All posts by Teri

2025 Word of the Year

The editors at Merriam-Webster have chosen SLOP as their 2025 Word of the Year.

The selection process for word of the year goes like this:

The editors review and analyze spikes and search data on top words as well as verbal usage. (DUH.)

But SLOP? What the ….?

My first thought was gooey, slimy, yucky, wet, brown stuff that nobody wants to touch, let alone eat. Blech.

But then I asked myself: why would a word from the 1700s/1800s make it to the top spot in 2025?

So of course, I googled the heck out of it.

Here are but a few of the new and improved definitions of SLOP:

Digital content of low quality. (I call this “news that stupid people use,” but okay.)

Propaganda and fake news that incite people to do irrational things. (I call this “news that stupid people use,” but okay.)

Talking cat and dog clips. (I’ll admit, I’ve enjoyed my fair share of talking animal banter.)

Artificial Intelligence that is chock full of misinformation, deepfakes, and copyright infringement. (I call this one downright dangerous, and it scares the bejesus out of me.)

And then there are the SLOP variations:

SLOPTIMIZED: Content or an algorithm that prioritizes the mass production of SLOP for maximum operating profit. (WAKE UP PEOPLE! It always comes down to the almighty dollar.)

 WORKSLOP: Reports that waste coworkers’ time. (I TOTALLY agree with this one.)

SLIP-SLOP: Careless or hurried work. (YEP. I’ve been personally victimized by this one. Time and time again.)

SLOPAHOLIC: A sloppy drinker. (YEP. I’ve been personally victimized by this one. Time and time again.)

RETROSLOP: Failed attempts at loading retro-style content or games, leading to technical issues that prevent the game from running smoothly. (STUPID.)

 FRIENDSLOP: Online game platforms played by someone with “friends” working toward a common virtual universe goal that often costs them (or their parents) thousands of dollars. (STUPID. And expensive.)

SLOP-ROT: A term for content perceived to cause a loss of intellectual or critical thinking skills due to its inane or moronic nature. (IGNORAMOUSLY STUPID.)

SLOPAGANDA: Propaganda disguised as entertainment. (Is anyone besides me seeing a frightening brain drain theme here?)

According to Merriam-Webster, the words below have defined the last 10 years:

2024: POLARIZATION

2023: AUTHENTIC

2022: GASLIGHTING

2021: VACCINE

2020: PANDEMIC

2019: THEY

2018: JUSTICE

2017: FEMINISM

2016: SURREAL

2015: ISM

Be a Lamp

Every human soul is a divine lamp (Proverbs 20:27)

Tonight, as I light the Chanukah menorah, I’m going to make a promise to myself to be a lamp. I’m weary from all the hateful antisemitic darkness and tired of all the malcontents who try to stamp out my light. And somewhere along the way, the haters succeeded in dimming it. As each candle wick unfurls its glow over the next eight nights, I will pray for a new way forward, because I need to be a lamp. We all need to be a lamp.

Let us globalize the light.

Stop Blaming the Albatross

How many times have I heard that he, she, or it is an albatross around someone’s neck?

The image of a dead bird hanging heavily around someone’s neck always makes me wince a little, primarily because the albatross is unfairly vilified and targeted by those who need to place their angst on something or someone besides themselves.

I often equate the albatross to another target who is also falsely accused of causing others distress or difficulty: the black sheep.

I have a soft spot for black sheep, most probably because I was called one for a good part of my younger life by family members who were supposed to love and protect me. I once, shockingly, heard it firsthand from my beloved family member’s best friend at her wedding, to describe me. (Nice to meet you, too.)  At the time, I asked myself, “How is it possible to be her matron of honor and the black sheep at the same time?” I now know that the two were never mutually exclusive.

But I digress.

The albatross has been used and abused as a metaphor for perceived and continuous problems that someone is being forced to carry: a bothersome person, a psychological burden, negative business dealings or situations that have gone awry, and even the result of being rich or famous (boo hoo, poor, entitled you).

I say hail to the albatross.

If you’ve ever read the 1798 poem “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, I don’t see how you would disagree with me that the albatross gets an unfair and untruthful bad rap.

The albatross was clearly the victim in the poem, and the sailor who so callously murdered the bird was the actual villain, which was why the rest of the crew forced him to carry it around his neck. It was the targeted and unwarranted killing of the albatross by the mariner that brought the curse upon the ship, not the bird itself.

“And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work ’em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.”

Masters of the sky, albatrosses have the largest wingspan of any other bird, and they can fly for months and even years without landing on solid ground. The Wright brothers’ first gliders were inspired by the albatross’s wing design.

