It's bad news bears when you arrive at work before the Dispatch does.
In other news, I have been preparing for this for quite some time now.
I have been playing around with the idea of sacrificing blogging for Lent. (Read: or at least the first week of Lent, until I lose all self control and give up.)
I haven't been in the habit of giving up something for Lent. It seems too Catholic to me, however. When I look at my husband's face as I pop open the laptop for the evening, I get the feeling that I might have a problem.
Blogging is my gateway. Blogging leads to the links at the right and then myspace and facebook and webmail and cnn and cuteness in craft form and inevitably (I'm sorry) people.com!
What begins at 8 p.m. can stretch on until midnight.
"Will you please not start the Internet tonight?" Seth asks.
Ouch.
So I think I might check everyone today and then check out for 40 days. Can that really happen?
I'd like to think now of all the things I'd miss, including candid and rare shots of Angelina and Brad showing affection in public (ohmigod..they're holding hands!) I'll miss random updates on old high school pals, intimate stories about my husband's old girlfriends, inspiring tales of woe from everyone in Chicago, teasers and letters from Target.
What about Cat? What about semi-annual updates from Rankin? And Dobos? I have never spoken with her on the phone in my life.
What about those who I secretly stalk online? How will I communicate? Will I be forced to call people or write letters or worse -- talk with them (gulp) face to face? What about the tragedy of these words carved into the screen for 40 days --without update?
What about my devoted fan base? Will I lose those 30 readers a day?
Who will comment?
It is now, at the hour most terrifying, that I turn off the light.
Perhaps the Lord will bless me in multitudes for this great sacrifice. (hint, hint, Lord.)
I waited at the tiny yellow table outside the rink for a good thirty minutes.
It was 11 a.m. on a Saturday. While most were still at home in their pajamas, I was waiting to interview a family of 13 at the WOW family fun center in Columbus.
It was a special day at the WOW. The Deaf Services Center was holding a fund raiser.
As the kids whizzed by on skates and blades, the DJ stood in his tower, microphone in hand, dancing and singing along to some wretched song by Avril Lavine. a few kids in the center signed to each other in exaggerated motions, tipping their heads back to roar in imaginary laughter.
The DJ continued, pumping music through the rink no one could hear. The tacky disco lights flashed. The children ran, jumped, played. The party had all the motions, but none of the accompanying noise.
An old man, obviously drunk, staggered around the rink, pulling himself along the wall. It was truly a bizarre situation.
Suddenly, No Doubt's "Hey Baby" came on, and the DJ turned his attention to me -- the lone teenager in a row of colorful mini-tables. He sang along with Gwen, all the while pointing to me, his "baby" and smiling. No one else seemed to be made uncomfortable by this.
My family never showed and neither did the photog. Somebody threw enough balls into Big Bertha to win an impressive amount of tickets.
When the old drunk man had finished his hot dog, I decided it was time to leave.
So I don't really know what that was all about, but.
If Seth and Maybel are found murdered around 2 p.m. Saturday...all I know is that I am at the library right now. and that the empty styrofoam container found lodged in Seth's throat...man, he must have gotten what was coming to him I guess.
Maybel is barking and humping and biting and mental. When I came home from a stressful afternoon tracking down 12 missing deaf people and one missing photographer, Seth made himself lunch out of my leftovers. Maybel humped my leg and barked and bit my hands.
I tried to make tacos, but there is no sour cream. I tried to make rubens, but there is no sauerkraut.
What does god have against me?
There is a bar in Grandview called the Rose and Thistle. It may have been the great conversation, but I'm pretty sure it is officially my favorite pub in Columbus.
It suffers what I call the Otani effect. You approach it and think "umm...why did our friends tell us to meet them at an office building?" Trust me, there is an entrance to the Rose and Thistle, and if you find it, you'll be pleasantly surprised.
It's a warm Irish pub with lots of secret nooks. There are lots of good beers on tap. And potatoes. And desserts.
Here is a blurry picture of Ohio House District 24 democratic candidate Ted Celeste (second from left) enjoying the Rose and Thistle at a chamber event in 2003.
