All posts by X Teri

The Best Damn Roasted Cucumber Recipe Ever Devised

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Expert Cooking Advice From X Teri, Noted Chef

As a noted expert in the field of cooking, I’ve figured out the whole “Roasted Cucumber Slices” thing.

I made some today with lemon juice and Tajín. Dawn at least tried them when I said, “They evoke the taste of fried green tomatoes.” She popped one in her mouth and immediately puckered up. She then reminded me she doesn’t like fried green tomatoes. I’m glad Fannie Flagg is still alive, otherwise, my wife’s reaction would have earned her a downgrade in reputation.

If you’re interested, I deviate wildly from most of the recommended websites in regards to roasted cucumber slices. Some sites recommend low temperatures such as 170 for longer times. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

First, heat the oven to at least 400. Spray a metal cooking sheet with your favorite cooking spray.

As much as I love parchment paper, you don’t need it for this unless your cucumbers are more desiccated than the mouth of a starving vampire.

(Real men will note that they should use axle grease for the cooking sheet. But on the other hand, real men don’t know how to cook roasted cucumber slices: it’s in the rule book under “No.”)

Before putting the seasoned cucumber slices on the pan, heat it in the oven for 3-4 minutes. You should also count to 180 in a foreign language while you wait. It won’t help you cook any better, but it will give you a pretentious air necessary to be regarded as a “good cook.” (And not the “Breaking Bad” kind of cook, either, no matter how pretty Blue Ice is in the summer sunlight.

I prefer using smaller cucumbers. Wash them but don’t peel them. Only people who think limited-edition collector’s plates peel their cucumbers. Just don’t do it. Slice the cucumbers into very thin slices. You shouldn’t need an electron microscope, so don’t fret about how thick they might be. Whatever you think “thinly sliced” means, do that.

So help me god, if anyone mentions using a mandoline to slice the cucumbers, I will come to your house and shave the hindquarters of your favorite pet. Mandolines are simply not permitted in American households. If you have one, please stop reading now, get your mandolin from the kitchen, then throw it out the back door wherever you live.

For additional points, chop as quickly as humanly possible. Try to do it like that android on the “Alien” movie did the knife trick around fingers. Professional chefs worry too much about safety in the kitchen. We’ve been eating for thousands of years and no one has gotten seriously injured yet. Note from the lawyers: that last statement is false, so unless you are Republican, ignore that last part.

In a bowl, (the slices – not you), splash the slices with lemon juice as if you are doing a Catholic mass on Saturday morning. Add whatever seasoning you wish: curry powder, lemon pepper, Tajín, cheese sprinkles. If you aren’t sure, try it on there. Cucumbers are cheaper than opinions at a NASCAR rally.

Place the cucumber slices on a single level on the warm cooking sheet. Do not make neat rows or patterns when you do this. It annoys normal people to see neatly arranged things we’re all going to eat anyway.

Put the pan in the oven. (Where else would you put it?)

Don’t do anything for 10 -14 minutes. At 10-14  minutes, keep a cautious eye on the slices. They will turn from almost crispy and tinged with brown to flaming to the ceiling if you blink too long. Personally, I love almost everything even if it is burned. But for you normal people out there, you need to be cautious.  Except for the pyros: you guys can set the oven for 500 and leave it for 4 days if you want. (You only live once.)

One thing you need to understand about roasted cucumbers slices is that they simply don’t taste the same once heated and dried. If you take the time to make these and anyone in your family refuses to try them or appreciate the effort, borrow a gun if necessary and repeat your request that they at least try these delicious slices of heaven. Fire a warning shot if you don’t notice a dramatic increase in enthusiasm as your loved ones stuff their faces with these things.

As a bonus, if you make them as I indicate, they are very low in calories.

You’ll note that your life is suddenly awash with happiness and peace. It’s an inevitable change once you start following my cooking advice. 450 Ukrainian diplomats can’t be wrong.

 

PS: If you don’t trust me, you can Google recipes for these yourself. Be warned, though. There are a LOT of weirdos on the internet these days, some of whom are masquerading as good cooks.

 

 

 

 

Social Media Is You

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Social media is different things to different people. As a universal tool, Facebook has created several tools to allow you to curate and control what you see (or don’t), including individual websites. Use the tools to control what you see before lamenting that there’s content that you don’t like. It’s not perfect, but neither is a conversation with friends. We all have friends who insist on talking about herbal tea remedies, Trump vs. Obama, or who invite us to play Pinball Casino Gunfight 2019.

