Here you will find many of the insightful articles and books discussed at
our weekly tea gatherings.
28 December 2004
The Tea Reader, now updated at least yearly! Here are some
pictures
from our last Tea.
2 September 2003
The Tea Writer is pleased to announce that, after several months
spent in a tropical paradise (and several weeks spent in a Mexican jail),
the Tea Reader is
back from summer vacation.
Still suffering from a hangover, however, the Tea Reader was not
not quite lucid last Tuesday, and found it taxing to even remember the
faces of the Tea regulars who were in attendance. To help it back
into the swing of things, it might be helpful to remind
us who these amazing people are.
Kim
Kim works for the Internet. Her job is to make sure the Internet
keeps happening. Every day that the Internet continues to happen,
she is doing her job. Good work, Kim! You help make the Tea Reader
possible. One shudders to recall those dark days of yester-year,
when the Tea Reader, composed on a Smith-Corona manual typewriter,
was mimeographed, folded, stapled, and mailed by third class post every
week.
Chris-u-lonic
Chris works for a company, but he won't say which company, so we'll
just call it the company. Chris is the one who always wears a hat to
Tea. The odd thing about this hat, though, is that Chris doesn't wear
it, and he doesn't bring it to Tea. He used to wear a hat, though.
And we used to drink tea. So one can truthfully say that Chris is
the personification of Tea. He is also a devout teetotaler.
Shannon
Shannon is the Young Turk of Tea, and a recent addition to the gang.
Be wary of Shannon: she spreads disinformation, subversive stickers, and
counterfeit money. Though new on the scene, she has inserted herself
into the deepest levels of the Tea infrastructure. What are her plans?
Wait and see.
Carla
For those who have read the novel or watched the movie, Carla is
to Tea what the character Begbie is to
Trainspotting. She'll glass yeh
as soon as look at yeh. The founding member of Tea if anybody deserves
the title, Carla now spends most of her days in other states as a hatchet
woman for a major corporation.
Thomas
Thomas is Carla's husband. If Carla is absent, so is Thomas,
and when she is present, Thomas is generally there as well. It is as if he is
in her orbit, a satellite, if you will. No, I kid, I kid. He is
a first class body in his own right, and the two comprise a binary star
system. Technically minded, Thomas can solve any problem thrown his way using
only everyday household items, and a satellite. Sometimes two satellites.
For example, he has devised a clever way to prepare trout using
a coffee can, sterno, cumin, onions, and a K-band satellite. He also has
a satellite-based exit strategy for Iraq, but it's a secret.
Pete
Pete is the inventor of TML:
Tea Markup Language. It is an application
of XML, and Pete can provide the DTD if you need it. Here is an example:
<?xml version="1.0"?>
<tea>
<attendance>
<member type="awesome">David</member>
<group>The rest</group>
</attendance>
</tea>
Pete is not, in fact, a Tea regular. But he does leave in Wisconsin,
so give the guy some credit.
Sacha
With the possible exception of David, Sacha is the coolest member of Tea.
To see him is to know that he is simply, unassailably, cool. One notes
this without hostility, much as one beholds a giant redwood, and thinks, "It is
taller than me, but I do not begrudge it that. For it has a
large hole blasted through its trunk, with a road through it. I have
no road blasted through me, and betwixt my kidneys no
cars do drive. For that, I am greatful."
Maureen
Maureen talks a lot of smack, but has much sass and moxy. She
does not generally get the credit she deserves, but this is her
karmic reward for correcting people. All the time. Once a dear fellow
offered a surprisingly entertaining Tea trivia question.
I don't recall who delivered this delightful diversion, but it was last
week, and he probably worked very hard to come
up with "Name the five most recent members of the U.N." and research
the answers as well. How did Maureen reward this selfless soul, whoever
he may have been? Here is how: "It's pronounced Kiribash."
Ooh, look at me, I know how to pronounce Kiribati. I read books. I
went to school. Three cheers for Maureen, Pronouncer of Countries.
David
For those who have read the novel or watched the TV show,
David is to Tea what the character Fonzie is to Happy Days. David
keeps an office in the Franklins bathroom, where he holds council
with his good friends the red headed one, the dark haired one, and the
other red headed one. A carefully placed blow of David's first can
fix machinery and extract free goods and services. With
the snap of his fingers, David makes women hug him, though they
don't know why. Sometimes, David helps his friends learn an important
lesson about life, usually following a misundersanding, with amusing
or hilarious consequences.
The Others
The others didn't come to Tea.
See you next week!
1 July 2003
[Editors Note: This week a guest Tea Writer fills in for David.]
I had stumbled wildly up the concrete path to that all too brightly
colored building when the shadow of a dark haired man approached me.
Knowing the spook type that frequented the area (and one outside who
looked me in the eye), I lunged towards the door, blinded momentarily by
the sign that read "Franklins" above me. Franklins? What type of
upscale incongruity were they allowing into the neighborhood?
I braced myself against the podium. I was beginning to pant. That dark
haired man had followed me inside. Before the hostess could ask me how
many, I ran and hid at her ankles below the stand.
