Author Archives: Teija - Page 2

Pedestrian Problems

Posted by on 04/03/2011 3 comments

I want to take some time out to highlight an organization called Hollaback!, which is devoted to putting an end to street harassment worldwide. As a pedestrian in downtown Atlanta and a frequent user of MARTA’s rail system, I have first-hand experience dealing with harassment, whether it’s basic dirty leering or actual physical intimidation. In one particularly scary instance, I was actually followed home from the train station. I’m glad that Hollaback! exists to allow people like me the opportunity to make our voices heard when we are made to feel uncomfortable during our daily commute. The Atlanta Hollaback! page is here, and I was first introduced to it by my friend and coworker, Lauren.

I have been meaning to post about Hollaback! for some time now, but I was reminded to do so after an incident this past week. I stopped by Five Guys to pick up a burger for dinner on Wednesday, and on my way back to my apartment — I had to bypass a MARTA station to get home — I was approached by a woman who looked upset. She asked if I was getting on the train, to which I answered no. I was, after all, just heading down the road to my apartment. She then asked if I minded walking with her around the station. Someone had been harassing her on the train to the point that she’d felt it in her best interest to disembark and leave, despite not being done with her trip.

My first reaction to this incident was anger. MARTA has its own police force, but all too often, women such as the one who approached me are made to feel unsafe and cannot find a MARTA police officer. They aren’t terribly visible on the actual trains: you’re far more likely to find one in a station, and even then, it’s not a guarantee. But that’s not even the problem. The root of the trouble is that we live in a world where disgusting, lecherous behavior is seen as a part of life women are just expected to deal with. We hear, all the time, arguments like, “Well, that’s what happens when you wear a skirt,” or “They’re just appreciating your good looks.” This puts the responsibility upon the woman, rather than the person who made them uncomfortable. Don’t want to get looked at like that? Well, don’t wear that skirt you like. Don’t look so nice. How dare you be pretty? Just deal with it. “That’ll happen.”

I don’t think so. That’s just not good enough. Rather than excusing this horrendous behavior, society should be discouraging it. I think Hollaback! is making a great effort to steer us in the right direction. Everyone has the right to feel safe in their everyday activities, whether it’s their commute, eating out with friends, or going on an afternoon jog. It’s time to stop excusing bad behavior.

things you learn as you get older

Posted by on 02/03/2011 2 comments

I’m not old. Not in the grand scheme of things. I’m in my mid/late 20s and all things considered, there’s a whole lot left for me to do in this lifetime. But I feel like I’ve already learned quite a lot, as far as “how to live your life comfortably” is concerned, and I feel like sharing some of this insight, mostly because if anyone can take even a little bit away from this post, then I’m being helpful. I like being helpful.

So here we go. Things I’ve learned — and am still learning, in some cases — in my 20-something years of living.

Friendships end. You’ll have to let go of people now and then. You’ll grow apart, the relationship will become unhealthy, the meaning of love might change for one or both of you. It happens. There are a lot of things that make it hard to let go of people. Long histories, millions of memories, dirty secrets… all these things make it difficult to let go of a friend, particularly if they’re someone you’ve considered a very close or even a best friend in your lifetime. The thing is that people change. The girl you grew up sharing all your secrets with might have developed into a woman with whom you have nothing in common. I have to admit, this is a lesson I’m still learning. There are people who only recently fell out of my life, one way or another, and I will tell you, sometimes it hurts a lot. But what hurts more is desperately hanging onto something that’s effectively dead. It’s only prolonging the inevitable, and the harder you cling, the harder it is to maintain what little might be left, strangely enough. Plus, you never know: maybe the drifting apart is the temporary thing. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you.

You have to plan your free time. Between having a job and seeing your friends, plus any additional stuff you’ve taken on (for me, it’s graduate school), you’ll find yourself with just about no free time at all. You have to make room for it. If you want your weekends free, you have to cram everything into the other five days of the week. Trust me, it’s difficult, and if you wait for free time to just happen it’s never going to happen for you.

