All posts by X Teri

Newport Potatoes, Aziz Ansari & ‘Master of None’

05/15/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

This post will be of interest to those who cook or watch TV, and probably even those weirdos who cook while watching – and perhaps even Peeping Toms who watch those who do either or both. I think I’ve covered the potential fan base of this post adequately, except to remind you to stop cooking in the nude.

Comedian Aziz Ansari’s second season of “Master of None” is on Netflix. It’s one of the most genuinely comedic shows I’ve watched in a long time. It also connects on a deeper level, pinging a depth of emotion and shared experiences that’s difficult for most shows to approach. The nuances are clouded inside a veneer of comedy but I find this to be the case with most shows that I appreciate.

While watching the latest season, I laughed like a diseased jackal when I heard that they too had a recipe for “Newport Potatoes,” a recipe that my mom perfected through countless meals in my youth.

Here’s the recipe for Newport Potatoes: use the regular mashed potatoes recipe, except ensure that a careless and/or drinking chain smoker is in the room and involved in making the potatoes. They’re called “Newport Potatoes” due to the popular Newport cigarettes. My mom tended to make “Winston Potatoes,” though.

(Note: At one point, Newport cigarettes accounted for almost 1/2 of all African-American cigarette sales. I loathe including true facts in my posts, but this one was interesting enough to warrant a detour from my usual tomfoolery.)

So, as I often warn people, check your potatoes before eating, to ensure that it’s black pepper in the spuds instead of cigarette ash. (Not that cigarette ash tastes bad or causes gastric distress.)

Springdale, Whimsical

Connections Made

05/14/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

The following is a post I wrote for the Springdale Hospital Alumni Group. While I never worked there, I’ve known hundreds of people who have. Last year, they got me started doing scans of hundreds of their collected pictures, spanning decades of work and friendship. They invite to the parties as if I’ve been a member the entire time. Most of these parties are held at Dr. Jerry Dorman’s house, with his wife Jackie doing most of the legwork. I’ve been very lucky to get know the Dormans over the last year. It certainly feels like these types of friendships are rarer, given that it’s a struggle to be at a job long enough to develop lasting connections.

Now that the sound of banjos has subsided and Marilyn has visited us for her annual Tea Party, the slow mist of friendship settles peacefully back upon this town of Springdale. Unlike the hurried, insistent acquaintances we so often form in this new, modern world, today was the day when friends could pull up a chair, share a story, and know that no matter how anticipated the punchline, that there would be friendly ears to appreciate the memories as they mutually looked back upon what they shared.

As an outsider, it was comforting to see old friends bonded by work rejoined in laughter and stories. It’s an increasingly rare thing to experience connections at work, and a rarer wild bird still to find them still breathing years and decades later. I’m truly envious of the stories of Springdale Hospital and have gained much more from this group than I could ever pay back in, even if I were to scan ten thousand pictures for everyone involved.

It’s true that our memory is traitorous to the truth as we age and that the daily frustrations of work and life fade with time, allowing us to better appreciate the timelessness of friendships. I can’t escape the feeling that perhaps many of these folks, however, were able to smile more often, laugh more deeply, and take away a little more from their days at the hospital than the rest of the mortals who weren’t lucky enough to experience the halcyon days of Springdale Hospital.

The Dormans were gracious hosts for opening their beautiful home to everyone, but also for joining along with the crescendo of laughter that ascended to the sky on this impeccable May afternoon. Contrary to popular belief, Dr. Jerry didn’t get out his banjo and sing this year, nor did Marilyn demonstrate to the rest of us the best way to flamenco dance. (Although promises were made.)

For those who attended, you’ll have to assure those who didn’t that they indeed were the topic of much merriment and speculation in their absence. This group left an echo in time today. These echoes are what makes living such a gift.

Humor, Security

“That’s Not His Name”

05/10/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

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“Good morning Officer Farva,” I jovially told the approaching security guard.

I won’t identify him by name, as his mustache alone would incriminate him. But that mustache – you know the cliché all too well, is one ripped from the upper lip of every stereotypical small-town cop. His short, cropped hair looks like it’s still mad at the owner for the haircut inflicted upon it. It is the sort of haircut that is intended to convey a Drill Sergeant’s seriousness but instead makes you wish you could weep for something so petty as another person’s hairstyle.

“That’s not my name,” he disapprovingly growled.

I don’t know what spirit of chicanery overcame me but I did something I never do: I started dancing rhythmically, much like Frankenstein might have when first electrocuted. I don’t dance like no one is watching – I dance like no one is paying me.

I also started chanting the lyrics to ‘That’s Not My Name’ by the Ting-Tings.

The look of incredulity on the security guard’s face can be best compared to that of a mechanic upon flinging open a customer’s hood and discovering a cadre of energetic squirrels powering the engine.

After a few seconds, I laughed and told him, “But your badge indicates that your name is Rod Farva.”

To my surprise, he looked down and folded his badge toward his gaze to read the name on it. He seemed both confused and relieved his actual name was in fact still on the badge.

I strutted away with a laugh as if I just won “Dancing With the Stars,” or, as would be more likely in my case, “Dancing With the Stares.”

“You are truly and irrevocably weird!” He said and then he laughed, begrudgingly, as humor is federally forbidden while on duty.
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PS: Rod Farva is the name of the annoying cop from “Super Troopers,” widely considered to be an actual documentary of how police behave.

