list of 5 had been exhausted, I 'd go alone. And what I realized about this is the silliness of what some of our perceptions are of being alone in public. Some people deeply fear the notion of having a sit-down meal by themselves. A book can be some of the best company [much better than someone sitting across from you that is more involved in their relationship with their Facebook application than in considering the conversation that you're having with them]. "Awkward" has become one of the most overused words in the English language. Maybe that's because we fear any scenario that is the slightest bit uncomfortable that we chalk it up with the word awkward and avoid it like Bloomberg does 16 ounce sodas. But I believe growth can come from discomfort.

One of these times I found myself in an unfamiliar environment, was when I voluntarily took a ballet class with my non-ballerina bod at 26. I hadn't taken ballet since I was probably 6 or 7. At that age you haven't developed your soccer thighs or much of any body, so it's much easier to maneuver yourself.
I had decided this class would be an excellent idea as it was marketed as an introductory ballet class, but when I walked in on the first day to a 96 pound Asian girl with her right leg held straight up in the air as her left foot rested on the ground, I knew this was anything but. This is one of those classes that people use as a 'warm-up' before their super-advanced night class, I thought. Needless to say when class started, they all broke into the "routine" while I fumbled in my new slippers I had sewn the night before and tried not to trip on any lose thread or an unexpected strap from my poor sewing job. It was an awful first day, but I went back every week to continually make a fool/improve my ballet game. By the last class that fell on my 27th birthday, I knew that damn routine.

There were actual lousy times where I had legitimate reason to be angry, like when my first apartment flooded 6 months after I moved in and I reconsidered everything. Seattle obviously hated me so much it wouldn't only rain outside, it would defy the very definition of shelter and rain inside my apartment to kick me out. Well played, Seattle. But I have more game than you and the Sounders [Go Timbers! Go Sounders? I'm so confused on my alliances].

I found a little place where I was sold by the rooftop view of the city. This is where I probably should be. And it was done. I'd found a new home and I love my little corner of the world. I love that I can greet it in the morning or evening with a skyline view or take my run down to Gasworks Park or walk somewhere for dinner or happy hour. This was the city life I had wanted.

[Home]

There are no greater messages here; no hypodermic theory that applies for all. There's nothing extraordinary about this story as I know people who have moved much further from their homes either willingly or forcefully. However, I do know that life is too short to wake up everyday with something weighing on you and consistently asking yourself "if." If you are staying a part of something for comfort and comfort only, reconsider. There is great beauty in taking risks and believing that you are awesome enough to seek and succeed in doing something new. It's even greater if you have people on your side that encourage and support [and visit!] you through a transition.

There is no place like home. And in case you hadn't noticed, Seattle can't be spelled without
'T-E-E-L-A.'

Consider this.

Last week while I was teaching my evening class, my lecture was interrupted by the raised hand of one of my students. I say "interrupted" as her question was completely unrelated to the lecture material.

Student: "Um, I noticed on our syllabus it says we have class on Valentine's Day."
Me: "Uh-huh." So far, this wasn't a question.
Student: "Well, I have a reservation. So would I be marked as absent if I'm not here?"
Me: "Yes. The college does not recognize it as a real holiday." ::waiting for laughter to subside:: "But you do have Monday off for President's Day."

In the following days, the student would continue to talk about her reservation to no one and to everyone, as she wondered aloud.
The time: 7:30.
The time she had to arrive: 7:15.
The location: The Space Needle.
The reservation maker: Her live-in boyfriend. "He didn't know I'd have class when he made it!"

It was then that I realized that people don't hate Valentine's Day, they hate people like her that rub it in their face in the middle of their seemingly harmless public speaking class with an irrelevant comment about the fact that she is in a relationship, possibly reminding others around her, that they are not.

Done. Next world problem to solve? I got this Obama.

People like my student, the overwhelming card displays at Target with oversized chocolate hearts the size of throw pillows that one person really shouldn't eat solo (shut down throw pillow sized chocolate heart sales, shut down obesity), Kay jeweler commercials, and that annoying woman at the office that sits next to you and gets a dozen red roses delivered to her, these are the reasons people loathe the arrival of February 14th. Who knows if your co-worker pulled a Cher from 'Clueless' and had those roses delivered to herself? There's really no way of knowing, people. Unless you check the handwriting on the card and see if it matches her signed timesheet.

That's why people hate Valentine's Day because if you are single, it seems like everyone else is in a relationship.

