does anybody remember that song "Brown Skin" by India.Arie?
what? you don't?
YOUTUBE NEVER FORGETS
(sorry. embedding had been disabled by request.)
i specifically remember listening to this song while cruising campus in a van full of white kids, and i'm pretty sure we were all wishing we had sun-kissed, sugar-coated choco-late brown skin. should we add this to stuffwhitepeoplelike.com? somewhere near Clown Cone & Confections, perhaps?
imagining white people you know doing anything to this song - even just listening to it - it always hilarious.
But teterbot, what in the world reminded you of this song?
Well, i can tell you it WAS NOT because i was looking at Sex in the City: The Movie Soundtrack on iTunes.
It was NOT because of that.
You know that part in the movie Legends of the Fall when Brad Pitt comes back from his boating trip around the world and he's no longer sleeping with whores or hunting wild game? The part where he settles down with that nice half-Indian girl and becomes a bootlegger?
That's me. Or at least it will be, once Eric Lyttle and I figure out how to make a newspaper all by ourselves tomorrow afternoon.
Everything has quieted down. We feed the chickens and tend the garden. I've even begun to use a clothesline. It feels good to, as you say, put something in the ground. It's stabilizing.
Seth and I made sauce and pasta from scratch and had cookies and wine. We were able to enjoy the time as a couple. Tonight I felt good about everything I ever did, and all the blessings that are piled up around me. Especially this:
The Teters went camping this weekend. Part of the celebration involved a day trip including something called a Moonshine Festival. Please go. There is no description that can adequately describe it. I can, however, offer one piece of advice: Moonshine Pie does not pair well with Old-Fashioned Root beer. www.Tummyache.com
Also, it was Memorial Day, and Maybel was thisclose to taking a crap in the middle of the festival on the New Straitsville Veterans' Memorial. Plus she does this thing where she flings her poo onto monuments with her back paws. Luckily the WWII vets were distracted by the car show.
In journalism, I have achieved my career goals. I am 25. Any ideas for what's next? I'm taking suggestions.
In work, Dan Williamson's last day is tomorrow. Although he says he'll sneak out the door without fanfare, I can't imagine he wouldn't secretly appreciate how sad people are about his departure.
I'll tell you what I would have told him: I would say the same things to Dan that I said to Danny Russell----that I adore his work and am devastated by his departure, andd I wish he would've stuck around so I could apprentice, blah, blah, blah----but now I'm just spittin' mad.
Almost four years ago, I moved to Columbus and started reading The Other Paper. A few moments later, I decided that I wanted to be Dan Williamson when I grew up. I'm not sure many young ladies think this. I probably blogged about it. Flash forward to the present, and I'm here, and damned if everybody I wanted to work with hasn't flown the coop, but I can't be too mad for too long. If it weren't for Dan, I'd probably still be writing my stupid little columns across the hall. Plus, Eric is prepping to pretty much rock the joint.
I think Ohio's governor is soothing. I could listen to him all day long.
What I meant to say is that I am happy for everybody. and that I might get to be a statehouse reporter--whatever that means.
colleen's going-away party: or how i learned to love gays
i hope you thought that was funny.
it was really good to see everyone last night. i love remembering with you, and hearing your new stories. i still refuse to believe the one about the cats painted with the face of charlie chapman. and russia? seriously? what? also, thanks for being in my wedding. there was at least one crucial bridesmaid missing. i'd really like to see pictures of her mangled feet.
as i become settled in Knox County (where the coffee shops spell Rwanda R-O-W-A-N-D-A) it has become clearer to me that there is a great divide, maybe even moreso than Red v. Blue between rural and urban people.
they do not understand each other.
whether it is guns or gays, as one who is straddling the divide, i must say that there is a lot of uneccesary fear on either side. if you've never had your hands on a gun or a gay, you're much more likely to fill in your own harrowing narrative. although arguably, guns have ruined more heterosexual marriage-family units than gays ever will.