"Excuse me, but what-" I cut her off with an urgent gesture that conveyed
my utter fear. She stared at me with the doe-eyed glaze of the morning
talk show female and I heard a voice above me say that he was with the
"tea party."
Tea Party. Contemptible spies. How dare they invoke a great moment in
the history of this nation for their subversiveness. I nearly stood up to
express my rage at the conformist war-mongerer, but thought against it and
instead fumbled at the cap to my flask.
The hostess walked away, not without another glare to my offending self.
I watched as she led the dark haired man up the stairs, and noticed for
the first time that he carried something awkwardly. What could those
un-American rapscallions be planning for the night?
I peeked my head around the podium to see the hostess scramble down the
stairs with a manager. I tried my best but the bright lights and
pixilated paintings of American emblems seemed to suffocate me. I crawled
and hid behind a crying six-year old where I stood up and glanced around
for a weapon.
There being no katanas nor .45s in the vicinity, I reached into my hair
and brought in front of me a shaking hand holding a sharpened chop stick.
It'll have to do. Someone needs to stop this madness.
As calmly as a irate patriot could, I mounted the stairs and saw
them. There were tables of them. Snippets of conversation floated toward
me, "First postage stamp... co-worker coming to tea... beer..." when I saw
him, the dark haired man. He was grinning foolishly as I stalked the
table, my chopstick hair accessory raised above me for the kill. A primal
cry bubbled at the back of my throat and slowly I lowered my arm using every
muscle to control the movement. I was but a yard away, when he turned and
looked at me, and glanced to the floor.
Then I saw it: the package he had carried upstairs. Not a package, but a
yuppie car-seat, and in it, a baby. My resolve broke, and I dropped the
chopstick, but then I thought of this saccharine child being raised by a
liberty-consuming monster, and I snatched up the baby and ran down the
other stairs in the back. "Don't worry child! We shall stoke the fires
of revolution!" I bellowed. I heard a voice shout, "Be well!" as I ran
outside and followed the train tracks to our freedom.
-Hiram Mustene
6 May to 2 June, 2003
In the days and weeks that followed, we learned what had become
of Carla. While up late one night, studying, our dear friend dozed
off and woke to find herself trapped under a C++ textbook. With
Thomas away at an anti-Globalization conference, Carla
subsisted for
seventeen days and nights on nothing but cans of Ensure from a
fortuitously proximate palette.
Carla's return came none too soon, as many of our dearest friends,
taken for granted these many months, announced their impending
departures, or, in some cases, left without any word at all.
On May 13, for example, we learned to our dismay that
our ever diligent waitress Melissa
would be leaving Franklins to make her
mark on the world. Melissa: you will be missed. You have been, and
will always be, our friend.
That same evening witnessed the first of many Yael-less Teas.
Like the last rays of winter's setting sun, she left us with
growing darkness and the bitter loneliness of the soul. Where
did you go, Yael? Where? It is cold, so cold . . .
Fear not. I can happily report that on the second of June, 2003,
the sun did arise and make happy the skies, as Yael
returned to Tea, with excuses: some good, and some not. The good
excuses were so good that the others will be forgiven. Let us
never speak of it again.
Little did we know that the thirteenth would also be resident Cypriot
Andri's final Tea until the Autumn. Absent the next two weeks,
and now home in that Mediterranean pearl for the summer, we wish her well.
Godspeed, Andri. Keep us in your heart.
Another sign of trouble to come arrived with little fanfare
on the twentieth of May, when our
waitress, Crystal, of Jackson Pollack joke fame, informed the
gathered group that Franklin's had exhausted its supply of
the IPA. "Not to worry," we thought. "Though people may
desert us, alcohol is our ever present friend." And yet, within
seven scant days, there would be but four beers
offered at Prince Georges County's only brewpub. Woe unto
us.
As if this dearth were not trial enough, it coincided
with the first of two weeks without Brooke's chest! It, and
its host, were on vacation in Canadia!
"Surely this is hyperbole!" some of you are thinking to yourselves.
"He exaggerates for dramatic effect, as is his wont. No Yael,
no Brooke, no Andri, and no Booze, all on the same night? It is too much
to believe." Believe it.
But I suspect we have passed the nadir. Nay, I am sure of it. For
next week saw an increase to six beers, and, as mentioned, to one
Yael. Some speak of a "double dip" recession, but they are
wrong. The outlook is good.
For the record, here is the official attendance record. Gold
stars go to Carla, Chris, and David, for obvious reasons.