If that doesn't convince you, I don't know what will.
we laughed. we cried. we exchanged football stories.
did you know Jim Tressel knows about Miami Trace? weird. He is also very short. i'm talking eye-level.
i was riding the pride wave until one of my councilman called to say he had spent 40 minutes of face-time with the president of the united states of america. whatever. i would argue that tressel is more powerful in many circles.
this is one of those posts that has no inspiration.
i'm sorry to hear about sadness. i, too, feel the winter of our discontent. i suggest you curl up with maybel and watch movies all day long. have you seen punch-drunk love? it just arrived through netflix yesterday. it calls to me.
tiny house! i'm just trying to make a waffle! we need to get out of here. seriously, what's a girl gotta do to get some acreage up in here? damn!
in pretend sorority news, just when i thought they had caught on, i received another note from katie, who is challenging my authority yet again.
Dear Lyndsey, I just read the minutes from Lc, and just curious as to why we are not electing a new COR chair. It's one of the most important offices because recruiting is our number one priority as a chapter. I'm concerned about not electing one because this is an office that will be vital this quarter and again in the fall.
This is only one quarter of the actual email she sent me. she is very worried about recruitment. i'll have to sleep on this one and write her back tomorrow.
in the corner of pathetic existence, i spent the last hour looking at pictures through facebook of old high school friends. it made me feel old. all my pictures are of me, my husband, my dog, my family. there is very little alcohol in any of my pictures, and only one partially nude photo. i am totally not hip enough to hang with the facebook crowd. i'm out to grab a nattie light.
also, i'm a mennonite, which never adds points to the scale of cool.
i highly recommend you check out the pictures that snark has discovered. here is a sample.
so i came home from a 10-12 hour day, beginning at the office around (what shall we say, brit...?) six?
anyway the point is here is that i crashed. upon waking, i found a spread of scallops in caviar sauce, bread, fruit, potatoes, wine.
sitting on the table were five flowers. two of them were long and white (calla lilies?) one was like a giant orange daisy with a yellow companion, and the others were smaller and purple.
no offense to other boys out there, because i'm so weird, and my husband recognizes this, but: verdict: soo much better than roses.
when i see roses, i think $60?! $70!?! -- it's like a disease. i cannot simply accept the gesture. apparently, i'm cook with a few weird flowers. for future reference, fellas...not roses.
so, an unexpected valentine's day dinner was had and enjoyed by all. except for maybel.
IN OTHER NEWS....Mennonites.
are. amazing.
we received these tiny hand-made invitations...there were salads with pears and goat cheese and walnuts...there were sweet potatoes rounded on a pineapple with a sprig of rosemary...and the cheesecake. oh sweet lord the cheesecake.
meatloaf! i had no idea it could be so good. and casserole.
in the room there were 10...an OSU etymology professor, a lawyer, a librarian, random OSU guy and a former methodist pastor.
i'm just saying they've invited us back next week and we're not going to say no.
I have learned many things while posing as president of alpha omicron pi.
Lesson numero uno being damn! these girls really are bitches!*
*the only disclaimer being, as I have learned, OU greek life are a unique breed, more vicious than their counterparts at other universities.
Last night Katie was kind enough to BCC me on a note she sent to Nicole.
For background, a member of Delta Gamma lost her boyfriend in Iraq, and Nicole suggested sending some flowers and a card. I thought it a kind gesture and stamped approval on the action.
Then Katie says,
Nicole,
You should discuss with LC whether you actually have enough money in your budget. A lot of other stuff will come up throughout the year that you will need money for and since flowers cost about $60, we usually only send them when a chapter member looses someone.
-Katie
I can read between the lines, Katie. and my authority will not be questioned publicly like that again. time to bring up the spanking.
When do the Winter Olympics come on? I need uber-inspirational slow-motion human interest montages like, YESTERDAY. Come on Bobby Costas. Don't be holdin' out on me.
The blogs of my friends and semi-friends were full of golden treasure nuggets this weekend. Including this, which is particularly suited for those of you who drink Red Bull.
I am currently grading 28 essays written by high school seniors. 500 words or less of "I am unique because..." A tragic number of these essays start out with The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines 'unique' as...or There are 6.5 billion people in the world...
Oddly, two of them begin I am unique because I said so. I sympathize with Fred moreso than ever before.
But! there is great joy in the provocative essay, which lies just at the bottom of the stack, I'm sure.
In the meantime, last night. Many came over to gather around our large wooden table. I drank a bit too much, and as a result, Seth has perfected a dramatic interpretation of my journalists friends and me as we socialize.