You don’t need that thing you think you need. I’ve gone over five years now without that thing that everyone seems to think they can’t live without: a car. I have a drivers’ license, and on occasion I borrow a family member’s car if I need to, but I have managed a pretty sweet life in Atlanta without a car. And this applies to everything. Shoes, purses, concert tickets. I have become a pro at talking myself out of buying things (I’m currently working on “No, T., you don’t need those gorgeous Fluevogs, they’re $255 and that’s ridiculous”).

Love is all the things people say it is. That is to say, love can be painful, love can be amazing, and most of all, love has the ability through all manner of life situation to take the edge off and comfort you. Here’s where I crack my chest open for you guys for a second.

My grandpa is dying. As of this morning he’s been made comfortable, he’s been taken off his antibiotics because they’re no longer doing a thing to help him, and his breathing has become labored. It’s probably a matter of days and he’ll be gone. This is the first grandparent I’ve ever lost, and I know I’m a lucky person to have made it to my age with all four grandparents at all. But what makes me far more lucky than that is the support system I have. My family is incredibly tight-knit. I have an incredible boyfriend who blows my mind almost daily with how much I can feel for one person and how all those feelings I’m feeling are reflected right back at me from him. I have a roommate who heard the news and went into “occupy my mind” mode, taking me out on a “these are a few of my favorite things” evening of book shopping and sushi. Throughout this ordeal of sadness and heartbreak I have never once felt lost or hopelessly alone, and for that I have the love of my incredible friends and family to thank.

So yeah. Love. It’s everything it’s cracked up to be and so much more. While the love I have for my grandpa is currently tearing my heart in two, the love I feel from everyone else around me is working simultaneously to keep me in one piece. And let me tell you one more thing: that’s how I know I’m alive.

Whoops.

Posted by on 11/15/2010 No comments

It’s been months — months! — since I’ve written here.  The whole point of tekkah.net was to have a blog, was it not?  Good job, self, good job.

Well, here I am.  Actually, the gap in posting is due to something I want to talk about: workaholism.  I am insanely busy.  All the time.  Whether it’s because of my job or it’s because of graduate school, my schedule is just about full to capacity.  I have very little free time and thus, what little free time I do have has become incredibly valuable to me.  I want to spend it with people who are just as valuable to me, and I do — sometimes I manage a night at Taco Mac with close friends, expanding my Brewniversity list one British beer at a time (though, with the addition of Tetley’s last time, I have finished off the British Isles and must move to mainland Europe).  Sometimes, I make away with a relaxing night in with the Swede, watching early episodes of the West Wing or catching up on Dexter.  For Halloween, I even managed to get in a pirate costume and go to a party.

Wild, I know!

In any case, the point here is that while my blog is somewhere on my list of priorities above “reorganizing my iTunes library” and below “make sure there’s always clean underwear in the drawer,” when my life gets as busy as it does, the blog tends to fall off the radar.  Which is probably how it should be.

Hey Atlanta!

Posted by on 08/16/2010 3 comments

I went dress shopping today with my sister.  We were out and about in Metro Atlanta on a Sunday afternoon… with everyone else in Atlanta, apparently. I encountered a lot of things that irked me today, and this reminded me that in the past few weeks I’ve been considering writing a “things I observe when out and about” blog post anyway.

So, clearly, here we are.  Atlanta, you have inspired me.  I shall crack my knuckles and get a-typing about the things I’ve seen in the past month or so, whether at the Mall of Georgia or on downtown Atlanta’s MARTA platforms.

—

Roadblock People

I know that sometimes, public places can be a little confusing, especially MARTA stations, where there are big signs that tell you exactly where you’re going.  Big, hideous orange signs… I know those can be misleading.  But I really have to ask: why is it that when someone is uncertain of where they want to go and yet also too proud to ask someone, they instead choose to ride the escalator down to the platform, step off the escalator, and promptly stop?  You can’t stand there!  Stop standing there!  The people behind you on the escalator also want to get on the platform!  Get out of the way!

