All posts by X Teri

Fart Synchronicity

05/21/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

I’m about to give you a glimpse into the inner sanctum of my life. It will irrevocably change the way you look at me, perhaps with more or perhaps less admiration. If you are allergic to humor or gastrointestinal references, you should go back to watching the news, where the worst you will see might be a recap of the horrors of the day. Please stop reading now. Continuing to read is a legal agreement that you, like me, have absolutely no taste whatsoever.

Dawn was at one of the computers, watching SNL skits from last night’s episode. I was sitting at my desk behind her, busily making snarky notes for my mammoth list of nonsense.

After a few minutes, Dawn started watching the RKO movie set sketch with The Rock and Vanessa Bayer. I swiveled around in my office chair to see what mayhem was about to ensue. (PS – the sketch with Rock visiting the doctor for a prescription was the funniest, in my opinion.)

Without warning, I felt a rumble in my stomach and passed gas – and not the light gentlemanly type typical of what you’d expect from such a lightweight such as me, either. No, this was a reminder that I should stop eating pizza, horseradish sauce and lemon pepper, especially at the same time – and that I should seek immediate relief from a qualified medical professional.

Coincidentally, the exact moment my colon exhaled, Vanessa Bayer’s character also passed a loud blast of gas in the sketch. I didn’t hear it, though, given the volume of my own contribution. Dawn turned to look at me, bemused and aghast. My contribution had kept her from hearing what had happened, too.

Dawn backed up the video to re-watch the portion I interrupted.

We both shared a great laugh, as the odds of my flatulence coinciding perfectly with that of the character on the sketch had to be at least a million to one.

(In fact, the premise of the entire SNL skit was one of Bayer’s character being flatulent in creative ways as The Rock struggled not to laugh.)

As Shakespeare once quipped, “Each of us, even reluctantly, must play our own f̶a̶r̶t̶ part in this tragic comedy of life.”

Peace to each of you still reading this, my friends. May your days be filled with spring breezes of the kind we all look forward to.

Whimsical

Why Not?

05/21/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

Two bits of news:
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1) Everyone should watch “The Handmaid’s Tale.” It started filming before the presidential election – and the author wrote the book decades ago, using Reagan and many of the undercurrents of theocratic authoritarianism as the basis for a dystopian future. (Which are once again washing over us like a case of gastric flatulence.)
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2) I am hoping to be in Season 2. Here’s how I would look in the garb of the handmaidens. I think my acting range is expressed artfully in this picture, don’t you?

I ate too much raw data last night.

These dual-message pictures are fun. I made a slew of them for “The Handmaid’s Tale” and thought they’d be interesting for other topics, too.

They told me I had to practice writing more formally. Here I am, in my formal end-of-the-world garb and yet my writing hasn’t improved. PS: Wouldn’t it be awesome if Springdale graduates had to wear this to graduate?

Another doublethought picture, below…

Beware the smell of TicTacs, the harbinger of doom.

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Say what now?

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Rock ‘N Tom 2020. Why not?

(For anyone not in the know, it’s a reference to The Rock jokingly announce his candidacy for president.)

Springdale, Travel, Whimsical

A Totally Untrue But Probable Story

05/20/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

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A quick creative home and garden story to brighten your day…

Last week, my friend Marilyn drove all the way from Oregon to Springdale, Arkansas to attend a h̶o̶t̶b̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶c̶r̶a̶z̶i̶n̶e̶s̶s̶ work reunion for Springdale Hospital. (Oregon is allegedly a ‘state’ of the United States, although this information cannot be confirmed.)

Also, if it is so great there I can’t imagine why she’d leave, even for a vacation. 🙂

On the way back, a snowstorm stopped her cold in Wyoming. Marilyn became so enamored of the frigid temperatures and snow that she’s decided she doesn’t need a house or living room any longer – she’s going to take the idea of an outdoor space to a new level. Naysayers will warn that it’s dangerous to live outdoors or that it’s even more unsafe to reside in an ice-covered intersection. Marilyn didn’t get to her age without considerable risk to life and limb, which explains how she survived working with the crazy folks from the Springdale Hospital.