In this demonstration, seth takes a long, hard drag of an imaginary cigarette and squints his eyes a bit, barking "fucking city council..."
He then proceeds to complain about low wages, inept city leaders and late meetings.
Not to give Chris too many references in this post, but words from about six months ago haunt me this evening: Hello, you delightful 45-year old who makes children cry by your presence.
buuuuuurn!
In other news, on Monday morning I have exactly five minutes face-to-face with the coach of next year's national championship team.
Do you have any words for Jim you'd like to pass along? While I was soliciting questions, one friend suggested. without skipping a beat, that I ask him his opinion on the perm.
Stay tuned for the next post titled: 9:05 to 9:10 - the story behind the laughter.
People who support animal rights believe that animals are not ours to use for food, clothing, entertainment, experimentation, or any other purpose and that animals deserve consideration of their best interests regardless of whether they are cute, useful to humans, or endangered and regardless of whether any human cares about them at all (just as a mentally challenged human has rights even if he or she is not cute or useful and even if everyone dislikes him or her).
Also, rape is to slaughtering a cow as the Underground Railroad is to the Animal Liberation Front.
i have not the heart to update. i'd tell you about my 16-hour day, but nobody wants to hear about that. or you already have.
i could tell you that Seth and I sandwiched Super Bowl XL between two games of Risk with LOTR (yes, with acronyms, please) playing loud in the background.
the black army triumphed again. i don't want to talk about it.
damn soviet union!
anyway, i'm losing a pal at work a bit unexpectedly. i'd like to think of it not as losing a friend, but gaining an enemy. :) he is headed out to a higher-paying competitor. you can't knock a guy for wanting half the work for twice the money, is all i'm saying. aparently, you can?
everyone knows journalists make less than taco bell managers, but it adds to the romanticism of the whole thing. plus, poverty is a good way to fight obesity.
three cheers for Lin. we'll see you at lunch time, buddy. you're buying!
speaking of jobs, there is a farmer journalism opening at Seth's house. i would apply, but a Teter-on-Teter ag journalist team would be too much for this region. plus, he would have seniority. we already have that Risk rift growing between us.
we were talking today about the future, which reminds me. i forgot to think about that. much to the chagrin of friends and loved ones, when i think about advancing my career, i always start thinking instead of making babies. the fever still runs deep in my veins. if it doesn't go away in one month, i'm going to ask angelina and brad if i can have their baby.
that is not true.
most people want to speed up, but ultimately, i want to slow down. i want go monthly or semi-annually, or even bi-weekly! i want to conduct several in-depth interviews for one piece. i want to have time to mull the perfect lead. i want to edit and re-edit and edit some more. i want to submit my work to a respectable national news publication. i want a craft! i want to write in my pajamas.
are their jobs like this in columbus?
i would freelance, but i barely have enough time to write my 10 stories a week, let alone put effort into anything else.
for those of you who do not frequent the dobos chronicles, read what this rock star said. promise me you'll make it the whole way through. it might make you cry.
If you're wondering what I'm doing here, at a prayer breakfast, well, so am I. I'm certainly not here as a man of the cloth, unless that cloth is leather. It's certainly not because I'm a rock star. Which leaves one possible explanation: I'm here because I've got a messianic complex.
Yes, it's true. And for anyone who knows me, it's hardly a revelation.
Well, I'm the first to admit that there's something unnatural...something unseemly...about rock stars mounting the pulpit and preaching at presidents, and then disappearing to their villas in the south of France. Talk about a fish out of water. It was weird enough when Jesse Helms showed up at a U2 concert...but this is really weird, isn't it?
You know, one of the things I love about this country is its separation of church and state. Although I have to say: in inviting me here, both church and state have been separated from something else completely: their mind.
Mr. President, are you sure about this?
It's very humbling and I will try to keep my homily brief. But be warned - I'm Irish.
I'd like to talk about the laws of man, here in this city where those laws are written. And I'd like to talk about higher laws. It would be great to assume that the one serves the other; that the laws of man serve these higher laws...but of course, they don't always. And I presume that, in a sense, is why you're here.
I presume the reason for this gathering is that all of us here - Muslims, Jews, Christians - all are searching our souls for how to better serve our family, our community, our nation, our God.
I know I am. Searching, I mean. And that, I suppose, is what led me here, too.