Single people, listen up. Just because somebody's Facebook status declares their love for their fiancee and their Instagram captures the candlelit dinner they're having from the Space Needle, doesn't mean that their life is better than yours or that everything is one gigantic-chocolate-heart-eating-happy-time (seriously, shut it down). Things are not always as they appear. Two years ago if you walked into my apartment on February 14th, it would have been natural to assume the red roses on my kitchen countertop were from a boyfriend, when in fact, they were roses I took from atop Papa's casket when we said goodbye to him earlier that day.

Things are not always as they appear.

Boyfriend or not, I can't be mad at a day, but I can be irritated with people...which is really no different than if it's February 13th or March 31st. It's just another collection of numbers that visits for 24 hours and passes just as its fellow brethren did the day before and will in the days after. You choose how you spend those hours; hating or loving. Celebrate the people you love and let them know about the space they fill with joy in your heart whether it's your girlfriend, husband, son, niece, or friend.

Take joy in the fact that you have a beating heart to be able to hate a day so much. And if that doesn't work, it will be February 15th before you know it. And you know what that means...half-off all candy day. Proceed with caution.

sundance.

In 2010, I took my first journey to Park City with one of my best friends for our inaugural trip to the Sundance Film Festival. I had signed up with extremely low expectations in the early fall to hopefully be a volunteer, so I was in complete shock when I opened an email in my inbox that said I'd been chosen. It was one of the top ten moments of my life being at that festival and I had to do whatever I could to feel this way again.

So I did the very next year.

And then two years after that.

I just returned from Round 3. With each trip, my fascination with the festival climbs to a higher level and I feel like I get to experience it from a different perspective as my traveling companions change. The environment itself, Main Street being at the base of a ski lift, is like a postcard.

I feel like I've been photoshopped into this picturesque town that only exists in coffee table books. I would pinch myself to see if it was a dream if my hands weren't chilled from the very real 3 degree weather at 6AM.

This year, the highlights came in a few different forms:

Fruitvale.
This film is based on the infamous shooting of an African-American man that was shot by a Caucasian police officer, on New Year's Eve in Oakland, California. While it's a true story this isn't a documentary, but a fictionalized depiction based on true events, where we see Oscar Grant's last day he spent on this Earth. The writer and director of this film, Ryan Coogler, is only 26 years old [which makes me feel particularly useless as I sit on my couch not creating anything even close to the caliber of this film]. He decided that this story needed to be told because even though he had no personal connection with Grant, he knew Grant. They shared a zip code. And as we know, we can be quite touched by the stories that we filter through on the news even if we don't have a personal relationship with someone, we have the capacity to be touched and moved. Everyone in that theater at the Library on Park Avenue, was touched. At the closing of 'Fruitvale' the only audible sound that could be heard were the sobs of the audience.
I was thrilled to see they won the Audience Award, Best Dramatic Film, and that Harvey Weinstein will make it possible for everyone to see this movie in this next year.
Keep this film on your Oscar watch for 2014, no doubt.

Newlyweeds.
Although not on the same level as 'Fruitvale,' the experience I had at this screening was unlike any other. At Sundance, after each film, there is a Q&A where the writer, director, producer and any cast that has chosen to attend the festival, come to the front and the audience is able to pose questions. I would later be coined by the producer of the film, "the girl that asked 5 questions." I have no shame in this because when else can you talk to the people behind the story and the people that it is told through? After "the girl that asked 5 questions" was done publicly asking questions, I had a one-on-one conversation with the Director/Writer and found myself talking to the lead lady about the meaning behind her tattoos, followed by a group photo of us all. You probably wouldn't be familiar with any of the names of this cast as I wasn't either, but I'm pretty excited to watch their careers evolve.

The Sightings.
Okay, okay, not gonna lie. While it is wonderful to be a part of the beginning of these actor's careers, I also have obnoxious reactions to the ones that I watch weekly. So when I was eating lunch with two of the ladies and I saw Dexter walking down the sidewalk, I stopped mid conversation and ran out of the restaurant. I ran/skip/hopped across the street, with no regard to traffic or ice spots and tapped Mr. C Hall on the shoulder. I told him I loved 'Six Feet Under,' [still holds the prize of BEST season finale ever in my humble opinion] and of course am obsessed with 'Dexter.' Because who doesn't idolize a serial killer? His response: "I should've worn the shirt," to which of course he was referring to his "kill shirt." At that point, I obviously handed my new iPhone 5 to a complete stranger and directed her to take a picture of me and my favorite serial killer. When I returned to the restaurant, most of the people sitting near us were looking at me [apparently my rapid departure caused quite the stir]. An older couple who apparently don't subscribe to Showtime asked me, "who was that?"

