The Perception Check.

I know a lot of people that hate their job. They don't get paid enough, they work long hours, their co-workers suck, they don't get paid enough, they hate what they do, their boss is the spawn of Satan, they don't get paid enough, etc.

I think we know which one of these complaints I am guilty of making.

For the most part, I enjoy what I do. And note to any of you that makes any of the aforementioned statements of discontent...stop bitching. You have a job.

This past week I was informed I was being a 'Negative Nancy.' This annoyed me. First, because my name isn't Nancy, but mostly because I hate cliches. But it was true. Bad week(s) tend to bring out the side of me that is angry that the beer is only half full.

[I. Hate. Cliches.]

I understand that everything is relative to our own experience and therefore we are limited in what we consider to be real problems. In fact, to account for this conditional state, we have added the term "first-world problems" into our vernacular as if this compensates for us whining. Although not as bothersome as the incorrect and overuse of the term "epic," this phrase is still starting to become problematic for me. I'd never use a term like that in say, the title of a blog. 

What snapped me back into the realization of my pretty swell life were three things (in order of occurrence):

(1) A reunion with some of the best women on Earth. How our lives led us to be in the same place, at the same time, so we could be apart of each other's stories, is so fantastic.

(2) An assignment I gave my students on their identity that is blowing my mind.

(3) Having story time with my niece. I do the reading, she does the page turning. Backwards, forwards and back again...I'll read these pages forever to her.

All of these is a blog in itself, but I'm going to talk about #2.

In an intercultural class I teach, I assign an Identity paper to my students. They're challenged with picking two of their many identities (ie: age, sex, religion, sexual orientation, physical ability, race, etc) and writing about the ones they consider to be the most influential in their lives. They must talk about their experience, a historical event within this culture, and stereotypes they've dealt with. Two of these papers shattered my heart.

[Paper #1-An Indian Woman:] "This paper was really hard for me to write because I don't feel like I have an identity." She goes on to explain that she was arranged into a marriage to someone she didn't love by her parents and her husband controls everything; including what she "likes" or is "interested" in. Therefore she feels like nothing is just hers.

I try and live my life on the basis of originality. How terrible it must and does feel for her to have nothing be your own; feeling you have nothing to separate you from another person. She goes on to explain that she did love someone at one point that validated her, but this man was from a lower class and was unacceptable to her parents.

[Paper #2-Korean Woman:] She is a lesbian that can't come out to her parents because in Korea, homosexuality is not an option. She said she felt comfortable in the states because this lifestyle was acceptable. In reading that, I immediately wondered if we were living in the same times as this is a constant point of political contention. But for her to make that statement, I realized that hers was a much different reality. And it was. If she were to come out to her parents, she would be disowned by her family.

There is literally nothing I could do to have my parents disown me. I haven't tried [all that hard] in finding ways, but there is too much love there for me to ever fathom this fate. 

From knowing these stories, my perception changed. Just like my friends stories intersecting with my own, I believe these women are sitting in my classroom for a reason. Maybe just for opening my eyes to another reality or for me to at least have been an outlet where someone would listen to their stories. How liberating words can make us feel; even if you're the only reader of them. I write to myself all the time.

I'm not saying that it isn't valid to be upset over things that happen to us just because somebody out there has it worse. Because frankly, things are crappy sometimes. What I am saying is that we all need to expand our limited perception and consider what somebody else may be going through if only to serve them with a smile or to hug someone we care about a little tighter.

I try to make people laugh. I have one student that comes into class everyday and his face is always so stern. He volunteers quotes from Nietzsche, will ask an occasional question, and is a very intelligent student, but his face is full of stress. I make it my goal in the two and a half hour class that I have with him to make him laugh at least once. If I get him twice, well, then I think I've done my job as an educator. Or maybe just as a human being.

It's Always Rainy in Seattle.