Yes, it's odd, having a rock star here - but maybe it's odder for me than for you. You see, I avoided religious people most of my life. Maybe it had something to do with having a father who was Protestant and a mother who was Catholic in a country where the line between the two was, quite literally, a battle line. Where the line between church and state was...well, a little blurry, and hard to see.
I remember how my mother would bring us to chapel on Sundays... and my father used to wait outside. One of the things that I picked up from my father and my mother was the sense that religion often gets in the way of God.
For me, at least, it got in the way. Seeing what religious people, in the name of God, did to my native land...and in this country, seeing God's second-hand car salesmen on the cable TV channels, offering indulgences for cash...in fact, all over the world, seeing the self-righteousness roll down like a mighty stream from certain corners of the religious establishment...
I must confess, I changed the channel. I wanted my MTV.
Even though I was a believer.
Perhaps because I was a believer.
I was cynical...not about God, but about God's politics. (There you are, Jim.)
Then, in 1997, a couple of eccentric, septuagenarian British Christians went and ruined my shtick - my reproachfulness. They did it by describing the millennium, the year 2000, as a Jubilee year, as an opportunity to cancel the chronic debts of the world's poorest people. They had the audacity to renew the Lord's call - and were joined by Pope John Paul II, who, from an Irish half-Catholic's point of view, may have had a more direct line to the Almighty.
'Jubilee' - why 'Jubilee'?
What was this year of Jubilee, this year of our Lord's favor?
I'd always read the scriptures, even the obscure stuff. There it was in Leviticus (25:35)...
'If your brother becomes poor,' the scriptures say, 'and cannot maintain himself...you shall maintain him.... You shall not lend him your money at interest, not give him your food for profit.'
It is such an important idea, Jubilee, that Jesus begins his ministry with this. Jesus is a young man, he's met with the rabbis, impressed everyone, people are talking. The elders say, he's a clever guy, this Jesus, but he hasn't done much...yet. He hasn't spoken in public before...
When he does, is first words are from Isaiah: 'The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,' he says, 'because He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.' And Jesus proclaims the year of the Lord's favour, the year of Jubilee (Luke 4:18).
What he was really talking about was an era of grace - and we're still in it.
So fast-forward 2,000 years. That same thought, grace, was made incarnate - in a movement of all kinds of people. It wasn't a bless-me club... it wasn't a holy huddle. These religious guys were willing to get out in the streets, get their boots dirty, wave the placards, follow their convictions with actions...making it really hard for people like me to keep their distance. It was amazing. I almost started to like these church people.
But then my cynicism got another helping hand.
It was what Colin Powell, a five-star general, called the greatest W.M.D. of them all: a tiny little virus called AIDS. And the religious community, in large part, missed it. The ones that didn't miss it could only see it as divine retribution for bad behaviour. Even on children...even [though the] fastest growing group of HIV infections were married, faithful women.
Aha, there they go again! I thought to myself judgmentalism is back!
But in truth, I was wrong again. The church was slow but the church got busy on this the leprosy of our age.
Love was on the move.
Mercy was on the move.
God was on the move.
Moving people of all kinds to work with others they had never met, never would have cared to meet...conservative church groups hanging out with spokesmen for the gay community, all singing off the same hymn sheet on AIDS...soccer moms and quarterbacks...hip-hop stars and country stars. This is what happens when God gets on the move: crazy stuff happens!
Popes were seen wearing sunglasses!
Jesse Helms was seen with a ghetto blaster!
Crazy stuff. Evidence of the spirit.
It was breathtaking. Literally. It stopped the world in its tracks.
When churches started demonstrating on debt, governments listened - and acted. When churches starting organising, petitioning, and even - that most unholy of acts today, God forbid, lobbying...on AIDS and global health, governments listened - and acted.
I'm here today in all humility to say: you changed minds; you changed policy; you changed the world.
Look, whatever thoughts you have about God, who He is or if He exists, most will agree that if there is a God, He has a special place for the poor. In fact, the poor are where God lives.
Check Judaism. Check Islam. Check pretty much anyone.
I mean, God may well be with us in our mansions on the hill. I hope so. He may well be with us as in all manner of controversial stuff. Maybe, maybe not. But the one thing we can all agree, all faiths and ideologies, is that God is with the vulnerable and poor.