still, people are terrified.
but as for you, urbanites, you suddenly hate traveling by automobile, which is a sensitive issue for me. if you don't live within walking distance of your work, according to NPR, you don't get to spend as much time with your family (you hate your kids), you spend more time burning gas (you hate the earth) and you spend less time exercising? (you hate your body).
while i do agree that theteet's carbon footprint is slightly oversized, my husband and i make up for our transgressions by growing our own food. can you imagine the packaging and the shipping and the labor we've saved? i'd be curious to see how much of a dent that makes in our carbon budget. anyway, you can't really do that in the city. and there are no jobs in the country. the suburbs are the worst of both worlds.
that being said, rural dwellers, stop whining about gas prices. you made your bed. lie in it.
Jon Stewart frequently speaks to these rural v. urban tensions, only he equates the entire midwest, the 'heartland,' as 'rural.' he makes fun of the media for referring to the midwest as the common man's america, and then his New York audience laughs and applauds wildly, because they think their votes are being written off as less important than the working class types.
but that west virginian woman on the show the other night, though. the 'i've had enough of that hoo-sein'? that's hilarious. "West Virginia's new slogan?" stewart said. "No Interviews Please."
but some of us are educated and trying to live sustainable yet simple lives, you may cry into your television. look at our arts scene! we read the newspapers!
i forget where i was going with this.
i think my point is that we need to walk a mile in each other's shoes? don't count your chickens before they've hatched? a bird in the hand is worth a bushel of smaller birds? oh, and that i effing hate it when jon stewart panders to his audience. he has become everything he hates.
sent me this podcast from ... what? Wags & Elliot?
It's a new song called 'Marc Dann' as sung to the Police's Roxanne.
Although I'm slightly beyond the grasp of their target demographic, I think that this is a humorous concept, and it reminds me that radio, television and newspapers all have different strengths.
now, which one got kidnapped? was it wags or elliot?
Just to ease Colleen's fears, the title of this blog post was written only to mock how selfish and whiny theteet has become over the years. i don't really think circumstances here are comparable to more than 100,000 people dying in a cyclone.
but they're close!
life lessons are coming left and right these days. but for the record, i was happy and there were no twists and turns at work for ... what was that? seven days? maybe we stretched it out to 14?
anyway, as you may have read in the Dispatch, Dan Williamson is trying to ruin my life in the same way that Danny Russell did. please don't ask me about this until fall.
in other news, the chickens have tripled in size. they are the dirtiest, smelliest creatures in our house. but soon, they'll be stable enough to live outside. we're building a CHICKEN TRACTOR this weekend, which is just like it sounds. supplies include: 2x4s, PVC pipe, a tarp and tin roofing. our neighbors are going to love us even more.
the rhubarb and asparagus are shooting up. so are the strawberries. i'm really happy that the bloggers racked up more than 12 pages of comments about my story. i needed some attention. it gets lonely in the country.
drivel. drivel. drivel.
this is a new movie starring lyndsey teter, lyndsey teter, lyndsey teter and, well, lyndsey teter.
still not sure who the bearded fellow is:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5iCkYKLleE]
everyone who reads my articles absolutely loves me. in fact, one person called to repeat what i said in a little girl's voice and then abruptly hung up the phone. my words must be making a lasting impact because people are trying to impersonate me. they want to be me.
in other words, i am still getting used to writing things that people occasionally read.
but i'm having fun.
fyi, if you piss off some tech-savvy affluent white kids, your blog traffic will shoot up almost as much as that time your kid sister's head exploded, as demonstrated by the chart below:
ps - I am bona fide.
for $15, i just bought theteet.com. i'm counting myself lucky that megan pringle or erik johns (huge fans of the site) hadn't already snatched it up.
no need to change your bookmarks -- theteet.wordpress.com will automatically be redirected to theteet! can you believe it? !! i also bought lemonscarlet.com, stunted-growth.com and thefarrago.com, but i'd be willing to sell. for a price.
oh, it looks like feed readers might have to add theteet.com.
go ahead. plug in. you know you can't live without it.
in other news, i am looking for a part-time marketer. theteet needs some branding work. i'm thinking of some sort of website launch. maybe we can have it at BOMA. I'll bring the chickens.