It reminds me of those who visit the beach and shriek about the hot sand, never acknowledging that beach flip-flops cure the problem. It’s easier for you to put on flip-flops than it is to close the beach unless you’re Chris Christie.

Each of us has our own particular interests, whether they are sports, politics, religion, video gaming, or literature. We share many interests to varying degrees, but it’s hard to overlap completely in a world wherein some people think that baseball, the sports equivalent of earwax, is something interesting. I’ll watch any baseball clip if it contains someone getting brained by a thrown bat or the first baseman’s pants falling down as he dives for a grounder. (My ideal clip would be if every player suddenly stripped naked and jumped into the stands, screaming in Chinese.)

This is exactly why the smart social media companies have tailored their apps for individuals to control their own content. If each of us posts what we find interesting and we also curate our own news feed, it’s a little nonsensical to demand changes to a system already designed to address the ‘problem’ as you see it. Social media is similar to tv, with the exception that you have to do a little bit of work to avail yourself to the entire world it brings to you.

Social media has been one of our biggest communications accomplishments. We can log on and have instantaneous access to any of our friends, family, and co-workers, anywhere in the world. Of course, they are going to talk about things that you don’t find interesting. With a press of a button, you can forever eliminate any link to CNN, Fox News, MLB/NBA, or Infowars. You can also swipe past, just as if you were speeding past an old rust-covered jalopy on the interstate without looking to your right to see the weirdo driving it. (Hint: it’s probably me.)

As much as you might hate to see a post regarding Polynesian Ear Mites or How Democrats Are Drinking Their Own Urine, trust me, there are people holding their phones and rolling their eyes at whatever inane thing you find to be either interesting or entertaining. It’s what makes the world so interesting. As a bona fide eccentric, trust me when I tell you that you would be shocked to find out just how many people think each of us is full of crap.

Share what interests you and use the tools at your fingertips to avoid exposure to what you find ridiculous. You wouldn’t want to live in a world with reduced options because that world will soon enough find you as you grow older and those around you slowly circle in.

Some of us are fascinated by a million different things. Others, like me, create almost everything they post.

Between occasionally being forced to remember that Major League Baseball is actually considered a sport and it ceasing to exist, I’ll tolerate it for the few crazy moments it sometimes can provide. Social media is the same.

Dinosaurians and Trump

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Many of us share moments, some sublime, some perplexing.

Recently, a respected member of the community invited me to his house for lunch and a bit of jawing. (I know what you’re thinking – he couldn’t be illustrious if he were having me over at his house unless a lost bet was involved.)

One of the great stories he told me was about one of his neighbors. My friend told me that this neighbor knew how to build a car from scratch, plumb a house, wire an entire building, and seemed to know a little about every subject on the planet. My friend had always thought of him as a very smart, capable person.

…Until one fateful day when his neighbor extemporaneously deviated off the normal course of conversation and insisted that the world was only a few thousand years old. My friend is an elder statesman with a wide education, has traveled all over the world, served in the military and worked in a career helping people his entire life – so he’s been around the widest assortment of humans you can imagine. To say that he was flummoxed insufficiently describes the shock of the revelation that his neighbor is a “Dinosaurian,” one of the people who ascribe to the variety of nonsense that humans roamed the earth with Dinosaurs or that the planet is actually very young. Most of the people who believe such things are religious fundamentalists, but some are simply like the Flat-Earthers, cherry-picking whatever conspiracy theory fits their ideas.

Afterward, it seemed as if everything were about his neighbor’s insistence that the planet wasn’t ancient. No matter what the subject might be, my friend either couldn’t get the nonsense of his neighbor’s belief out of his head or his neighbor, previously silent on the issue, seemed to harp on and on about nothing else, as if mentioning it just once opened an invisible floodgate to his nonsensical ideas.

My friend told me that story to underscore the continuing amazement he has toward those who chose Trump as their president- or who continue to defend his actions now that he’s assaulted facts, news organizations, religions, and rational public discourse. Keep in mind, my friend is decades older than me. He also voted Republican all his life, even though he was more progressive than the party itself. He, of course, didn’t vote for Trump in the last election. He couldn’t have imagined voting for Clinton, but he knew a vote for anyone but the major candidates was a vote for Trump, having lived through several election cycles which were disrupted by left-field contenders.