Biographical, Personal

A Snortee For Someone Encountered

05/08/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

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A few days ago, I was at the liquor store. (These are places which sell alcohol, for those who’ve never heard of such a thing.) I had heard an almost-familiar voice as I wandered the aisles, searching for the things which I already knew to be in their places. I looked to the side and saw an older gentleman, wallet out and open, fingering his money. He had a couple of tens and a few ones. He had a bottle of wine perched on one of the shelves. It was a nice one, a happy medium between cat urine and the kind one might drink at a million dollar wedding. Like men of his generation, he was carefully dressed, his white hair cut short and his shirt without a wrinkle.

Seeing him and hearing his voice reminded me so much of my Uncle Buck, who could be as jovial as a box of delighted kittens. To be frank, he also died from complications resulting from alcoholism. He and my aunt had decided a few years before his death to engage in a race to the bottom of their shared bottle. He won. But as troubled as his life was, he gifted me the word “snortee,” his humorous way of saying ‘a small drink.’ It was only after he retired that alcohol became his consuming passion. Yes, I recognize the incongruity of the word ‘snortee’ for someone who passed in this manner.

I told the cashier that I was going to pay for the elderly gentleman’s wine in addition to mine. Rarely do I question my impulses to pay it forward; so often they’ve rewarded me with reminders of the incredible overlapping of our lives.

“Are you friends or acquaintances?” she asked.

“No, I’ve never seen him before. But I bet he’s going to be tickled when he finds out someone bought his bottle for him.”

After ringing me up, the clerk toggled the conveyor and dragged the gentleman’s bottle forward and scanned his bottle.

“Hey, miss, that’s mine,” the man said.

“This man bought your bottle for you,” the clerk said and smiled, pointing at me.

The smile started at the older man’s chin and stretched halfway across the room. “Well, I’ll be. I never thought of getting a surprise at the liquor store, but I thank you and will most assuredly pay it forward!” He was beaming.

As I left, I turned to watch as the man strode with pride from the liquor store, as best as he could given his age. To my surprise, he opened the door to a minivan exactly like one my aunt and uncle had owned.

I’m not certain why I know it, but I am certain that the encounter pleased him and that he was contemplating it as he drove way, his life bifurcating away from mine.

Uncle Buck would have loved to share a laugh with that gentleman, in another life. In some small mundane yet wonderful way, we all saluted one another, even though one of us had long passed beyond this place.
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The picture is of me on the left and Uncle Buck on the right.

Whimsical

A Day Late For the Circus

05/02/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

My wife me gave me permission to relocate to D.C. to pursue my dream of music. My new band name: HarMonica Lewinsky.

“Die Hard” one too many times: I can’t see a length of hanging chain without calculating whether it would hold a pendulous swinging body, as when national hero John McClane finally gives Karl a lethal dose of oppositional gravity.

For those of you suffering from a lack of whimsy, a guaranteed eye-roll from me to you…

Opening for autobiography: “….my father relished violence to such a degree that he insisted that the cook inspect each pea to ensure that it was indeed black-eyed.”

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Word(s) Of the Day, Sponsored by “Presidential Ignorance: A Study.”

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Another great quote from “Catch-22.” The unassailable logic of this still is at play today.

You’ve all seen those personality tests? My answers are much more honest than yours.

Person you were named after? Technically, I was named after everyone, since they were all born before me.

Why did you change your name? Because I couldn’t change my parents.

Favorite holiday? Billie, even though I’m not a huge fan of the blues.

First thing you notice about a person? Whether they are on fire or not.

Do you still have tonsils? Yes, John’s, in a jar at my bedside. #silenceofthelambs

Night owl or morning person? Night owl, because they are easier to cook – and fit in the leftover bowl.

Would you bungee jump? Yes, as long as they promise to tie at least one end of the rope to the bridge the next time I try it. #loudscreaming

Do you smoke after sex? I don’t know, I’ve never looked. (An oldie but a goodie. 🙂 )

Jason Rapert or hemorrhoid? This is a trick question as they are the same thing.

Bath or shower person? I prefer a shower, but whatever you’re comfortable with is fine by me. #letsbefriends

Do you feel blue very often? No, I usually trust my eyes.

Do you like being the center of attention? I prefer to call it the epicenter of attention.

Do you follow the rules? It depends on where they are going.

Do you prefer wild flights of fancy? Business class only.

Do you use flattery to get ahead? No, concealed carry usually covers all the bases.

What’s your favorite contradictory thing? Early morning sunsets.

Cats or dogs? I prefer cat hair in my food.

What thing about you would surprise people the most? That they read what I write all the time without ever realizing it came from me.

Whimsical

A Fool’s Bet

04/27/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

“He was so insanely competitive that he refused to even leave his own shoes tied.”

When Mattel, Inc. contacted me to seek permission to base a new doll on me, I was excited – until discovering I was to be 1st in their new line of Inaction Figures.

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The only difference between a jawbreaker and an aquarium rock is one of enthusiasm while chewing.

At what exact point in his life did the snowman actually become abominable?

The gurus tell us to avoid hate letters. Which is why I’m about to launch a new line of “Screw You” postcards, for those occasions you don’t hate someone but wish to send them a quick note to let them know that you can’t wait to start missing them.

“I am not a fan of gratuitous violence,” he sagely intoned. “Me neither, but everyone thinks their violence is necessary.”

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