Later that day, Allison and I went to visit our friends waiting in line/wait to see if we could spot Paul Rudd after his film was done screening. And we did.

When he came out, he was walking pretty quickly and the fans were swarming him a bit. When it appeared that he wouldn't be stopping, I had to at least do something to attract his attention my way. So naturally I yelled, 'Clueless is my favorite movie!' At an independent film festival. He chuckled/smiled [who knows if he heard me or if he was just smiling for our flashing cameras] and went straight to his car. The fans booed him and walked away, angry that he didn't stop. Allison and I stood there looking at the action shots we were able to get and were discussing our next move, when it happened.
Paul Rudd gets out of his car and walks up to Allison and I.
Paul: Sorry guys, I thought I had an interview. [Yes, talking directly to us and only us]
Allison: [Silence]
Me: Incase you didn't hear me before, 'Clueless' is my favorite movie.
Paul Rudd: Thank you, I appreciate that.
Allison: [continued silence]
Me: Can we take a picture?
At this point the haters caught wind that Paul Rudd had reappeared and begun to descend upon us, cutting my intimate conversation with him short.
Pictures were taken and a memory made. Allison regained her ability to speak after we were a safe distance away from Paul.

Also spotted: Octavia Spencer, Michael Cera, Leslie Bibb, Stifler's mom, the backside of James Franco, some kid that was in the new 'Footlose,' Matthew McConaughey [ughhhh] and Rob Corddry.

Polygamy Porter was drunk, delicious food was consumed [Shabu!], friends were made waiting in lines for movies, and another perfect time was had [less for some flight delays and luggage troubles].

So if you're looking for a fantastic way to spend the third weekend of January next year or a cure for those post-holiday blues, I highly suggest taking a little jaunt to Park City. Guaranteed, once you have that first dance in the sun, you'll want that song to play forever.

Who is going with me in 2014?

traveling strangers.

It should come as a shock to no one [even if you don't know me in the 3D experience] that I absolutely love to travel. This morning I am embarking on a journey for my 3rd time to the Sundance Film Festival which has turned into my favorite winter get-a-way. Film. Snow. Music. Cozy bars & lounges. Stories being told in the theater and in the freezing lines awaiting to become a part of a film story, while writing your own. it is all fantastic. If there ever was an element for me, this is it.

I not-so-happily got out of bed at 3:30am to make travel day happen, but my morning grumps were over by the time I found my seat in 9A. I usually refrain from talking to people on planes in fear of being poisoned by their halitosis or long monologues of their career and what number business trip this is for them this year. However, there had been some talk by the airport workers of a reroute to Redmond, OR if it was too foggy to land in Spokane. We had some laughs about how little sense that made and the pilot confirmed minutes later that those airport workers were silly and we would obviously just come back to Seattle.

Spurred by this, the short-haired brunette lady in 9B, began to talk about her annoyance with an entitled "little blonde lady with too much money who was yelling at a TSA agent" as she hated the process. And technology. Then apparently she pulled out her iPhone.

She made me laugh and she appeared to be an advocate for good dental hygiene and she didn't have a laptop lying across her lap, so I assumed we were safe.

For our short jaunt from Western to Eastern Washington, we talked about our home of Seattle, her ill-suited 25 year marriage and how that led her to living in a MIL unit with her lesbian friends that are marrying this summer, their twin sons, and her battle with cancer. "At least I got some awesome wigs out of it!" She is cancer free now and I think that's awesome.

As we parted ways she told me what I had been thinking the whole time. "You know, I usually avoid talking to people on planes and usually just read whatever is on this," she said as she held up her Kindle. I looked down at my lap where my book was waiting to do the very same thing. "I really enjoyed talking to you today and I hope you have an amazing trip to Sundance and whatever other adventures you find yourself on." I told her I hope she makes it to Carnival in Brazil next year with her girlfriends.

I walked through the Spokane terminal and browsed through some titles of books I had no intention of buying and instead invested in my hydration, with a water. My clerk, a 58ish year old man asked to see my ID in compliance with my written request on my debit card. "What a great picture. But it doesn't do justice to the woman standing in front of me." Let me revisit the time I woke up and how awesome an unexpected comment like that can make a person feel while traveling. I black-girl-blushed by the sweet grandpa comment and told him how kind he was to have said that.