Being a meteorologist in the Pacific Northwest is probably the easiest job. For three reasons: (1) You can be wrong about the weather 92% of the time and still be confident about your job security; (2) You basically just have to scatter the terms "Showers," "Rain," "Partly Sunny," and "Partly Cloudy" throughout your week; and (3) You only work for three hours a day...unless there is the threat of snow. If there is even an inkling of the white stuff on that doppler, then you can bet your 'mete'ocre ass you'll be hunting down that 4x4 square patch of ice on the sidewalk, in the highest point in the 'burbs, and will continue to slide around on said patch until it melts. In doing so, you will prove to drivers how treacherous the roads are, so people don't leave their homes and find themselves looking as foolish as you do. 

This just goes beyond the expectation of "finding the story."

The weatherman is such a tease. They just dangle their rays of sunshine and snow in front of you, only for you to wake up in the complete opposite climate of their predictions. Tell me, what other job can you fail at repeatedly and not get fired? I suspect no one would want their child in a classroom where a teacher assures them that 1+1=3. Or why not take your chances of being that patient in an operating room with a doctor that has a patient survival rate of 30%? Or how about trusting your life with a firefighter who...well, if he doesn't make it out, we know you're not.

I hate talking about the weather. Which is probably why I could never be a meteorologist, despite its enormous and enticing "learning curve." It's the thing you talk about when you're forced to be in close quarters with strangers for an extended amount of time. But why is this the go to subject? Are we that unobservant and dull that the only possible thought that comes to mind is that of the most obvious thing? Don't get me wrong, I'm guilty of becoming engaged in the weather go-to. And every time I do, I lose a little piece of my soul and hate myself for it:

While standing in the rain in line at Century Link:

Stranger: It really is coming down out here!

Me: Yeah, it's pouring.

While going through the grocery check-out:

Checker: Man, it's really coming down out there!

Me: Yeah, it's pouring.

Checker: Stay dry out there!

It's only when I hear others discussing the weather when I realize how absolutely obnoxious we sound (Other than writing out my own transcriptions, that sheds light too). Like today, in my office:

Lady #1: Oh some websites are saying we could get 16 inches!

Lady #2: ::Picks up the phone:: Hello? Oh what's the weather doing there?

::silence::

Well it was just a blizzard outside! Snow was coming down in huge flakes! But now it's not doing anything.

Lady #1: ::Interrupting Lady #2:: Don't you see how quickly those clouds are moving? It's definitely about to snow again.

Lady #2: ::Into the phone:: Well the clouds are moving quickly...it probably will snow again soon.

It didn't. At least for the next hour I was sitting there while those quick-moving-clouds went by. However, I do think that the both of them should put their applications in for the local news channel.

Meteorologists, I don't hate you. If anything, I should envy you for being smart enough to pick the only profession that you can be incorrect on the regular, yet people will still turn back to you nightly to find out what they should wear tomorrow. You found your way around the system. 

Luckily, so did I. I found Siri. 

My Mountaintop.

I overheard this in my office the other day: 

“Thank God for Martin Luther King. I mean, yeah the Civil Rights thing, and all ::chuckle:, but for the holiday.”

First of all, we just started the term. How lazy can one be?

Second, if it weren't for Martin Luther King Jr., I might not be in this office to overhear your ignorance and then have the opportunity to blog about it.

MLK day. The day where we tack an extra day onto our weekend and post the perfunctory MLK quotes on our Facebook status updates, Twitter feeds and GChat away messages. No really, I’m impressed that you took the time to google and Wikipedia “MLK Jr quotes.” But the truth of it is, I literally would not be (in every sense of the word) where I am today without having the civil rights warriors like Dr. King at the time.

I would not be in my current geographical location. I would not be apart of the friendships that I’m in.

I would not have the education that I have. I would not be in my profession. I would not have the family that I have. I would not have my freedom.

It’s safe to say that most of the people reading this will not have had such a direct impact from our Civil Right’s Activists. That doesn’t mean they don’t affect how you feel and the anger you may experience of such injustice. Similarly, I am not a direct victim of current laws preventing homosexuals to marry their partners as I have the rights of heterosexuals (not that I'm exercising such rights at the moment). Just because it doesn't affect me doesn't mean it doesn't aggravate me that we are choosing which citizens are worthy of receiving certain rights. If it were still 1966 when anti-miscegenation laws were still enforced, my niece would not be possible because her parents would be denied the right to wed. That destroys my heart because she is the most beautiful thing to ever happen in my life. Ever.

