Today Me And My Significant Other Have Been Having A Rough Go Of It :(

Today me and my “significant other” have been having a rough go of it :(

I asked him to move his Windows to a new drive, but he’s been making it really hard for me... I thought that by copying his primary NTFS partition and then recreating a new EFI partition for him, he'd be happy, but alas I think I’ve only made things worse :/ Now, our mutual friend UEFI refuses to acknowledge that we’ve both moved on to a new drive and I can’t seem to convince UEFI to see sense. So Windows is still stuck in his original drive despite our MUTUAL desire to move, and I’m just left feeling lost and confused :’(

Maximum PC - May 1999

I am such a slut for fun text formatting please somebody tell me how I get all the fun fonts for my tumblr posts. please. im desperate.

Story Time: Get a load of what happened to me at Starbucks today.

There’s a running joke among people who know me personally that I unwittingly go out in public with a sign on my forehead stating “I Am Non-Threatening. Come Talk To Me.” Because if there’s a chance a bizarre conversation with a total stranger is going to happen, I’m typically the person it happens to.

Some context: I have been pretty darn sick this week. (It’s not Coronavirus, don’t worry.) Since the work in my queue for my day job is comprised entirely of audio narration right now, and I currently sound like a waterlogged Demi Moore, I haven’t been able to work these last couple of days. As a result, I’ve been using my down time to knock out as much of Manu’s redesign as possible. Today, to ensure I didn’t spend the day languishing in sinus misery, I medicated the crap out of myself and took Manu to the Starbucks down the block from my son’s day care.

I hit the bathroom, then picked an empty table, but as soon as I sat down with my venti Comfort Tea and started tweaking the inks on my iPad, I felt the eyes of the man next to me looking over my shoulder.

When I looked up, he had his phone out. “I’m sorry,” he said (in a thick accent I couldn’t place geographically), “I don’t want to disturb. I notice you art. You are artist!”

I tried to smile. “Yes, I’m... Well, I’m trying to be,” I croaked.

He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret.

“I am artist, too.”

He stuck out his hand.

I gently took it, grateful for the bathroom trip I just took in which I washed the scourge off of my fingers.

“Can I?” he asked, holding his phone up.

“Take a picture? Uh... sure,” I said. It’s not like he would be able to steal Manu out from under me or anything, I figured. The panel I was tweaking was magnified out to Guam.

“I am artist. Architect and Designer,” he clarified while he steadied his phone over my iPad. “I am Ilker. What is your name?”

“I’m Venessa” I said, trying to be polite. This, I thought warily, is precisely how I get myself into trouble. I’m too damn nice.

“You know, I come to America twenty years ago from Turkey...”

I put down my stylus. This was going to be a while.

“I like Turkey,” he explained. “I like the country and I like the people. But I am artist. I am not... religious man.”

I nodded.

“I told my wife I was going to go to America and she said, “what are you going to do? You don’t have job! You don’t have money! No Visa!” And I said, “I am artist and architect. I will paint and sell my paintings.

“So I come to America alone. To New York City. I sit outside, and I paint. And people, they liked my paintings. They bought them. This one for $30, that one for $50.

“One day, a man comes over to me and he say, “I like your painting. I see you are also architect.” And he gives me his number and asks me to go to meeting at his office. Because he wants to offer me a job. He starts to talk about a building contract.

“I tell him I don’t know anything about contracts. I have no Visa. I am not American citizen. But he says, “That’s okay. I will take care of everything. You will have nothing to worry about.” And this man, he gave me a job. $173,000 a year. And my wife, he gave her a job too. She was project assistant. I bring her and my two daughters over from Turkey.”

“Wow,” I said, not fully believing the veracity of what sounded like a full-on immigration fairy tale.

“Here,” said Ilker, unlocking his phone and opening up his Facebook app. “I show you my work.” He paused and looked up at me. “I am interrupting. You don’t mind?”

At this point, I was invested. I had to see. Because whatever he was about to show me would either prove or disprove this yarn he was spinning. “Please,” I said, gesturing for him to go ahead.

He opened his photos and my jaw dropped. His work... was UNREAL.

“This is building I designed on Madison Ave.... And this one in Chelsea...”

Holy crap. I had just been to Chelsea with my sister last month on a trip to see a broadway show. I had crossed the intersection of the building he was, at this moment, telling me he designed.

He flipped through more buildings. These, he’d designed in Washington, DC. In Bethesda. In Arlington. All beautiful, streamlined, modern structures I had visited and parked my car in front of. He told me he did much of his concept work freehand. That he worked exclusively in natural media. His preferred media was pen, ink, watercolors, and chalks.