According to sources, it is possible that she will literally be stuck in Wyoming until August 2017. If you have dinner reservations with her, you should either cancel them or take a snowmobile to meet her there.

As you can see by the signs to both her left and right in this picture, her new space is conveniently located near parking lots, which will satisfy the exacting vehicular requirements of her husband, Larry.

Please wish her well in her new living space.

Satire Parody, Whimsical

Isn’t It Funny?

05/19/2017 X Teri Leave a comment

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A poem I wrote to verify whether people read the content.

Noted baseball historian Ralph Ettenmeyer notes that Mike Pence was a naturally-gifted player. His well-earned nickname: Dingbat

Schrödinger’s Rain: It’s raining cats OR dogs.

Misheard News of the Day: Tyson announced its first antibiotic-free chicken today. In other news, antibiotics will now be chicken-free.

“Evidently, I’m a little too fabulous. I got a ticket for (g)littering on the side of the road.” – X

Joke/ Satire? After my last Tyson chicken joke, Corporate wrote me, asking me to enumerate my frustrations with the company. #1: It’s not ethical that the food taste test division stole the smell of my old work boots as the inspiration for the flavor of their frozen chicken breasts. (In truth, this story is almost true but I’ll leave it to you to decide which part is technically an exaggeration.)

If people demand an answer when you don’t have one, here’s the best reply: “I don’t know, would you like me to go fill up at the Guess Station?” It works great when spoken, especially if screamed as a response or after ingesting hallucinogens.

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I was asked to write a clever quip about human error. This isn’t supposed to be taken literally or as an endorsement of stupidity.

If I were a teacher, I would hate trying to explain “Do the right thing” in this world dominated by Trump and people like him.

For those who love those “Is your refrigerator running?” jokes, here’s a gift:
Call Tyson Corporate and ask…
“Do you have frozen chicken breasts?”

When you call, ask for Tina – she loves a good joke.

After my last Tyson chicken joke, Corporate wrote me, asking me to enumerate my frustrations with the company. #1: It’s not ethical that the food taste test division stole the smell of my old work boots as the inspiration for the flavor of their frozen chicken breasts. (In truth, this story is almost true but I’ll leave it to you to decide which part is technically an exaggeration.)

On health care: “Single Payer doesn’t have a Single Prayer.”

Keeping nude photos is a bad idea. But if you do, it seems like you should store them on a ‘flash’ drive.

The restaurant review said that the place was very intimate. I’d say so. The waiter put his tongue in my ear while listing all the house specials.

Word of the Day: Doppelgänger – noun; a look-alike or counterpart to another person.

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We decided not to burn books – we are burning Facebooks instead because we’ve had enough of people sharing what they find meaningful with other people.

Weird how people proudly shout, “Death from above.” No kidding. Where else is it going to come from? Are we filming the movie “Tremors?”

Have you seen the new walking paths designed for poets? They are haiku-ing trails.

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Life is long, but really long if you’ve got gas in public.

I am not saying he is a bad cook- but the only thing he could make is an asserole.

The accounting team from Lewis and Smith Inc. are suing. They bought a package from the tour company to go witness the eclipse but when they arrived it turned out to be a subtotal eclipse instead.

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Warning: double pun/ foreign phrase combination:

At work there is a beautiful little spillway cavern, with a bubbling spring exiting the opening. When there is a breeze along the lower level it is a divine place.

Lately though, a security guard has been placing himself nearby and prohibiting entry to non-employees and anyone whose face he dislikes.

As I take break nearby sometimes, I tend to hear his admonitions to some of the interlopers.

Today he was getting verbally chastised by an older white guy. “Give me one good reason I’m not allowed over here!” Mr. White Guy shouted at the surprised guard.

I stood up so that the guard could see me. I held up a hand to indicate that I’d like to answer for him. The guard nodded his assent.

“Sir,” I said, loudly.

“The reason you’re not allowed here is because you are a ‘persona non grotto.’ ”

And I laughed.

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Did you know that our current Attorney General’s real name is Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III? He answers to the name “Jeff,” given that his preferred name of “Cracker” was taken. He’s so white that he doesn’t need to put on a hood for the firelit meetings.

Eats, Food, Humor, TV

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.