There was of course a time when I didn't absorb what this holiday meant and that over this three-day weekend I merely planned road trips to San Francisco, Canada and did other college nonsense like going to the salon for impulse piercings and participated in major sofa sessions of TV marathons. It wasn’t until recently, January 19, 2009 where I felt something besides leisure on this holiday.

My friend Carey and I were filled with adrenaline and fearing sleep in the living room of the McBride's on the eve of Inauguration. We were slightly nervous we’d sleep through our alarms and miss the morning bus that would take us into DC to the brick mall in just a few short hours. Our excitement could not be tamed. This is when the magnitude of that moment poured down onto me and I just started crying. Uncontrollable, ugly tears that you never want anyone else to ever witness. My apologies, Carey.

Here we were. Two women brought together through educational hopes and athletic passion at an Oregon university six years prior. A Korean and African-American about to attend the inaugural event to swear in America’s first Black president. All of this taking place the day after King’s 80^th birthday (The observed day, his real birthday was a few days before). In another world, we would never be friends. I’d probably still be in the south where my family resided in the 60’s. I can’t and luckily won’t have to ever fathom that lifestyle. I’ve heard enough stories of mistreatment and inequality from my warrior grandmothers who fought the fight to know how far I'd love to stay away from that.

On the eve of his death, Martin Luther King Jr. delivered a speech that I recently re-read and had a very physical response to. I'm pretty certain he knew that his time had come. Which for me, takes all of the fear of dying away; to know that your end is near and to be peaceful in that fate. He had reached his mountaintop and did more than what most men and women do in their lifetime.

Dr. King, the view from my mountaintop is quite lovely. Thank you for doing most of the heavy lifting and climbing so I could enjoy this. And even in my moments of sadness, inappreciation of my past and ignorance of the struggle, I recognize how lucky I am to be at this peak. It’s insanely gorgeous.

I'll do better.

As much as I hate cliches, I don't hate self-improvement and I think everyone should always be attempting to become a better version of themselves. Unless you suck as a human being. Maybe it's just best you start from scratch. So for that reason, I like to at least have goals in mind for the New Year. This past year I didn't quite conquer my list which is unpublished as I didn't want the whole world my few readers to be aware of my shortcomings. But lo and behold, my failures and criterion met, await:

met: 

• I moved (to Seattle)
• I got a job right when I moved
• I exercised more 
• I traveled a fair share and went somewhere new (Park City, Canada, Barbados, NYC, Vegas-in a matter of hours)
• I ate better

shortcomings: 

• I didn't reach my reading goal 
• I didn't write more
• I didn't exercise as much as I should have
• I'm still a "realist" which is my euphemism for pessimist

In spite of the failures, I still had a good year. Plenty of fun was had. Good people were met, bad people were tolerated. Pages were turned, stories unfolded. Poor decisions were made, consequences paid but bad times don't endure when you're stronger than them. Or at least my people are stronger than them which gives me everything I need. Life lessons were learned. Adventures were sought and conquered. Memories, oh the memories, were captured in photos, in heart and written.

[With mom in Barbados. July 4, 2011]

So next year, I'll do better. And maybe on December 31 2012, I'll feel so inclined to share that list.

365 more. Oh-twelve, here we go.

First World Problems: Woes at the Symphony

It should first be noted that I don't dislike all children. In fact, I quite often talk about the most adorable one of them all on here. Maybe that's because she's related to me.

I dislike bad parenting. With that said, proceed.

S and I decided to be festive and classy this holiday season and add a trip to the symphony to the Christmagenda. We were pleased when we found out our moderately priced tickets were in close proximity to the stage. Our happiness semi-ended there.