This also covers moving roadblock people.  They may be moving with forward momentum, but they are moving slowly and are just getting in my damned way.  I walk at a pretty good clip anyway — I get it from my dad, he practically sprints through airports — but especially when I’m in a mall, I move with purpose.  I hate malls.  I want to get to where I’m going, get what I need to get, and then get the hell out of dodge.  I can’t do that when the halls are filled all the way across with preteens moving at the speed of molasses, and that is when I get cranky.  These people are young and spry.  Why are they not moving faster!?  GET OUT OF MY WAY.

Cellphone People

If you’re not instantly irritated by a mere mention of this, then you’re probably one of these people: the jerks who won’t hang up their cellphone for the minute or so that it takes to go through a checkout line in a store.  I cannot stand these people.  It is excessively rude to stand there and completely disregard your cashier while you’re checking out.  What’s worse is that I saw a woman do this at Subway, where you actually have to interact with the people making your lunch.  Jerk.

Public Transportation Jerks

This header covers so many sins… let me just tell you my least favorite thing about being a regular MARTA rider.  See, I’m a girl.  I’m a twenty-something, I’m a lady, I’m short, and I’m busty.  I can pretty much guarantee that at least once a week, I get harassed on MARTA by some guy I don’t know.  Sometimes it’s pretty easy to ignore: creepy leering from across the train car, some sketchy eyebrow waggling.  That stuff is gross and unappealing, but I can ignore it.  Sometimes, though, it’s a man I don’t know getting into my personal space, and let me tell you something.

Getting in my personal space is Not. Okay. Getting in my personal space without my permission is a violation of my comfort zone and it unsettles me like nothing else in the world and it will lead to physical violence.  I am nothing if not feisty, and I am fiercely protective of my comfort zone.

No, You Are Not a Special Snowflake, I Was Here First

MARTA is full of people who just don’t get it.  It’s a public space.  As such, unless you’re handicapped or elderly, you have no right above anyone else to a seat, nor do you have any kind of priority over anyone else on that train.  So when the train is pulling up to the station and I’m very clearly standing by the door waiting for it to open so that I can get off, it is not cool for you to push past me with a “this is my stop.”  It is also my stop.  You are a jerk.

—

Sigh.  I could go on forever, honestly, but it’s getting late.  Sometimes I think I should subtitle this blog with something along the lines of “tales from the crosswalk” or “pedestrian skills 101: intro to not dying on your way to work.”  Suggestions?

Nonsensical Medical Musings

Posted by on 07/14/2010 1 comment

I have no idea what brought this on, but I was just thinking about the lazy eye.

Why does an eye get an adjective like “lazy” when most other medical conditions have, oh, I don’t know, something a little more specific?  If a doctor tells me I have an inflamed tendon in my wrist I am getting at least a bit of description.  The tendon is inflamed, this is why my wrist hurts, tadaa!  Meanwhile a lazy eye tells me… what?  That I need to whip it into shape?  “Get off your ass, eyeball, and be more productive around the house!”?  I’m pretty sure that doesn’t do a damn thing, except perhaps make me look crazy.

But that got me thinking that maybe, instead of wondering why the lazy eye gets to have an adjective like “lazy,” I should be wondering why other body parts don’t get similar treatment.  How great would it be if you went to the doctor with stomach pains and he told you, “Well, you’ve got a melodramatic lower intestine”?  Or if you went to the dermatologist to have a mole checked out and she told you, “It’s nothing to worry about, really, just a sad mole.”

I think that would make medical maladies at least a bit more interesting.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end

Posted by on 06/06/2010 4 comments

Lately I’ve been listening to a lot of stuff that I used to listen to back in high school and early college.  Whether it’s because a lot of memorable stuff happened in those years or because the music was just that good, I always find myself leaning back and just enjoying myself when these songs come up on shuffle.