I hope you find yourself in your element on a fun adventure in the near future. And I hope you find some strangers that aren't egomaniacs and attend to their dental health.

...it was the worst of times.

I don't think the world is ending in four days, but people are certainly acting like it.

A few days after a guy shot up a movie theater in Colorado this past July, my brother and I went to see that same film at Clackamas Town Center in Oregon. For someone that enjoys frequent solo dates to the movies, I underwent a certain amount of anxiety that evening. I treated everyone as a potential threat-monitoring the subtle moves of others in the theater. Why did they get up and leave? Are they going to refill their already extra large popcorn or are they coming back to spray the theater with bullets? Should we leave before that happens? I always feel safer with my big brother, so unless he moved, I felt we would probably be okay.

Five months later, no more than a few hundred feet from that theater in Clackamas Town Center, a guy did walk in with an automatic rifle and killed 2 people and himself. My big brother was again there, but not seeing 'The Dark Knight Rises' with his little sister. He was helping people evacuate a terrifying situation and I'm sure they too felt safer by having him there.

Two days after that a guy wakes up on the other side of the country and murders his mom then heads to an elementary school to spend the last moments of his life killing 6 adults and 20 children. In an elementary school.

Movie Theater.
Mall.
School.

I spend a significant amount of time in each of these places.

I have no control over these types of things happening. I can't confine myself to my apartment and wait months for movies to be released to Netflix, or do all of my holiday shopping via Amazon, or not go to work and make a living. I can't live in fear. I refuse to live in fear. And I actually like people; I smile at them as I pass, compliment them on something they are doing or wearing, or have a conversation with people within my proximity while waiting in lines or sitting at adjacent tables at the coffee shop.

The day after the Clackamas shooting, I was grocery shopping with my niece. She was pushing her mini-cart along asking her Aunt T-T what else we needed, when an older man stopped to chat.
"My wife says they tend to eat better when they are involved in the shopping."
At this point, Olivia was between the man and me. Before responding, I quickly made myself the in between [wo]man, shielding Olivia from this probably okay stranger. We chatted quickly and Olivia and I continued shopping. Nothing happened. Everything was fine. But the way I treated that stranger wasn't in the normal way that Teela once had; he was near my niece and I was going to protect her from his nonexistent threat.

We are currently in a hypersensitive state and have climbed up and firmly placed our feet on our Facebook soap boxes and once there, have written paragraph upon paragraph about gun control. On one feed their gun control discussion went from that to abolishing slavery; the analogies have been ridiculous and endless:
"Are we going to get rid of cars since there are drunk drivers?"
"Are we going to get rid of knives since people can kill with those?"

First, all of these items have a primary purpose. The former, to travel from destination A to B, sometimes to C. The misuse of the car would be when a drunk driver operates that vehicle. The latter would be that we use knives to slice strawberries and to cut carrots. When a knife is misused, it can kill someone. But that's not the primary purpose of my butcher knife; I'm making dinner.

When we look at guns, what is the primary purpose? To kill. Whether you are hunting in the woods or chasing a bad guy, you shoot to kill. Even if you are shooting for "fun" at a gun range...what is that target shaped as? A coffee cup? An iPhone? No it's a sketch of a human being and you are aiming for that human's head. Their heart. There is no other purpose of a gun, like there are for my knives and our cars. That is a fact.

We have this second amendment right to protect our property and family. The not-so-subtle subtext of protect would mean that there is a potential threat and that threat would be answered with your gun. The reason these analogies that people are reaching for fail, is because there aren't enough common like things between guns and cars and guns and knives. These commonalities must exist in order for an analogy to carry any power. That's how an analogy works.

[Don't worry. I am not going to discuss gun control, there's enough of that at your reading disposal]

The deeper issue we should not just be having a conversation about but doing something about, is treatment. How are we treating each other? How are we treating that child who shows signs of mental illness? Will we continue to only care when another tragedy transpires and discuss them as "off" or a "loner" instead of being proactive? Are we helping and giving adequate attention to them, or handing them a pharmaceutical drug as a way to curb their tendencies? Are we ostracizing them at school and in cyberspace? Parents, if you can't do it yourself, seek help. There is no shame in talking to a professional and asking for help. If that thought brings you shame, I'm confident that it is more manageable than the shame in the aftermath of a mass shooting. That is if you are not the first victim and live to remember the story.