Sitting next to me was an innocent enough looking family of four. Dad-Child 1-Mom-Child 2, sitting in that order, Dad sitting next to me. This was until the music began. Child 2, sitting the furthest away, decided that the music was his cue for playtime. Child 2 was about 5 years old.

He first starts to run in the very narrow and limited space between his mom and dad doing some sort of tap dance, until he climbs in his dad's lap where he decides that jungle gym would be a fun game to play at this moment. Dad doesn't protest. Child 2 begins to twist and contort his body in awkward positions; his favorite one being where his head was almost in my lap, looking up at me, hand outstretched in front of my face, obstructing my view of the stage.

What in Hades was going on here?!

If that were me at 5, my parents would've promptly taken me to the lobby for a "talking to." And by talk, I of course mean spanking.

But that would never be me. Because unlike these parents, my parents were well aware that a symphony is not a place to take your 5 year old child. It's called a babysitter and/or finding another family-friendly holiday activity. Like the Zoo lights. Or Peacock Lane. Or PIR lights. Or anything that's not using my lap as an extended part of dad's jungle gym. How inappropriate of the dad to think that his child's head in a female stranger's lap is acceptable behavior. I glanced over at the mom and saw she was wearing a knitted stocking cap. At the symphony.

We were dealing with hippy parents. AKA Let my child do whatever the [obscenity] they want. Discipline will only taint their artistic vision.

[I think Fred Armisen should really consider this as an upcoming storyline for 'Portlandia' .]

In addition to this being brutally annoying, I of course couldn't stop laughing at the Dad's content with the situation and this child looking up at me with his upside down eyes. It was weird. I looked over at S to only hear her start to laugh too. It was like that scene from Seinfeld where Jerry puts the Pez dispenser on his knee and Elaine starts cracking up laughing during the maestro's performance. Except our "Pez dispenser" was an overgrown 5 year old.

When the symphony began to play Tchaikovsky, I knew I would kill this kid if he ruined it. Instead, a 60 year old woman 3 rows in front of us did. And why? Because of a 4 year old kicking her seat.

"This isn't working!" She whisper-yelled at the mother holding the 4 year old. "She will not stop kicking my seat!"

She turned back around to face the stage, but only for a second before she returned to yelling. I wonder what she would've done if she were sitting in my seat...

When intermission came, we for sure thought they'd be leaving given the restlessness and disinterest of their children. We instead heard the worst words ever uttered: "Oh no, it's not over. It's just break time. They'll be back."

We looked at each other, exchanged a wordless message, and found different seats.

I know I'm not a parent and I don't know what it's like to have children. But I have parents. The best ones, in fact. And they taught me how to behave in public. If yours can't, leave them at home. Or better yet, teach them. With a good old fashioned spanking.

Ode to a Soulmate.

It was around 20 years ago when we were on rivaling soccer teams that I met my best friend. The story goes, or so she tells it as my memory sucks, that we both went after the same loose ball and somehow I got it away from her.

[Not sure if there is truth to me prevailing, as she has always been better than me at the game.]

Mad at her misfortune and my case of luck, the trash-talk of an 8 year old got the better side of her.

"Dummy!"

Not being familiar with such profane terms, I turned back to her. "What did you say?"

"Nothin."

A few weeks later, I'd be her teammate and some most of my best memories have been with her since.

• Our bus rides to and from soccer games. I never had to be Forrest Gump because it was known, the numbers 2 & 3 sat together. No question. We might've created a few handshakes in transit inspired by the one, the only, Fresh Prince of Bel Air (it was the 90's).
• Attempting to exterminate our ladybug infested 8x8 dorm room in Bloss Hall. With scotch tape.
• Watching Nick @ Nite before bedtime and other Disney Channel shows recommended for a tween audience, not for college students. We were in Bloss at this time.
• Entering a drawing during a road trip in California to go to the Academy Awards, actually winning, and returning a year later to be on the red carpet.
• Trying to speak Greek when we decided that was the place we needed to be during Junior year.
• Oh, and Barcelona.
• Road trips that led us to Canada, Tijuana, Disneyland.
• Living together all four years of college. It's unheard of for most women to maintain friendship status, let alone best, at the end of that.