I listen to all kinds of music, honestly.  I listen to movie soundtracks, I listen to brainless pop, Finnish screamo, ska, classical, punk, ’40s big band jazz, indie hipster stuff, Broadway musicals, everything.  But I feel like, right around my late teens and early 20s, I found myself listening to some seriously choice music and nothing I’ve found since then has quite compared.  I have this shortlist of nostalgic songs that always bring me into a really, really good mood.  I thought I’d share:

  • Tonic – If You Could Only See
  • The Offspring – The Kids Aren’t Alright
  • Fastball – The Way
  • The Fugees – Killing Me Softly
  • Eagle-Eye Cherry – Save Tonight
  • Deep Blue Something – Breakfast at Tiffany’s
  • Incubus – Drive
  • The Verve Pipe – The Freshmen
  • The Wallflowers – One Headlight
  • Semisonic – Closing Time

There are so many others, honestly.  But without fail, if one of these songs comes up on shuffle, I just kind of sit back and bask in it.  I’ll crank it up if it’s not already blasting.  Sometimes I’ll even sing along.  A couple of these songs (‘The Way’ and ‘The Freshmen’) are even on my top 25 songs of all time list, which I put together on a whim a few weeks ago after discussing favorites with my roommate.

How about you, modest readership?  What never fails to get you in a good mood when you hear it?

Nobody puts Tekkah in the corner.

Posted by on 05/21/2010 11 comments

I use public transportation.  I haven’t had a car for years, and I’m handling it pretty well, considering I live in a city where the public transportation is constantly derided for being a “train to nowhere,” among other things.  It gets me around just fine, though, and I rely on it every day.  And 90% of the time, my rides are completely uneventful.

That other 10%?  Usually, it’s delays.  There doesn’t really seem to be a set schedule — I’ve never in my life heard anyone say “the 5:00 train” or anything like that, because such a thing doesn’t exist — but most of the time you can expect a train within five, maybe ten minutes of getting to the platform.  I can leave my apartment at 8:30 and get to work by 9:00 with near-complete regularity.  However, my ride home today lands squarely in that eventful 10%.  Let me tell you all about it.

First of all, when I arrived at the platform, it was completely packed with people.  There was an announcement not too long after I got there that said the northbound trains were delayed but on their way.  I pulled out my copy of John Green’s An Abundance of Katherines (which, by the way, is really good, so far) and waited.

And waited.

Aaaaand waited.

Meanwhile, more people crowded the platform with every passing minute.  Before too long, this guy showed up and leaned against the wall right next to me.  Since I like to be aware of my surroundings, I looked up momentarily from the book.  This guy was probably 4’10″ with dark hair that he’d slicked back with far too much gel.  When I looked up, he shot me a really unsettling look and made a kissy-face at me.  I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and went back to my book.  He moved away from me and I figured that was that… but I was wrong.

The train finally arrived and I got on, and since it had been delayed it was packed full of people. Each train car has luggage space at the front.  This luggage space also gets utilized when all the seats are full and people need somewhere to stand without being in the way of the doors.  I ended up in the luggage space, mostly due to the fact that the influx of bodies into the train pushed me in that general direction.  I only had to go one stop, so I didn’t really mind… until Mr. Kissy-Face shoved himself between me and the rest of the passengers on the train, cornering me in the luggage space as the train pulled away.

He didn’t say a word.  He just stood there, his eyes leveled at my chest, a disgusting grin on his face.  I told him to fuck off.  He waggled his eyebrows at me, and didn’t budge.  The few people around us looked uncomfortable, but no one helped me. Nice.

Anyway, it was a short ride, because I was getting off at the next stop.  When the train pulled up, I said, “I’m getting off here,” and started to move… and he didn’t budge.  He crossed his arms and made another kissy-face at me and refused to move.  He was really trying my patience.  I told him to get the fuck out of my way, and yet he didn’t move.  I had probably another couple of seconds and the train would leave the platform, so I did what any self-respecting girl would do.

I clocked him with John Green’s An Abundance of Katherines.

He got out of my way and I got applause from the people who had been witnessing all of this — thanks again for the help, assholes — and I headed home.  Lesson learned: walk softly and carry a good book.