Editor’s Note: This is Part Two of an ongoing series about theteet’s foray into the world of the chicken farmer. Descriptions are graphic.
we've lost as many chicks in as many days.
we are the world's worst chicken farmers.
the good news is that upon further research, it's not our fault. I guess something like 10 percent of chickens die within the first 2 days of being alive. For some reason, they don't learn that they need to eat and drink. It's really cruel, though, because they tell you all these tricks; dipping the chick's beak in the water, putting a marble in the pan, pecking at the food with your hand, and you do them for hours thinking that you will TEACH this BIRD to EAT. But it doesn't eat. And then it falls down. and then Seth has to smash it's head off with a sledgehammer.
But I guess the sledgehammer gig is better than being pecked to death by your own mother, which is what would have happened otherwise.
Ugh.
Editor's Note: This is Part One of an ongoing series about theteet's foray into the world of the chicken farmer. Descriptions are graphic.
There are two things I can tell you about chicken farming:
1.) Baby chicks go mental over sugar-water.
2.) They hate the sound of a hairdryer.
I know these things because this morning, as I was getting out of the shower, Seth had arrived home from an early-morning trip to the post office with a box of 26 live baby chicks. He said something like "I'm late for work--can you--just build an ... an enclosure."
We weren't "super prepared," so a few hours and a couple google searches later, I learned that chicks need sugar water, ground-up corn flakes, and most importantly, a box that was at least 90 degrees Fahrenheit. i broke all the rules on all the tags on every cord in the house, and achieved said temperature with unattended heat in blanket form, in hot light bulb form and in the conventional space heater form. plus, the chicks were in sawdust. i showed maybel the fire exits before i left for work.
a few hours later, seth was in the driveway smashing one of the chick's heads off with a sledgehammer. despite my best attempts at motherhennness, turns out that some of the chicks get sick and die after they are born, no matter what.
wasn't anything i did, it appears, but this evening, we had one who was lying on his back in the sawdust while the other chicks were romping all over him. seth thought it best to put the sick little guy out of his misery. it was really, really, strangely hard, and i didn't even have to do it.
oh, lawd. it was terrible.
i appreciate chicken way much more than you do already.
so, make that 25 chicks.
we are the worst chicken farmers ever.
yeah for going away parties!!!
When I rolled into Bangs at about 5:15 a.m., there were three texts on my phone discussing three different shots of alcohol.
i HATE it when people talk about how much they drank at parties, especially if said party was some time in college, but I think it's important to note here not the number, but rather, the combination of liquors and beers consumed last night, including: blue moon, miller light, guinness, bailey's irish cream, red bull, the 'bomb' of a whatever makes a 'cherry bomb,' budweiser, plus a chicken quesidilla -- plus a regret that I would have stayed to take whatever shots were waiting for me at Patrick J's. It may have been the better option, as far as my body is concerned. Although that 10:30 power nap really refueled me. And all this for only $7!
Is this why my right eye is partially swollen shut? regardless, I'm glad i was able to tell you all that stuff really loud. Thanks all, for a truly wonderful time. you guys are too good to me.
consequently, I can't wait until i'm in my mid 40s and the aftermath of getting drunk will far outweigh the benefits. My dad, who is 54, said he had a hangover for three days the last time he got drunk.
when they get the chance.
and this is ... well, this is the closest chance i'll ever have.
Are you coming to my SNP going away party?
It's tonight after work at Patrick J's.
I'd like to think of it more as a 'going over' party, but then again I also don't want to send Tim Krumlauf off into another tirade.
I have a feeling that Dennis Laycock is going to break my heart again.
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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