I bought 'Soul Pancake' the other day. It's a book by Rainn Wilson and a few others that poses really difficult questions about life. Seriously, really thought provoking questions that challenge your brain piece to think about your life's philosophy or help you to create one. There was a page that asked you about soulmates; whether you believe in them, how to define them, how not to define them. Most of us use this term exclusively in the context of the romantic and I'm not sure that I believe in them in that whole context. But I do believe in them in another.

To find the same things funny (some of it dark, weird and utterly unfunny to anyone else), to create some of the most elaborate inside jokes (too many to remember or name), to have a common history, and to be able to truly be myself with no censor involved and never hear an ill word to judge me (there have been times where I judged me)-I believe that to be a soulmate.

I don't believe everyone has or even is lucky enough to find their soulmate. I'm glad I met mine when I was 8.

In earnest, I have no idea where I'd be without her and I credit her for some of the biggest adventures and risks I've taken in my life. I'm sure we'll be making them well into our 80's.

It was around 20 years ago when I met my best friend. She turns 28 today. She's never been much for celebrations, but there's no way I cannot not celebrate her and her place in my life.

You slowbug, are my favorite. You are my soulmate.

[In Crete at The Palace of Phaestos.]

The day I met Phil Dunphy

A week ago, I was at one of my favorite spots in Portland, enjoying one of my favorite delicious holiday beverages with one of my favorite people.

In order: Deschutes Brewery, Super Jubelale, Mike.

As I strategically picked off the tomatoes off of our Flatbread pizza and Mike & I traded stories to catch up on our lapse in seeing one another, Mike halts the convo.

"Phil Dunphy is behind you!"

Of course I believed Mike to be simply referring to a Dunphy Doppleganger. I turned around and there, 5 feet away from me was Ty Burrell. I freaked out.

Let's back-up. 'Modern Family' has been a favorite of mine since it came on the air and I am an addicted fan. More importantly, I ADORE Ty in particular and claimed him as one of the year's best people last year-here. Not just best, but #1. I can't begin to explain how many ab muscles I credit him with for all the laughs that come from Phil Dunphy moments. Let's just look at a recent example that really doesn't need any context:

"I'll admit it, I'm turned on by powerful women. Michelle Obama, Oprah, Condoleeza Rice, Serena Williams...wait a minute..." -Phil Dunphy

In my craze, I stood up from my barstool and started rifling through my purse that was hanging by hook, to search for my camera while Mike and I repeated, "I can't believe Phil Dunphy's here" and other fan-like things. In the process, my purse falls off the hook, I'm giggling uncontrollably as a woman about 12 inches away from me looks in my direction. We would later figure her to be Ty Burrell's wife, as she was sitting next to him at the head of their table.

Ty exits to the facilities and I await his return. I know this sounds cray, but I'm sure if one of your favorite comedic personalities was in the same vicinity as you, you might react in a similar fashion.

As he came out of the bathroom and I secretly hoped he was a hand washer, I approached him. I apologized for interrupting his evening, but told him something along the lines of how much I enjoyed the show and Phil Dunphy. He put his hand out.

"What's your name?" -Phil Dunphy, I mean Ty Burrell

"I'm Teela." -Me

"Hi Teela, nice to meet you. I'm Ty." -Ty Burrell

Yes, we're on a first name basis. I asked him to take a picture with us, he happily complied, and went on to eat with his family/friends/wife who saw me freak out over her husband in the bar.

[Mike, Ty Burrell, Me]

What made this moment so great is that I was with a fellow 'Modern Family' lover and it was in the beauty of the unexpected. I can't say that I enjoy all surprises, but this one definitely perked up my evening. And for the duration of that night, I would somehow integrate this momentous occasion into completely unrelated discussion:

"Always a line for the ladies room, huh?" -Woman stranger waiting for the restroom

"I know, tell me about it. So do you watch Modern Family?"