Until this election, he could imagine that the choice wasn’t so grotesque as to be an apocalyptic choice either way. When he thinks of intelligent people voting for Trump, he imagines an army comprised of people like his neighbor, snidely ignoring the mountain of evidence at their disposal. He knows that reason didn’t bring most of them to their decision, even though they’ll insist otherwise. He watches as those who should know better fan the flame of prejudice toward other religions, something he’s observed go terribly wrong in other places all over the world. He’s seen how effective such fear mongering can be in a population. Watching people lose their insurance in the midst of so much concentrated wealth also should be sending a red flag to those in power, in his opinion.

For my friend, he holds out hope that the younger generation will continue to advance the progress we’ve made as a society, one dedicated to helping one another; being smarter, more compassionate and better human beings. He knows that people who voted Trump are either a bump in the road and soon to be passed over by time – or the warning bell for civilized, rational society. He’s not at all confident that we won’t descend into authoritarianism or some hybrid religious state.

 

 

 

Yet Another Note About DWI

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My apologies for the tenor of this.

No matter how often it comes up, I watch in fascination when someone gets a DUI, whether a celebrity, athlete or my second cousin. The whispers, the speculation, the shame. Then, with regularity, comes the backlash. “It’s not your business,” or “You shouldn’t be talking about such things.” Or, “It’s personal.” Drunks get really angry and often their friends and family join in to attempt to silence those who draw attention to their mistake. Part of the process for dealing with DWIs should be the social stigma and open discussion of it all, no matter how uncomfortable it might make people. Yes, the driver made a mistake but is one which involves everyone on the road while he or she is driving impaired.

If you find a cure for diabetes and drink champagne in celebration, it doesn’t lessen the fact that you could easily kill several people driving home from your celebration. You make the choice to drive after imbibing. It is surprisingly easy to drive impaired and many of us could easily make a poor decision and do it. This doesn’t detract from the necessity of us looking our error in the eye and dealing with it. That includes you keeping your mouth shut when someone has something to say about it.

I’ve said it a million times: if you get a DWI and no one is injured, it shouldn’t ruin your life, especially if you are young. (It’s the law that young people have to do stupid things. Older people continue to do them because we can’t help ourselves.) The humiliation and punishments should be enough to teach anyone a lesson which sticks. Part of that lesson, though, should be a huge dose of humility, one in which the person accused swallows their pride and admits publicly that they made a huge mistake, one which risked stranger’s lives on our shared public roads. If you get a second, you deserve a massively higher level of punishment, including mandatory inpatient treatment for several months and possible permanent loss of your license.

My dad killed a cousin in a drunk driving accident. He endured no consequences. Subsequently, he continued to believe that drinking and driving were things that should always be done in combination and he dedicated his adult life to endangering everyone on the roads. Many in my family had multiple DWIs, including my mom and aunts and uncles. I was in several accidents growing up in which adults were drinking. After the first one, all of them should have been put in prison, especially since people were seriously injured in the accidents.

For any of you who think you have the right to silence me in any way when I criticize those who get DWIs – and especially more than one – your opinion is probably because you haven’t seen the carnage of such stupidity scattered over a dimly-lit highway at night, while the officers on the scene both attempt to find an arm missing from the car or call friends and family of those who were killed driving home from a movie. And there are others, those who have received a DWI, those who are secretly furious that they were held to account for their stupidity through driving while impaired. I try not to be too harsh about DWIs but I do get testy when I see people openly defending those who’ve done it more than once.

PS: I have a neighbor across the street who drinks and drives like he’s trying to set a consecutive record. I await the day when his truck goes through the bedroom of one of the houses. He always announces he’s finished his drink because he hurls the red solo cup from the driver-side window.

Wrinkled Plans

I continue to be surprised at my connection to pictures, even if they were taken 50 or 100 years ago. Looking at this happy baby, knowing that these same eyes have now witnessed almost 80 years in this fascinating world, somehow still convinces me that it’s all an illusion. (PS: It’s always an honor to be trusted to preserve a family’s pictures.)

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“I ain’t saying he’s an ass, but instead of wearing underwear he wears toilet seat covers.” -X

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The photo below is photoshopped, but it served its purpose: to confuse people and convince them that the entire picture on the left was real.

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It doesn’t matter if I get credit for an idea: people remember the bumper sticker – not the driver.

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Pessimist or realist: “Money and a stronger economy weaken racism. Take away the smooth sailing, though, and the people who were in the boat first start looking sideways at your skin color. Even if they stole the boat, you’re going to find yourself in the water.”

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A message in Spanish…

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A is for apple, J is for Jack, cinnamon-toasty kiss my ass.

(The first line of a soon-to-be-released hit song OR a breakfast cereal for the older folks.) – X

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“I loved not seeing you yesterday,” she said.