One of the most powerful things I have heard from one of the grieving fathers that lost his sweet little Emilie was about whether he felt anger toward the man who took his daughter's life. He said, "From what we've learned he was someone that was struggling with something that was very, very dark and something that he struggled with mightily.  He struggled with something different than the struggles I have in my life and so I can't have any judgement toward him for those things he might have been fighting."

I don't think it was time for his sweet Emilie's story to end. Nor was it for Grace, Benjamin, Noah, Josephine, Olivia and their classmates.

We have to do better.

Obama speaking at Vigil

Love note to the Birthday Girl.

 

"How wonderful life is, while you're in the world."

We met two years ago in a hospital room in Northwest Portland. I broke speed limits and cut off angry drivers as I battled my way north on I-5 from Corvallis once I got the call that we would soon have a new family member. To my suprise, I was the first family member to the hospital. Apparently, this novice auntie was the only one that didn't get the memo that these things take time. 

22ish hours [if memory serves]. I do not pride myself in patience. There is nothing I am more ill-suited for.

Here we are many hours later, celebrating her second year. I had many questions that day as I stared at this new face about what she would like and dislike, how she would behave, what questions she'd ask, how her voice would sound. And not that all have been answered, but it's been fun discovering some of the ones I asked and some that I had not even thought of. In honor of her birthday, I'd like to share some of these discoveries and blank spaces she has filled in.

I love her presence. [Even if she sleeps through 2 hours of her 2nd birthday party].

I love that she causes collisions on her train set, then walks seven-feet away to her play kitchen and makes imaginary eggies.

I love that she can rock her baby dolly to sleep and once dolly's dreams take over, she'll play soccer with me.

I love that she can help find Nemo and explore with Dora in the same afternoon [And that when we FaceTime she immediatelys asks "where's Nemo?" and I have to show her my DVD case that I now keep at arm's reach].

I love that she calls me T-T and says 'yuv you.'
I love that she exists.

I love this face.

 

Happy 2nd birthday, baby bear. You are SO loved.

The Facebook Political Post.

Everyone has something they detest seeing on their Facebook newsfeed:

• People’s dinner they prepared or cupcakes they baked and decorated.

• Photos of their children.

• Obsessive play-by-plays of someone watching a sporting competition as if they’re vying for an official announcer position from their couch.

• More of the above but making calls as a replacement referee.

• Inspirational quotations that they’ve googled to fit their emotions of that day.

• Trending Youtube videos.

• Check-ins at 24 Hour Fitness.

• #Hashtags.

• Photos of their adorable nieces and nephews.

• Exceptionally vague messages about bad things happening that begs the question to their “friends” to ask “what’s wrong?!!”

• Engagement rings.

• Ultra sound photos [more photos of children].

And of course, the political rant.

For some reason, I hardly hear people openly outraged about most of this list, save for the political rant: “Keep your politics to yourself.”

 Or my favorite, “Your political rant isn’t going to change anyone’s mind,” which I’ve seen on a number of Facebook walls.

Applying this equal logic, do you think your post will inspire my non-Betty-Crocker-baking-self to bake a fresh batch of your special pumpkin cupcakes? And furthermore, will I find myself at 24 hour fitness post-novice baking experience to work off those calories because of your recent check-in at said gym? Probably not. Unless I’m stalking you. Which I'm not of course...

Note: I may however ask you where you bought your cute scarf in the self-portrait you've just posted, though.

The status update window specifically asks “what's on YOUR mind?” And in this wonderful country of ours, we have the freedom of speech to say what it is we choose. We also have the equally beautiful opportunity to block posts by friends that we find unappetizing or to unfriend them altogether. I’d suggest the latter, although it could be really awkward if you actually see the person. Which let’s be honest, you probably won’t. Unless again, I'm stalking you as you have just checked in at a bar 2.75 miles away from me...But I swear, I'm not.

 Post what you want to post. I won't criticize you (unless I'm discussing broader themes of the Facebook post on my blog, of course). If this is the way we socialize now and is a way we are able to speak to many people via one medium, then let's take advantage of this spectacular opportunity to engage in intelligent conversation. I’d much rather see people engaged and conversing about the political process; something that has bearing on our education system, employment, women’s rights, equality for everyone no matter who it is they choose to kiss good morning or goodnight, rather than be updated on what nonsensical thing Honey boo boo or her illiterate mother said. I don't care if they don’t align with my views; I care that you care. We learn from discussion and debate and since the world is becoming less physically interactive where we don't actually ask a friend to go to Starbucks for some Hazelnut Hot Chocolate, use Facebook as your coffee shop.

