Al Dia

No time now. Pepino is busier than a one legged man in a butt-kicking contest. Since Thursday morn, I am assembling, managing, staffing, and breaking down a garage sale, one of many on our street, Camino Calabaza. When I get off this roller coaster of garbage commerce, I'll catch you up, Dear Reader, on these very important developments in la vida pepina:

• Beer Buffets
• Garage Sales
• Pepina's Trifecta

Don't move. I'll be back soon.

No fio,

P. "Negociante" Suave

P.D. How much for an opened box of crayons with, indigo, and pink missing (lightly used)?

Danger in the Classroom

We here at Bob El Gorila's Mobile Laboratory of Yippee Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories offer you a look into the dangers of the elementary classroom. Yes, the public is hyper-aware of the lucrative salary and cushy benefits ol' Pepino Suave garnars for his labors in early elementary education. But does the average palooka reflect on the inherent dangers of an environment packed with small humans, craft supplies, and staplers? No.
Well, double click on "Danger in the Classroom" above for a taste of my cookie, folks. Published by the distinguished periodical, The Onion, the article depicts just one act of carnage; but carnage that is the potential of any well-prepared lesson plan (and especially for the not-so-well-planned, or any Friday, or week before holiday, or month before summer vacation, or when there is a substitute, or a student's meds are withheld or poorly administered, or the eve of a full moon, or the wake of a firedrill, any pizza day, or when a non-teacher becomes "principal for the day").
Double-click and enjoy.

Hasta alli,

P.S Out...

Bullet Points

• The Pepino Suave telecommunications department (1-800-PEPINOS) has made a request that blog readers please stop calling for Rubia's Ambrosia recipe. Your calls have overwhelmed our operators, who are just as eager as you to get Rubia's recipe. We will post the altered recipe as soon as Rubia gets around to it. I think my dear cousin is on the phone. Rubia, if you are reading this, send the recipe as soon as possible. The world deserves to know.
• It is raining down in Pepinoville. Thunder, too.
• I interviewed a student-teacher candidate last week that was old enough to be my child, had I fathered a child just after adolescence and before my first real job. Pepino Viejo.
• Why do some grown men enjoy lighting fireworks? Why can't these same men contain their pyromania for the appropriate holiday? Bangs and booms, and cracklings lose their novelty when you've been hearing them randomly since Martin Luther King holiday. The Fourth of July becomes just another noisy day. Instead of "bombs bursting in air", fireworks symbolize "money blown out the wazoo."
• As I write these words, I am eating (strawberry) jelly toast. Sticky keyboard. My hats off to neighbor Cocinera, for her superb homemade perserves. Una marmelada deliciosa.

Esperando a Rubia,

Pepino Bailarin

A Reflexionar

Hermano Miguel sent the following entry in a recent email. Once our editorial board, Los Gorilas Ocho, got their mits on it, they insisted we post it today. Upon reading it, I think you'll understand their enthusiasm. You'll go ape.

If they know of him at all, many folks think Ben Stein is just a quirky actor/comedian who talks in a monotone. He's also a very intelligent attorney who knows how to put ideas and words together in such a way as to sway juries and make people think clearly. The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning Commentary, Sunday, 12/18/05:
Herewith at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart: I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and US constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why they have broken up? Why are they so important?I don't know who Lindsay Lohan is either, and I do not care at all about Tom Cruise's wife.Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I am a subversive? Maybe, but I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica are.If this is what it means to be no longer young, it's not so bad.Next confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees.It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, "Merry Christmas" to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution, and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him?I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too.
But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get you thinking.Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson asked her "How could God let something like this Happen?" (regarding Katrina)Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response. She said, "I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives.And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?"In light of recent events...terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school .. the Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with "WE REAP WHAT WE SOW."Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell.Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says.Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing.Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace.Are you laughing?Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it.Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than what God thinks of us.Pass it on if you think it has merit. If not then just discard it, no one will know you did. But, if you discard this thought process, don't sit back and complain about what bad shape the world is in.