God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them. "If you remove the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger and speaking wickedness, and if you give yourself to the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then your light will rise in darkness and your gloom with become like midday and the Lord will continually guide you and satisfy your desire in scorched places."
It's not a coincidence that in the scriptures, poverty is mentioned more than 2,100 times. It's not an accident. That's a lot of air time, 2,100 mentions. (You know, the only time Christ is judgmental is on the subject of the poor.) 'As you have done it unto the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me' (Matthew 25:40). As I say, good news to the poor.
Here's some good news for the president. After 9/11 we were told America would have no time for the world's poor. America would be taken up with its own problems of safety. And it's true these are dangerous times, but America has not drawn the blinds and double-locked the doors.
In fact, you have doubled aid to Africa. You have tripled funding for global health. Mr. President, your emergency plan for AIDS relief and support for the Global Fund - you and Congress - have put 700,000 people onto life-saving anti-retroviral drugs and provided 8 million bed nets to protect children from malaria.
Outstanding human achievements. Counterintuitive. Historic. Be very, very proud.
But here's the bad news. From charity to justice, the good news is yet to come. There is much more to do. There's a gigantic chasm between the scale of the emergency and the scale of the response.
And finally, it's not about charity after all, is it? It's about justice.
Let me repeat that: It's not about charity, it's about justice.
And that's too bad.
Because you're good at charity. Americans, like the Irish, are good at it. We like to give, and we give a lot, even those who can't afford it.
But justice is a higher standard. Africa makes a fool of our idea of justice; it makes a farce of our idea of equality. It mocks our pieties, it doubts our concern, it questions our commitment.
Sixty-five hundred Africans are still dying every day of a preventable, treatable disease, for lack of drugs we can buy at any drug store. This is not about charity, this is about justice and equality.
Because there's no way we can look at what's happening in Africa and, if we're honest, conclude that deep down, we really accept that Africans are equal to us. Anywhere else in the world, we wouldn't accept it. Look at what happened in South East Asia with the tsunami. 150,000 lives lost to that misnomer of all misnomers, "mother nature." In Africa, 150,000 lives are lost every month. A tsunami every month. And it's a completely avoidable catastrophe.
It's annoying but justice and equality are mates. Aren't they? Justice always wants to hang out with equality. And equality is a real pain.
You know, think of those Jewish sheep-herders going to meet the Pharaoh, mud on their shoes, and the Pharaoh says, "Equal?" A preposterous idea: rich and poor are equal? And they say, "Yeah, 'equal,' that's what it says here in this book. We're all made in the image of God."
And eventually the Pharaoh says, "OK, I can accept that. I can accept the Jews - but not the blacks."
"Not the women. Not the gays. Not the Irish. No way, man."
So on we go with our journey of equality.
On we go in the pursuit of justice.
We hear that call in the ONE Campaign, a growing movement of more than 2 million Americans...Left and Right together... united in the belief that where you live should no longer determine whether you live.
We hear that call even more powerfully today, as we mourn the loss of Coretta Scott King - mother of a movement for equality, one that changed the world but is only just getting started. These issues are as alive as they ever were; they just change shape and cross the seas.
Preventing the poorest of the poor from selling their products while we sing the virtues of the free market...that's a justice issue. Holding children to ransom for the debts of their grandparents...that's a justice issue. Withholding life-saving medicines out of deference to the Office of Patents...that's a justice issue.
And while the law is what we say it is, God is not silent on the subject.
That's why I say there's the law of the land…. And then there is a higher standard. There's the law of the land, and we can hire experts to write them so they benefit us, so the laws say it's OK to protect our agriculture but it's not OK for African farmers to do the same, to earn a living?
As the laws of man are written, that's what they say.
God will not accept that.
Mine won't, at least. Will yours?
[ pause]
I close this morning on...very...thin...ice.
This is a dangerous idea I've put on the table: my God vs. your God, their God vs. our God...vs. no God. It is very easy, in these times, to see religion as a force for division rather than unity.
And this is a town - Washington - that knows something of division.
But the reason I am here, and the reason I keep coming back to Washington, is because this is a town that is proving it can come together on behalf of what the scriptures call the least of these.
This is not a Republican idea. It is not a Democratic idea. It is not even, with all due respect, an American idea. Nor it is unique to any one faith.
'Do to others as you would have them do to you' (Luke 6:30). Jesus says that.