So let's chat. Or get a real cup of coffee. You bring those cupcakes you keep posting about.

The Day the FLOTUS came to town.

I thought the traffic would be disastrous. So in efforts to prevent any road rage that might sour my gleeful demeanor, I arrived in Corvallis, OR on Saturday, the day before Michelle Obama was scheduled to speak at OSU's 143rd commencement. Surely families would be smothering the town, getting their last minute beaver gear, toasting at watering holes over the sons and daughters that they weren't quite sure were going to make it this year. I envisioned men in dark suits staggered in no apparent pattern around the perimeter of campus occasionally having an intense discussion with their cuff links.

This is not at all the Oregon State campus I was welcomed with.

I cruise into town barely having to stop at any lights. Surely, this was just luck and when I would arrive at the bookstore parking lot, good luck Teela. Again to my surprise, I have a variety of vacant parking spots to choose from and much more shopping elbow room than anticipated. I gather a few shirts for the family and myself and walk through the halls of the Memorial Union to which the bookstore is adjoined. I always loved this place. It had been a meeting spot for lunch, a nap area between classes and a place to have a beverage before battle of the bands. As I walk out the front doors onto the impressive marble staircase, I stare at an empty campus; less than maybe 5 people were scattered across the quad. I almost felt like I had the campus all to myself and this made me weepy.

This was the place where my entire friend community lived within a 2 mile radius of, yet none of them were here anymore. In this beautiful space is where our lives intersected on the various pathways of the quad during the busiest of passing times. In these crossroads we'd hug, share our rage on another dramatic episode with the man or lady of our lives, or high five on a test we knew we had just aced. Then we'd head over to Monroe to discuss the most intricate of party [I mean study] plans for the weekend. The memories are so present as I stand on the MU staircase, but when I open my dampened eyes, none of my faces surround me. The bittersweetness of visiting a town where you have walked mostly every square foot of but you don't reside in any longer...and neither do most of your friends. I remember that it's 2012 and we all graduated from undergraduate six years ago and my other friends from my graduate program, four years ago.

Fast forward 24 hours. It's FLOTUS day. Or for the 4,500ish men and women in black robes and caps with hanging tassels, graduation day...where the First Lady of the United States will deliver their commencement address. Lucky SOB's. 

We find ourselves in our seats about 3 1/2 hours before Mrs. Obama is scheduled to take center stage. Having decent seats is important to us and although we have been lavishing in all shades of excitement all day, sitting down and seeing the podium in place, the thousands of chairs lined up on the field at Reser stadium, and knowing we'd be sharing a common environment with the FLOTUS in a matter of hours is the feeling of feelings. 

Then, 8 cars come cruising in on 35th and into the parking lot. Lights flashing. Corvallis PD. Unmarked suburbans. Motorcycle PD. She is in there somewhere. I pinch/hit Hether on her leg which is currently suffering the wrath of a forming sunburn. She knows how I get when I'm excited, so all is forgiven.

After the bagpipes have played [LOVE bagpipes], the graduates have filed in, and the star-spangled banner has been sung, I fix my eyes on the only entrance it seemed plausible for Michelle to emerge from. And then I see President [of OSU] Ray walking beside a tall beautiful Black woman. It's our First Lady. Erin, Hether and I are on our feet before the announcer can finish the introduction. She is here.

[Far Right, you can see Michelle waving as she enters.]

Her message focuses on living a rich life regardless of the amount of money you may have in your bank account or wallet. Specifically, she emphasizes the importance of (1) Focusing on what you have rather than what you don't, (2) Defining success on your own terms, not others, and finally (3) Being present in the lives of our family and friends. 

While I know the graduates will take something away from the First Lady's speech, I feel overwhelmed with inspiration having been a few years removed from college and having a little of this "real world" experience. In the array of bouquets, cards and checks, what gift the graduates have not yet received is that of hindsight.