Without teachers, we are nothing.

Posted by on 05/13/2010 3 comments

I love teachers. Where would you be without them? Would you know how to read? Would you know how to write? Would you be able to do your job? Would you have the skills with which to best express your creativity?

Highly unlikely.

My family is full of teachers. Both of my mom’s parents were teachers. My aunt is a teacher. I’ve grown up surrounded by teachers. All my life I’ve understood the pursuit of knowledge to be the ultimate life goal to have — it’s a quest without an end, and a quest that brings nothing but benefits as long as you continue to follow it. There are infinite possibilities.

This week’s Girl Talk Thursday is to talk about your favorite teachers. And oh, I’ve had quite a few. I’ve had a few I’ve disliked, to be sure, but in the long run I’ve had far more that I’ve valued greatly — and besides, that’s the point of today’s exercise: discussing our favorite teachers.

  • My senior lit teacher, a man who introduced us to senior year by sitting us all down and asking us, “How many of you read The Great Gatsby last year?” When everyone raised their hands, he continued. “How many of you spent half the year ripping symbolism out of every page and nitpicking every metaphor to death?” Again, everyone raised their hands. He then took the rest of the first class of the year teaching us that you do not have to like every book — but you do need to know how to appreciate a book and understand its themes. A classic is a classic for a reason.
  • My 10th grade world history teacher gave the most intense, involved lectures I ever had in high school. Tons of note-taking and overhead-copying, really intense tests… and every time we began a new chapter, she gave us a blank map of the region we’d be studying and let us spend a day marking down the important cities and locations of important battles that were coming up in the chapter.  With crayons.
  • From 9th to 11th grade, I had a band director who saw my talent and potential and nurtured it — he pushed me to try out for section leader in the marching band (I performed leader duties for 11th and 12th grade, despite only being the official section leader in the 11th grade), he pushed me to try out for drum major (I chose to keep playing my instrument), and he pushed me to try out for the symphony orchestra (which I did). Without him I may have missed some serious opportunities for advancement.
  • Senior year, I had a different band director, but he was just as valuable to me as a teacher. He listened to his students when they had complaints, he treated us like equals, he didn’t show any favoritism, and perhaps the best thing he did (which I hated at the time, but see the value in now) was that he encouraged improvisation and “moving off the page” in the jazz band, where I played the piano.
  • Last, but most certainly not least, my piano teacher. I was with her from the age of 7 until I graduated high school. She not only taught me how to play the piano, she was also a great friend and confidante. As I moved from childhood to young adulthood, there were often things I felt uncomfortable discussing with my mother for some reason or another, and she was the person I would talk to. She gave me advice on everything from piano technique to friends and boys. She wasn’t just a piano teacher — she was a teacher of life itself, and my favorite of all the instructors I’ve ever had.

I’m going to be a fireman when the floods roll back.

Posted by on 04/29/2010 7 comments

It’s Girl Talk Thursday, and today’s theme is ‘what did you want to be when you grew up?’ And oh man, there’s nothing I love more than a good ramble.

Seriously, it’s going to be a ramble.

When I was a kid, I wanted to do everything. I really did. Depending on the time of day, my plans for the future were anything from “a one-name pop star like Madonna” to “a marine biologist” to, on the best of days, “in charge of everything.” I used to have fantasies of being the first lady President, of being an Olympic gymnast, of being a Broadway star, of flying airplanes, of living on a houseboat and writing novels… all kinds of things. The one-name pop star thing had wings for a long time, actually, I was convinced that my debut album (of Mariah Carey-esque power ballads — the really juicy 90s kind, obviously) would be this great pop-art thing with my signature just plastered in giant type diagonally across the front in bright red, a kicky photo of me doing some cheerful dance move behind it. I had plans, see.

But the truth of the matter — and this is still true, honestly, to this very day — is that when I grew up, I wanted to be Indiana Jones. Of all the future plans I had, this was the meatiest of them. This was what I wanted to do. I wanted to save mythical things from evil, freedom-hating, non-Democratic boogeymen, because that’s what Indy does! He saves priceless relics from Nazis and Communists! He’s like the Batman of Eurocentrism, I tell you!