Me pongo a pensar,

P. Suave

Potential

Li'l Pepinita got two hits! She ends the season 2 for 1,453! After a season of struggling at the plate, she wacked two balls clear past the pitcher's mound.
I'm telling ya', the family Suave could taste these hits at the dinner table. We knew something special was going to happen. Our little pelotera had been slapping wiffle balls at the back of the garage all week. She was determined to change things. Last night, the last game of the season, Li'l Pepinita was walking different. She was swinging different. She was determined. Her first at-bat, she stepped up to the plate like she owned it, took a couple of fierce practice swings, and stared down the pitching machine like it had eaten her twinky. The crowed settled in for the wait - by now accostomed to Pepinita's pitch selection that would make a turtle seem impulsive. After letting a couple of high balls go by, she swung, hit the ball, and ran to first faster than she's ever ran, even faster than when she chases the Pepinoville icecream truck, or when she runs towards anything that contains high fructose corn syrup. She ran fast.
Her next at-bat she repeated the same, except that time she carried the air of a veteran. Like it was normal to get on base.
Her last at-bat was different. She was meloncholy. She returned to her old form. She struck out. I walked over to the dugout and asked the pouting Pepinita what gives. She said, "Nothing. I'm just going to miss my coaches." Aw, shucks, these kids have big hearts, don't they America?
Hey, and three cheers for Li'l Pepinita's Coaches and for Coaches all over Cuke County. These guys, and gals, are exceptional. Thanks for your time. You make a difference. Li'l Pepinita dedicates her last strike out to you.

Orgullosamente,

Peppy

Ambrosia

Prima Rubia, the very oldest of all the Sauve cousins, alerted the Pepino Suave Blogsite Editorial Board of Chimps, Rubber Chickens, and Other Lawyers (PSBEBCRCOL) of an error in the previous entry entitled "El Pescador de Frisbees". It was a ghastly error of omission, made worse by the fact that it slighted a much older cousin of Pepino Suave, the eldest of the Suave grandchildren, the heir to Grandma Suave's haircurlers: Rubia. In the comments for that wayward entry, amongst Spanish comments produced by translation programs (who is their Spanish teacher, anyway?), was Rubia's plaintive "call out" for her picnic dish, Ambrosia, a Suave tradition. Seems I omitted any reference to the sticky concoction. Rubia's side-dish insecurity is unwarranted, our fans realize, as everyone knows a Suave meal includes a mixing bowl heaped with Ambrosia. Es obvio.
Still, the fact remains that this writer, whose keyboard is soley used for goodness, wisdom, and fart jokes, slighted Rubia, a cousin revered by my siblings for her heartwarming family tales about life on a glacier. Rubia, the keeper of family traditions (wrestling with mamoths? What fun it must have been in her youth!). Rubia, whose youthful good looks belie her advancing years. Rubia, if she were a tree, would have more tree rings than a, well, a real old tree.
Dear Rubia, our sage cousin of the youthful good looks, how can we, the good people of Bob El Gorilas Mobile Wharehouse of Yippee Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories make it up to you?
Tell you what, Los Gorilas Ocho and I got together around the kool-aid cooler and brainstormed a solution. Send us a slightly altered version of La Familia Suave Ambrosia recipe and we'll post it right here on this beloved blog. No, not the original, top secret version etched in a stone tablet and hidden in your brazier, but an altered one. One that will give our audience an idea of our famed Suave tradition, without giving up the entire secret you've been guarding since the French Indian War (Tell us again how you translated for the French. Oui?). You know, maybe switch brands of marshmellows. Or replace sliced peaches for melon balls (worked that one in there for you, Hermano Miguel).
Thank you, esteemed Readers, for allowing us to make things right with ol' Rubia. Our picnic was anchored by her sweet, spongy Ambrosia. Rubia would never forget, regardless her advanced age. My bad.