I strongly recommend you take 22 minutes to watch her speech in full [, but one of my favorite passages comes from the end of her address where she stresses the important of her 3rd point:

"It means being truly present in the lives of the people you care about. Liking them on Facebook doesn't count. Nor does following them on Twitter. What counts is making the time to be there in person, because I can promise you years from now you will not remember the texts you've exchanged with your friends here at OSU. But you will remember how they cheered you on at your game, right? You will remember how they brought you chocolate and spent hours comforting you after your boyfriend or girlfriend dumped you. What jerks. You will remember all the hours spent diligently studying at the library; that one is for the parents. But seriously, those are the memories you will carry with you through life. Those are the experiences that make you who you are."

She's right. As I stood on the steps of the Memorial Union the previous day, I had only remembered that I signed up for Facebook while living in a tiny ladybug infested dorm room on the top of Bloss Hall with my best friend. I don't remember who liked my status or who friended me on the internet, but I remember walking to classes together, having lunch picnics and sunbathing in that quad on sunny days. I also remember how my usually quick-footed self took slower steps in the fall time when the trees engulfed the campus in an array of stunning orange and yellows. I remembered Thursday walks home where we'd cut through campus with our fourth meal of Pita Pit in hand. But most of all that real space symbolized to me my many friendships that were formed on this campus and how strong they continue to be. They are who I focus on having and they are who who support me when I am defining and redefining what success means for me. 

With my deepest gratitude, thank you Michelle for visiting. Thank you for your words. Thank you for inspiring our community. Thank you for keeping it real.

 

Welcome to Beaver nation, Mrs. Obama. We are thrilled to have you.

What do I know?

I'm standing in my kitchen with a butter knife, carefully scraping the icing that says "28" off of my Helen Bernhard's Birthday cake. Not for vanity, but because I am sharing my cake with one of my classes tomorrow and I never reveal my age to my students. They can guess, but I will never tell. If I'm still teaching at 35, then I might tell them when they ask [which they always do], "I am 35." But 28 somehow seems too young to be doing what I'm doing. I have students on the heels of my age and some that surpass it. Since we equate wisdom and knowledge with the years we have existed according to the calendar, part of me feels not worthy of having my job. It's funny to realize the dissonance between what you know and what other people's perceptions might be of what it is you know. Especially when it comes to age.


"I didn't know any better, I was young."
"Oh, she'll grow out of it."


I'm sure I will refute some of what I think I know now by 35. Or by 29. Better yet, in 6 months. A lot can happen in that time. And when we get busy and sidetracked by life, it's not until we're flipping the calendar to the next month that we realize it's time for yet another BDay. 


Why is it that as we make our ascent up the age ladder, we find that the time it takes us to reach the next rung seems to be much less than the journey to the previous? 

Where will this next year take us? I hope that I find myself with two of my gal pals at the base of the falls of Niagara (or on a hire wire crossing over it?). And who knows where else. If I know anything for sure, I know that plans [for the most part] are pretty much moot. Even with this knowledge, I'm still working on accepting that. How do I know this? Oh, because I've had plans. I had a life written out on a sheet of 8 1/2 x 11 inch college ruled notebook paper that I later converted into a word document. Some of those things indeed did come true, some I'm still working on and I'm certain others are just that... "plans." They look good on paper but may have no place in my story. 


Some lofty plans of the past:


1st grade teacher: And what are your plans for the summer Teela?
1st grade Teela: Hmm...I think I'll write a novel.

I did write some tales that summer, but none that you'll find on the shelves of Powell's or Elliott Bay Books. These are kept hidden in a number of shoe boxes underneath my bed [well now you know the hiding place] for the purposes of memory lane and to not lose sight of my imagination. I find that as we get further away from the ground and the higher up we climb, we become more fearful of the fall we might take. We feel that we have more to lose, more people to let down or disappoint, and that it will be harder to get back up.

What I know at 28 is that these are merely stumbles. If you are lucky enough to have family and friends with unapologetic love for you, it's not so bad to fall. 


And if you're really lucky when you find yourself flat on your back, there will be friendly arms extended down towards you to help you back up but with the expectation you'll choose a different path next time. They have confidence in you.


And if you are ridiculously lucky, you'll have the voice of your beautiful niece in your ear carefully negotiating her sounds and where exactly her tongue placement should be on back of her front teeth to make the sounds "T-T."

What I certainly don't know are the many ways I will be fascinated by her tomorrow and the day after. And the year after that.  

From her I also know that age doesn't necessarily mean wisdom. I know people 50 times her age that she is much smarter than. [True story]

What I also know? These stiletto's have a lot of cobblestone roads and city sidewalks to stomp through. Anticipating the journey, sore feet and all.