To the rest: you have much to learn from your reliable companions.
|
5/6/03
|
5/13/03
|
5/20/03
|
5/27/03
|
6/2/03
|
Andrew
|
X
|
X
|
|
X
|
X
|
Andri
|
X
|
X
|
|
|
|
Brooke
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
|
|
Bruce
|
|
|
|
X
|
|
Carla
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
Chris
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
Cliff
|
X
|
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
David
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
Fred
|
|
X
|
|
|
|
Goat
|
|
|
|
X
|
|
Janette
|
X
|
|
|
|
|
Jason
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
Lisa
|
|
|
|
|
X
|
Maggie
|
X
|
X
|
|
X
|
X
|
Marvella
|
X
|
|
|
|
|
Maureen
|
X
|
X
|
|
X
|
X
|
Mikey
|
X
|
|
|
|
|
Robin
|
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
|
Sacha
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
|
Shannon
|
|
X
|
|
|
X
|
Susan
|
|
|
|
X
|
|
Thomas
|
X
|
|
|
|
X
|
Yael
|
X
|
|
|
|
X
|
Melissa*
|
X
|
X
|
|
|
|
Crystal*
|
|
|
X
|
X
|
X
|
* - our excellent waitresses
29 April 2003
This much we know: on the evening of April 29th, 2003, a group
of friends gathered at Franklins Restaurant in Hyattsville, MD.
They stayed for several hours drinking beer, wine, and carbonated
beverages, eating appetizers and main courses, all the while discussing
the issues of the day. The group numbered fourteen, and included
the following individuals: Chris, Andri, David, Brooke, Yael,
Cliff, Shannon, Andrew, Maureen, Maggie, Jason, Walter, Sacha, and Robin.
A recently discovered primary source, in the form of a black
cardboard-bound notebook, has permitted us to reconstruct the events of that
evening. Though no one can be sure of the exact details, the
broad outlines of that night, as depicted below, are believed
to be correct.
Chris, or "Chris-u-lonic" as he is known, arrived first and
sat on the low brick wall in front of the restaurant. Having stared
blankly into space for 15 minutes, he was interrupted by the
arrival of Andri, and David, who is believed to be Andri's chauffeur.
The three exchanged pleasantries, and then entered the establishment,
where they were promptly shown to their table. The Franklins staff
expected the group, who meet there on a regular basis.
While waiting to sit, David, ever observant, noticed Brooke walking
through the parking lot. When, forty seconds later, his vision
was obscured by a pair of hands, he calmly uttered the words, "Hello,
Brooke. So glad you could join us." Brooke, impressed, gazed upon
David in wide-eyed wonder, and then looked down.
Not long afterward, Yael, and then Cliff, arrived upon the scene.
By all accounts, Yael appeared to be staggeringly drunk.
"A Deepness in the Sky," said Cliff.
Silence.
"A Deepness in the Sky," repeated Cliff.
"Ah," replied somebody, perhaps Chris.
"I am reading the novel A Deepness in the Sky by Hugo
Award-winning author Vernor Vinge. If you take the initial letter
of his first and last name, you will find that they are identical."
The puzzled looks of all assembled were interrupted by the arrival
of the Farringtonia contingent, in the persons of Andrew, Maureen,
Shannon, and Maggie. Andrew nearly tripped over Yael, who had
fallen from her chair several minutes before.
Chris shared an interesting article he had read in the New
York "Science" Times, involving dragons. There were dragons,
or, perhaps, there were no dragons. Scientists aren't certain.
Many cultures had dragon myths, though. "What's more," added Chris,
"the Lambton Wyrm of 1420."
Yael explained the marvels of offset printing, between hiccups,
and David pointed out the informative feature
Stop the Presses:
Behind the Brass Door at the New York Times website. [Editor's Note:
neither NYT article referenced in this depiction was authored by
Jayson
Blair.] And, in a drunken tirade, Yael savaged the cover
design of Brooke's copy of
The Island of the Colorblind.
Jason, Walter, Sacha, and Robin arrived later to complete the
group. After smiling and high-fiving all assembled, Jason asked,
"Where are Carla and Tom?"
"Oh, Carla said she couldn't make it," replied Brooke.
Jason then became very still, while his face grew darker
and darker shades of red.
"That BITCH! Who the hell does she think she is? Where does
she get off skipping tea like that? And she didn't even tell
me! After all I've done for her. God damn-it! God damn-it to hell!"
And then, slowly taking his seat, Jason broke down into tears
and quietly sobbed for several minutes.
"Once, I didn't buy a car because the salesman put his hand on
the small of my back!" Yael added helpfully.
"Oh really?" inquired Chris. "Manor House is more entertaining
than I thought it would be."
Then Justin, the waiter, asked the group to please leave, and they
did.
The whereabouts of Thomas and Carla remain unknown. Those with
information are asked to contact the authorities.
Next Week: Will Carla and Thomas come to Tea?
[ 29 April 2003 ]
I am not the first, and certainly not the last, to ask the
question: "How can Science help us to understand the absence of
the April 29th edition of the Tea Reader ?" The answer, of
course, is that it can not. Religion, Macrame, and Hollistic Medicine
are similarly useless.
For real answers, we must turn to a man named Sacha, a movie
titled
Cowboy Bebop, and
a morphine derivative known as heroin.
Mostly heroin.
Rest assured, though, that this week's edition of the Tea Reader
will hit newsstands everywhere sometime this week.
8 April & 15 April, 2003
The U.S. Government is offering a reward for information leading
to the arrest of the following fugitives. All were last seen
gathering at Franklins Restaurant within the last two weeks.
|