Me gusta,

P. Suaveson

El Pescador de Frisbee

The Clan Pepino celebrated Father's Day at the park. Mama Pepina organized a family reunion of sorts on the shores of Rio Pepino, at Parque del Frisbee Perdido (Park of the Lost Frisbee). Los Abuelos, Tio Don y Bob, Los Primos Por Alla (Rubia, Ingeniero, y Joven), and the Author of this famed blog, his bride Pepina, and loin-fruit Li'l Pepinita, met at Dock #2, under the pavillion, for pot luck, small talk, and observing Frisbee Fishing.
"Frisbee Fishing," you ask? Dear Reader, may I step aside from the Father's Day thread of this entry in order to explain? My pleasure.
El Parque del Frisbee Perdido is reknown for its World Class Frisbee golf course. Two miles long, the course offers scenic views, manicured terrain, and water hazards. Yes, water hazards. Not just the broiling Rio Pepino, but a couple of creeks and three murky, ecoli filled ponds. La familia Pepino decided to park their Father's day party at the pavillion in front of both El Charco de Ca Ca de Ganso and El Charco de Ca Ca de Pato (respectively, Goose Poop Pond, and Duck Poop Pond). As we set up camp, a man arrived on a bike, with a canvas newspaper delivery bag over his shoulder. He drove his bike to the portage between the two ponds, dropped his bike and bag, and entered the water bare-foot. He waded back and forth along the shore, zig-zagging towards the middle of the pond, seemingly in a trance. Every once and a while he'd stop, stoop into the water, and then toss a frisbee to the shore. Tio Bob, the family financial counselor wondered aloud why the guy couldn't get a real job. I wondered silently at the irony. I also wondered if the frisbee salvager was a former client of Tio Bob. As well, I wondered when the pot luck would begin. I have a hard time focusing when I'm hungry. Well, I always have a hard time focusing, this blog a testament to that flaw, but a flaw only enhanced when my stomach groans. Oops, now I'm wandering. No wonder I wander. Anyway, the guys fishes out a few lost frisbees, and soon clusters of frisbee golfers approach him. They transact with the frisbee fishermen, and return to their game. We watched a small economy happen before our picnic, all under the radar of the great IRS.
And that, Cherished Reader, is Frisbee Fishing. May this quiet passtime flourish in tepid ponds throughout the Republic, without the sticky-fingered tax collector ever the wiser. May our brave frisbee fishermen (and women, I suppose. Never seen one), wade waveless, and return to shore with arm-fulls of plastic pie plates. May frisbee golfers forever save a buck, "beat the middle-man", and buy wet frisbees pond-side, a fraction for what they get at Walfrisbee. And may families everywhere, families like Los Suave, continue the American rite of sitting on collapsible seats amongst avian droppings, watching the Frisbee Fisherman ply his (her?) craft. May God (yours, mine, whosever. No offense.) bless the soggy Frisbee Fisherman!

Pezco poco, porque poco pescado pido,

Pepino "Pescador"Suave

PS The good people at Bob El Gorila's Mobile Laboratory of Yippee Skippe Games, Songs, and Stories (Pepino Suave Division), hope you all had a great Father's Day, and remember the Friends of the Court.

One Red Paperclip

Double click on "One Red Paperclip" for a look-see at Pepino Suave's favorite blog. I've been following this guy, Kyle McDonald, for about a year now. The whole concept behind his blog is his attempt to trade up to a house, beginning with one red paperclip. I don't find his effort to acquire housing half as interesting as his adventures in the process. He is a funny guy, loves Alice Cooper, and is unfailingly, humorously, upbeat.
One Red Paperclip gets the Pepino Suave Pickle of Approval. Felicidades.

Atentamente,

Pepino Suave

Dia de los Padres

"Stand up. Your father's passing. "
-Reverend Sykes to Scout about her father, Atticus Finch, in the movie To Kill a Mockingbird

Un hijo afortunado,

P. Suave

Hay Pero Que Calor

Today Cuke County is hotter n' a Jalapino, for crying out loud. 'Least its not real humid. Li'l Pepinita had a ball game right smack-dab in the middle of the afternoon. The hot, dusty breeze coming off the playing field dried the sweat a bit. Li'l Pepinita, after watching ever so careful for the perfect pitch, hit a nice foul ball down the first base line. She stopped a couple of balls, too, at short stop. Her team mates showed a lot of hustle in the heat. Her coaches are heroes, as far as we're concerned. Good folks.
Gotta go. Los Del Frente, our good neighbors, are calling me offering more strawberry jam, made fresh in their cocina. !Que dichoso yo! I'm off...