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A picture from when I stayed at the White House and met tiny Mike Pence. (This picture has a couple of dozen hidden modifications.) I really was wearing that flowery bathrobe back in the day – it was my favorite.

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Sylvester Stallone has agreed to another”Rocky” sequel. Given his age he’s to play an aging philosophy professor fighting misconceptions about life. Working title: “The Why Of The Tiger. ”

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I had just fed the birds and sat down across from my meanest, ugliest co-worker. 🙂 From nowhere we hear a crescendo of chirping. A little fat baby bird was hopping toward us. Steve reached down and the bird hopped to his hand and sat, chirping. Steve fed him bread morsels for several minutes. What an unusual and satisfying experience.

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Language Is Communication, Not Math…

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For those who obsess over nuances such as semicolon appropriateness, you are of course correct in your insistence but wrong in your logic.

Language is communication, not math; authoritative attempts toward grammatical obedience leads to a cabal of ignored perfectionists, their collective pomp drawing the wrong kind of attention. Those using the language own it; if you find yourself outnumbered by those who refuse allegiance to the arcane rules of grammatical engagement, your only recourse is to use language as you see fit.

It is a gross assumption to claim that we commonly agree on the rules of language.

English is a voracious language and fluid in its spectacle. Most of the errors we perceive in our judgment of its usage tend to be the fault of the preposterous litany of illogical and capricious rules which allegedly govern it. Humans will never willingly pay homage to rules which betray the twin paths of practicality and reason.

When used with creative vigor, it is true that language is a beautiful governess attending to us. When used as a dead repository of grammatical obligations, it is a scorned woman yanking at her own hair.

Time teaches us that entropy destroys even the illusion of consistency in the form and content of our words. Grammar is the imagined road map to a place which no one gleefully visits, while spelling is the witchcraft of barking dogs in a canyon a mile distant.

Each language holds its own secrets and none owe allegiance to others or even its own previous incarnation. It all adds up to a frenzied verbal fist fight with usage always being the declared victor. We can weep at its frenzied evolution but we cannot contain it, even as our objections mount skyward.

If you doubt any of this to be true, learn another language as intensely as your first. Language embodies all the beauty and dismay of man himself.

Leave Souvenirs At Your Friend’s House…

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It’s what friends do…

Quite a while ago, I survived an experience at Whataburger. As a gift, I got this table service # sign card, one with the #13 on it. It has impatiently witnessed my living room ever since, waiting for the perfect home to live out its life, its orangeness daring me to find a better home.

Today, Dawn and I went to visit some friends, people who have a more traditional taste in décor. While no one was looking, I furtively placed the table card in their great room, on the mantle. It might as well have been a headless giraffe, given how incongruous it is against the backdrop of their house.

I almost shed a tear as I departed without my invaluable Whataburger table sign…

Until I laughed, thinking about the confusion this thing will occasion once my friends notice the craziness in their great room. I’m hoping they don’t notice for a week or two – or that someone else sees it before they do.

The Whataburger Bandit strikes again. You’re welcome, world.

This Post is Good Enough

It doesn’t matter if I get credit for an idea: people remember the bumper sticker – not the driver.

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If I take up cattle farming I will not allow books in the fields. Doctors tell us to avoid read meat.

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I made the above picture for a friend for amusement. He wasn’t naked in the original picture, of course. 🙂

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Technology is everywhere – but not always the best option. Just the other day I saw an assassin trying to use a wireless garrote.

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I finally snapped a picture of the never-before-seen “Holy Cow!”

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There’s nothing better than an early Saturday stroll, accompanied by the sounds of chirping birds and Godzilla, out for vengeance.

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I wrote a hit song. The more it’s played, the more I get hit.

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I saw an ad on Facebook for “Maternity Pictures” and was confused until I realized that the photographer only does them postpartum.

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“I saw that Florida passed an anti-science bill but noted that none of the lawmakers were standing on an anti-gravity floor”

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Jason Rapert is now trying to outlaw certain punctuation marks, saying, “Even the period is an assault on our decency.”

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The entire day needs more cowbell.

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As many of you know, I’ve been making cards for Hallmark’s new division of occasion cards. If you use one of these new cards and wait long enough, the recipient will never guess who sent it. Additionally, it is also fun to send two friends or family the same card, using each other’s return address. They’ll think they are thanking one another – and if they are old enough, they’ll be in perpetual doubt. You’ll thank me, later, even if you don’t remember what for.

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For Sale By Groaner.

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