Ah, Indiana Jones. He’s so sexy with his hat and his whip and his job. He’s a professor! He’s a teacher! I guarantee you had I been the appropriate age to portray one of his students in the movie, I’d have been the girl up front with “I love you” written creepily across my eyelids (say what? You don’t remember her? What’s wrong with you!?). The man had screaming hordes at his office hours! It was like Beatlemania but for one man! That’s impressive teaching, right there. In all my years in academia I’ve never seen anything even remotely like it, even when the teacher was the hottest thing in all of TRMS — oh, Algebra I. Best class ever. Couldn’t tell you squat about the math these days, though…

But I digress. Where were we? Oh. Indy.

Best of all? His hobby. He was a teacher by profession, see, but in his spare time he went gallivanting around the world finding impossible, legendary treasures and bringing them home because “they belong in a museum.” Now, that is, in itself, up for debate, to be sure, but honestly when faced with the options most of Indy’s relics were faced with (a museum… or the personal collection of someone like Adolf Hitler), I’d say they belonged in museums, too.

Now, I can’t say that a big part of me wasn’t utterly enchanted by Harrison Ford’s gorgeous face, or that another part of me wasn’t completely hypnotized by the grail theme in The Last Crusade (seriously, that’s one of the most gorgeous pieces of scoring John Williams has ever done — It comes in at 0:43, I dare you not to get chills), but yeah. I wanted to be Indiana Jones when I grew up, and I still sort of do.

Hell, it looks like I’m actually going to be a professor when all is said and done. The question is, will my students mob my office hours? Probably not — though that’s probably for the best.

Under the sexual arena of earthly delight, there lies a pit of socks.

Posted by on 04/02/2010 No comments

Yesterday’s Girl Talk Thursday topic was about clothes.  More specifically, it’s about clothes that make you feel awesome.

Let me tell you something, first of all.  I am an ultra-nerdy graduate student.  My daily outfit is exactly this: Chucks (green or white, depending on my mood), jeans, and a nerdy t-shirt (and, if it’s cold, a long-sleeve tee underneath).  If it’s really cold outside, I’ll throw a hoodie on over top of it all.  Sometimes I’ll wear a shirt without nerdy stuff on it if I have to be somewhere that I might need to not look quite so much like an obvious college kid.

However, I wear these things because they make me feel awesome.  Specifically:

1. The nerdy shirt. I am a connoisseur of nerdy shirts.  From Team Edward (James Olmos) to Thesaurus and beyond, I hoard nerdy shirts.  Some people collect postage stamps, I collect shirts.  Nothing delights me more than having a fantastic conversation because a fellow nerd saw my shirt and got excited.

2. Colorful knee socks. Almost my entire sock collection is knee socks.  I think of all the socks I own that maybe two pairs are plain white socks, and perhaps a half-dozen of them are shorter than knee-length.  There’s something about wearing brightly colored socks that makes me feel fantastic, even if I’m the only person that knows I have them on.

3. Dresses. Those that know me know that I wear dresses infrequently and almost always in the summer, when it’s brought on by the feeling of “sweet candy Jesus, it’s hot outside,” and not so much a real desire to wear dresses.  However, when I have an excuse to wear a pretty dress?  I feel amazing.  I think a lot of that comes from the wow-factor reactions I get (since I never wear dresses, my friends always get excited when I do), but some of it comes from the part of me that still kind of wants to be an animated princess (you know the ones — the feisty, book-reading Belle type).

4.  Boots. There’s nothing quite like pulling on a pair of motorcycle boots and stomping around in them like you’re the next incarnation of Sarah Connor.

5.  Workout clothes. I think this comes from the badass feeling I get after running for half an hour and sweating my guts out more than the clothes themselves, but I’ve come to associate the two and now just getting into the sports bra is enough to make me feel like Kara Thrace, so I thought I’d include it.