'Righteousness is this: that one should...give away wealth out of love for him to the near of kin and the orphans and the needy and the wayfarer and the beggars and for the emancipation of the captives.' The Koran says that (2.177).
Thus sayeth the Lord: 'Bring the homeless poor into the house, when you see the naked, cover him, then your light will break out like the dawn and your recovery will speedily spring fourth, then your Lord will be your rear guard.' The Jewish scripture says that. Isaiah 58 again.
That is a powerful incentive: 'The Lord will watch your back.' Sounds like a good deal to me, right now.
A number of years ago, I met a wise man who changed my life. In countless ways, large and small, I was always seeking the Lord's blessing. I was saying, you know, I have a new song, look after it…. I have a family, please look after them…. I have this crazy idea...
And this wise man said: stop.
He said, stop asking God to bless what you're doing.
Get involved in what God is doing - because it's already blessed.
Well, God, as I said, is with the poor. That, I believe, is what God is doing.
And that is what he's calling us to do.
I was amazed when I first got to this country and I learned how much some churchgoers tithe. Up to 10% of the family budget. Well, how does that compare with the federal budget, the budget for the entire American family? How much of that goes to the poorest people in the world? Less than 1%.
Mr. President, Congress, people of faith, people of America:
I want to suggest to you today that you see the flow of effective foreign assistance as tithing.... Which, to be truly meaningful, will mean an additional 1% of the federal budget tithed to the poor.
What is 1%?
1% is not merely a number on a balance sheet.
1% is the girl in Africa who gets to go to school, thanks to you. 1% is the AIDS patient who gets her medicine, thanks to you. 1% is the African entrepreneur who can start a small family business thanks to you. 1% is not redecorating presidential palaces or money flowing down a rat hole. This 1% is digging waterholes to provide clean water.
1% is a new partnership with Africa, not paternalism toward Africa, where increased assistance flows toward improved governance and initiatives with proven track records and away from boondoggles and white elephants of every description.
America gives less than 1% now. We're asking for an extra 1% to change the world. to transform millions of lives - but not just that and I say this to the military men now - to transform the way that they see us.
1% is national security, enlightened economic self-interest, and a better, safer world rolled into one. Sounds to me that in this town of deals and compromises, 1% is the best bargain around.
These goals - clean water for all; school for every child; medicine for the afflicted, an end to extreme and senseless poverty - these are not just any goals; they are the Millennium Development goals, which this country supports. And they are more than that. They are the Beatitudes for a globalised world.
Now, I'm very lucky. I don't have to sit on any budget committees. And I certainly don't have to sit where you do, Mr. President. I don't have to make the tough choices.
But I can tell you this:
To give 1% more is right. It's smart. And it's blessed.
There is a continent - Africa - being consumed by flames.
I truly believe that when the history books are written, our age will be remembered for three things: the war on terror, the digital revolution, and what we did - or did not to - to put the fire out in Africa.
History, like God, is watching what we do.
Thank you. Thank you, America, and God bless you all.
we all hate latin america. and you thought you had a bad day.
so much for the spotless douche bags and rectal pipes. and the dreams of my parents.
I love you guys. Seriously, you will be ok ok.
You may have to give up the balloon fest, but i know with all your talents and expertise, you'll be able to go anywhere. and you'll be happy. if all else fails, maybe dad should just get on a plane and say another one of his infamous prayers. Seriously though.
ps - how did this make me? and also -- two magazine columns in national magazines?! i thought that was my major...
Name: Seth
Alias: Teth Seter or Steter.
In Brief: The Steter in his natural habitat. Married to theteet.blogspot.com since August 2004. Often the victim of serious hyperbole. Handy.
Hates: Noise, Dominion Homes, above-the-nipple touching, when people get 'handsy.'
Loves: pies (of any kind), dirt, smoking a pipe after eating pie. also, cows.
Name: Maybel
Alias: The Pig or Boobles.
In Brief: Kentucky-born English Bulldog since February 2006.
Hates: Watermelon. All other kinds of melon. The sound of a new trash bag being opened and sitting in the back seat.
Loves: Treats, walks, Charlie, 'humping it out' and barfing.
Name: Amanda
Alias: The Sister.
In Brief: theteet's younger (but larger) sister. Survived a brain bleed in February 2007.
Hates: minor inconveniences that make her blurt out uncontrollably, brain bleeds.