The mighty albatross is capable of covering thousands of miles without so much as flapping their wings, and is known to travel over 10,000 miles in a single flight. They can even sleep while gliding, and land on the ocean’s surface only to hunt and feed on floating organisms, which is why they often follow fishing boats.

Albatrosses are remarkable for their exceptional flight ability, monogamous relationships, and devoted parenting.

Many albatrosses spend their first few years of life at sea, only returning to solid ground to breed. The male albatross shares a significant responsibility in raising their chicks and plays a crucial role in their survival. They are monogamous creatures and faithful partners who stay on land solely to father and raise their young. Some albatross species maintain their familial bonds for life, including their chicks.

While the poem’s narrative has given the albatross a negative connotation, it has long been a symbol of good fortune, and ancient tales extol their ability to bring good luck to seafarers. And yet, the albatross is consistently labeled as a heavy burden and a source of guilt impossible to be rid of.

In Coleridge’s epic poem, the mariner describes the psychological burden and the due penance he paid for senselessly killing the albatross by being forced to wear it around his neck as a reminder and symbol of his sin and guilt—i.e., the albatross did nothing wrong.

“Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung. “

The poem goes on to describe how every crew member on the ship dies except for the mariner. The dead albatross eventually falls off his neck, leaving the mariner forever destined to roam the earth telling the story of his survival. Some interpretations go so far as to claim that the mariner was redeemed, but I don’t see anything redeeming about his evil actions.

I think the mariner got off easy, and his being the sole survivor was grossly unfair. He never got his due. It was the albatross who should have survived.

“He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.”

The albatross, central to the poem, was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet it was this innocent and unsuspecting bird that became a scapegoat—a black sheep—in the annals of history.

Frankly, and most unfortunately, I know all too well a thing or two about that.

***

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43997/the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner-text-of-1834

My Stolen Diaries — Chapter 33: The Westport Wedding

CHAPTER 33

THE WESTPORT WEDDING

June 25, 1967

Mom’s wedding day was mostly a blur. I had hoped to be her Maid of Honor, but she didn’t pick me. Should I be surprised? No, because she never picks me for anything.

Mom bought me a Pierre Cardin tangerine-and-pink paisley-pleated dress for the wedding with matching tangerine shoes. Mem said I looked beautiful, but I thought I looked like a fruit salad.

At St. Ambrose Church, tears rolled down Mem’s face during the entire ceremony, and I don’t think they were out of happiness.

What I remember most about Mom’s wedding day was the drive down the tree-lined entrance to Longshore Country Club for her reception.

The grand road, flanked on both sides by majestic trees and rolling emerald-green golf hills, caused my heart to pound almost out of my chest. I had never seen such a beautiful entryway to anything in my entire life. I was shivering despite the unairconditioned, sweltering car that Adam gave Mem when he died, and the scorching weather, unusual for June.

Mem thought I was shivering from uncontrollable excitement. No, I wasn’t shivering from excitement—I was shivering from uncontrollable fear: fear of grandiose trees, fear of Westport, fear of not being pretty enough, fear of living without Mem, fear of not fitting in. Fear of Roberto, aka ROB.

Speaking of not fitting in, when Mem pulled up to the front of the club’s entrance, the valet guy gave us and our clunker car the once-over before cringing as he got into the steamy seven-year-old Dodge Dart to park it.

I was the only kid invited to the wedding and reception, so I stuck by Mem, which wasn’t much fun because she was still physically healing from her heart problems and mentally not healing at all from Mere Germaine’s passing.

Halfway through the reception, I met two of Rob’s friends, Tim and Lana O’Connor. Lana snuck me a glass of champagne and offered me a job babysitting for their two-month-old daughter, Kiki.

Mom is 29, but Lana is 22, only eight years older than me. Mom is prettier, but Lana—a blonde beauty in her own right—is more sophisticated and way more charming. Maybe it was the champagne, but I immediately warmed up to her. She dragged me outside, and we shared a Marlboro. She pulled out her wallet to show me photos of Kiki and told me about her life in Westport, which sounded glamorous but lonely. The cigarette wasn’t my first, but the champagne was.

According to Lana, her husband Tim manages a family-owned chain of steak restaurants in New York City, so he works six, sometimes seven, nights a week.

When the reception was over, Mom and Rob jumped into a  sleek white limousine for a night at a fancy New York City hotel, followed by a week-long honeymoon in Bermuda.

Before Lana left, she gave me her phone number and made me promise to call her.

I asked Mem to stay until everyone else had gone, embarrassed that someone would see her beat-up car. I was still in a panic over moving to Westport, but excited about getting to know Lana and baby Kiki.

Stay tuned for Chapter 34: The Name Game