Between photos of his wife and daughters, he went on to show me photos from the RUSSIAN EXHIBITION OF HIS ARCHITECTURE ARTWORK.

Y’all, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the talent I was sitting next to. Scattered among these gloriously rendered images of some of the most beautiful building concepts I’d ever seen were paintings of scenes in Central Park, the National Mall, and nudes from a life-drawing session he attends from time to time.

When he was done flipping through his phone, he looked at me and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that I interrupt you. I show you all this because what you are doing is very good. And you should be encouraged. To draw is to make beauty.”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I managed. “Your work is astonishing. I don’t even know what to say. What is your name again?”

He held out his hand once more. “Ilker Kocahan,” he said. “I am getting more coffee. Can I get you one?”

I looked at my still-full venti cup. “No thank you. But here, please take my card.”

He held my dinky business card like I’d handed him a treasure and thanked me.

Then Ilker got his coffee, and left the coffee shop.

At some point in his ramblings he talked about America as a place of dreams. How he credits this country with helping him rise to the top of his field where he is now able to sell his paintings for $800-$1000 a piece now that he’s retired. My heart ached to hear him talk about that, knowing how our leadership’s positions on immigrants have taken such a dark and horrifying turn.

Imagine the buildings and museums and public places that would never have been if a business man in the park hadn’t lifted up a Turkish painter who spoke little English.

And now that painter was paying it forward on me.

I still feel pretty darn sick. I’ve still got body aches and a nose that has taken the rest of my face hostage.

But today was a really good day. And I just wanted to share it with you in case you are looking for reasons to keep drawing/painting/dancing/writing. It all counts and it is all good.

If you would like to see Ilker Kocohan’s work, please click here.

Archinect

ILKER KOCAHAN's Archinect profile

Ilker Kocahan holds a bachelor’s degree in Industrial Design with a minor in architecture from the University of Marmara, Faculty of Fine A

Woah, it’s June! Pride month :D

It’s always in interesting time for me, someone who’s out as ace (although I don’t talk about it much) but who’s still hiding their gender in a deep dark closet with three locks on the door -- I can get excited about pride and talk about all the gay bullshit that I want to talk about, but there’s also always this pressure I put on myself to do something about the monster hiding in my closet that I’ve been avoiding for years at this point.

In some ways I’ve let pride be a reminder of all the things I could be but I’m not, all the stuff I know would make me happy to do but I haven’t done because I’m afraid of what could go wrong. I’ve let it be a reminder that yet another year passed without me coming any closer to looking and feeling the ways I want to look and feel. I’ve let it be a reminder of my worry and stress and fear and amorphous blob of unknowns that could arrive after I open that closet door.

But that’s not what pride is about. Pride isn’t about fear or worry or hiding. And that’s not what this year is going to be for me. This year, this month, this day I’m going to start being the exact person I want to be, presenting exactly how I want to present and feeling ecstatic about it. This year I’m telling the world that I’m trans and ace and no way in hell is anyone going to miss it.

And I’m not going to be scared into submission by whatever comes after that. Well... maybe I’ll be a little scared. a bit. maybe a lot. perhaps it could be described as abject terror. maybe.

But I’m going in with my head held high and I’m going in ready to face whatever the world has to throw at me. And I’m coming out a happier person, no matter what. I’m going to feel better. I need to feel better. So I’m going to do it :]

Happy pride to all my aces, aros, transes, enbys, and everyone else except the cishets :P Whether you’re in the closet or shouting your labels from the rooftops you are incredible and you deserve love, respect, healthcare, and safety.

Wishing all of you an excellent month of pride, joy, and progress,

pile-o-words <3

I’ve seen a lot of complaints about the tumblr ads being a little unhinged, but, at least for me, after being here for a week they’ve figured out exactly what I want. If you know me, you know I love 4 things: Phineas and Ferb, She-Ra, Aspec stuff, and DUMPSTERS, that’s right, I got an ad for DUMPSTER RENTAL :D

Now. You may think I’m kidding. You may wonder why I would love dumpers. Good question! It is because there are so many things to do in a dumper! I can sit in dumper. I can dive in dumper. I can hide in dumper (do not try this at home). I can throw thing into dumper (and make CRONCH noise when they lands). I can stomp around on top of a dumper full of trash and feel like a big hulkin MENACE (but only to the dumpster). A fresh dumper is an adventure waiting to happen!

Dumper time is a very important part caring for your local pile-o-words and a key source of enrichment. Do not forget to give pile-o their dumper time!

So I downloaded the tumblr app the other day and now it’s telling me I have crushes on people??? I am ACE thank you very much but also yes how did you know i didn’t think i was being so obvious :///