Loves: UFC, cornhole, texting, fast food and her dog Charlie.
Name: mom and dad.
Alias: the 'rents.
In Brief: Ashland natives and frequent visitors. They taught me how to swear.
Hates: hospitals.
Loves: squirrels and lattes.
Name: Mae
Alias: Klingler or Maddog.
In Brief: Cincinnati resident and former college/Old Towne East roommate. Once wrote a song that made theteet cry.
Hates: Hate.
Loves: Jesus, family, puns, guitars and gardening.
Name: Colleen
Alias: Crankin and Rankin.
In Brief: Akron resident and former college roomie. Arguably more handy than Seth. Nice bosom for hugging.
Hates: all drivers.
Loves: beer, coffee, cigarettes and boys we all find strange.
Name: Talya
Alias: Strader and Sweet T.
In Brief: Chicago resident and former college roomie. served brief stint at theteet's 'accountability partner.' collects monthly fee for keeping quiet.
Hates: people who do not comment on her blog.
Loves: social justice, eggs, her boyfriend monsterbeard and the occupation of barista.
Name: Chris
Alias: Christopher, Monsterbeard and Nadine.
In Brief: Chicago resident and college buddy. Maker of 'We once waited up in the dark with a gun,' and other misadventures.
Hates: people who are looking the other way.
Loves: history, film, his girlfriend Strader and acronyms.
Name: pdawg.
Alias: none needed.
In Brief: Former co-worker who is willing to eat waffles with theteet at 4 in the morning regardless of level of snow emergency.
Hates: anyone under the age of 35.
Loves: Hostess pies, old man rants and golf.
Name: Linsly.
Alias: MERLIN, lin or newbie.
In Brief: Former co-worker who lived with us for a week. I can tell this kid anything. He's like a brother.
Hates: sexual predators.
Loves: zombies, guns, porch chats and movie quotes.
Name: jaydubs.
Alias: jwray and 10bagspacking.
In Brief: Co-worker who taught me everything I know about the world.
Hates: mean jokes, mushrooms, clipping fingernails in the office.
Loves: crafts, her gay-together but also betrothed person Kyle, Columbus Bride Magazine, veggie-friendliness and basil.
Name: jessica.
Alias: jessm.
In Brief: College buddy with the amazing handshake. I believe she might be back from Alaska and living in Hudson now.
Hates: poverty.
Loves: Jesus, jazz, geography and hilarious t-shirts.
Name: brittiny.
Alias: Brit-Brat, experimental dater or The Dunlap.
In Brief: Former co-worker (notice a theme here?) who started with me at SNP on the same day. Former Sorority president taught me the ropes of being a lady. her wisdom did not take.
Hates: visible pany line.
Loves: cocktails, shoes, 'the blue box' and her boyfriend the Lizard.
Name: garth and jen.
Alias: not safe around house plants and the real spider-man and/or HSnothingswronghere.
In Brief: Co-worker couple who proved themselves fun at work and on the farm. Periodically forced to kiss in gas station parking lots.
Hates: local broadcast news reporters.
Loves: zombies, movie quotes, Indianapolis and lin rice.
Name: Angie.
Alias: captain cool.
In Brief: Former co-worker who stole my heart. She is the only thing I've ever lost to the Youngstown Vindicator.
Hates: joe and misogynists.
Loves: celebrity gossip, hilarious captions, biking/hiking, her boyfriend Jef, her mom and Columbus.
Name: Melville.
Alias: welcome to earf or bad town.
In Brief: Former co-worker who let me inherit his seat at SNP. For a while, he was the only one who would talk Reynoldsburg politics with me.
Hates: fleas, eminent domain and people who flip the bird.
Loves: his evil cat, running, opinions, beer and Tom Waits.
Name: The Gerish.
Alias: The Gerish.
In Brief: Co-worker and rare, elusive creature. If you're lucky, you'll see a tousle of black hair breeze by over the cubicle wall.
Hates: Things that aren't crackers.
Loves: crackers.
Name: Dennis.
Alias: secret reading.
In Brief: Co-worker and rare, elusive creature. If you're lucky, he'll walk over and talk to you. But he probably won't. Once took my sister-in-law to Homecoming.
Hates: The damn kids who walk in his yard.
Loves: Corgis, Cedar Point and Rachael. But not the one you're thinking of.
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