Mucha pelota,

Pepinazo

La Calabaza

• We've finally planted the family pumpkin patch out in the Patio Pepino. Pepina arrived to the Casa Pepina yesterday, after a long day of reinvesting the Pepino wealth into the economy, to find a cemetary plot in her backyard. A short explanation clarified to her that it was simply preparation for next fall's Halloween jack-o-lantern.
• The Pepino Suave Media Relations and Tech Support Department, an arm of Bob El Gorila's Mobile Laboratory of Yippee-Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories (and the guys that get my coffee in the morning), have installed a counter to calculate the globs of visitors to this fair blog each day. We aim for more visitors per day than the average McDonalds. Less fat.
• Li'l Pepinita beat me at a word game yesterday.
• I made several calls to hotels yesterday in an attempt to get a room for a conference I'll be attending this summer. Of the six hotels I called, five receptionists/clerks obviously didn't speak English in their homes. The sixth, native-like speaker, was surly and obviously completely unaware that she was speaking to Pepino Suave. My conclusion? The better you speak English, the nastier you are. Es obvio.
• Los Gorilas Ocho, a think tank out of Nostril Hair, Arizona, came to a different conclusion. They found that the less English you spoke, the more likely you'd have to deal with costumers like Pepino Suave. Come to think of it, I spoke little English back when I bused tables at the Sign of the Pepino restaurant. Smart Apes. Thinkers all.

Me defiendo,

Pepinazo

Inky's Baaaaaack!

That's right, the bubbliest pickle this side of the garden has posted her first entry since the last snow flew (phlew for our urban readers). Go to your right and click on Inky under the links column to read Pepina's debue summer entry.

Un fanatico de ella,

P. "Summer Time" Suave

Pepinoville Update

Ketchup:

• Brother Periodista and his son Tigrito passed thrue Pepinoville last week for a visit with the extended family Suave: the author of this fair blog, his beautiful wife Pepina, Li'l Pepina, and the patriarchs of the brood, Bompa and Abuelita. Periodista was on his early retirement tour of the midwest. Tigrito and cousin Li'l Pepina did a lot of catching up. Lounging in Parque Pepino along the Rio Pepino, bbq in the Patio Pepino, and trips to the Pepinoville Dairy for ice cream were highlights of the visit. The boys hit the road after a couple days and returned to the ladies who love them (or the ladies what love them, as Opa would say). Thanks for the memories, fellas. See you in Salted Pork.
• Although school is out for Li'l Pepino and myself, Pepina is still commuting to Pepino Heights Elementary as she finishes her teaching year. Monday, she was captiviated (held captive) for an inservice about Absolutly Nothing of Relevence (ANR), and today she is charged with Filling Out Records and Filing Them(FORF). She is putting off completing the Bilingual Annual Rational to Fail (BARF) form, for obvious reasons.
• Li'l Pepina obtained twelve wiffle balls, a bat, and a tee in order to perfect her swing. Yesterday, she hit a few dozen balls against the back of the garage, and one actually went over the roof. She hopes all this practice will pay off at Saturday's game against the rival team, Las Gorilas. Her team, Las Confundidas, are looking for some more hits. Li'l Pepina is hoping to contribute to the cause.
• Opa and Pepina are watching tons of soccer. They were sad to see the USA fair so poorly in the first game. Oh, my apologies to 99.9% of the population. The World Cup, soccer's premier competition began last week. Teams from around the world play for the championship of championships. Yea, it is the game where little guys neatly hit a ball around a football field and fall writhing in pain if someone approaches them. Gotta gitcha, gitcha, gitcha head in the game....
• The Other Ignored Game, NHL hockey, is not being watched by literally millions of people. Opa, brother-in-law Camionero, and I watched game 4 of the finals last night. Played in Edmonton, the Oilers lost to Carolina. They are down 3 games to 1 as they take the puck to Carolina tomorrow.

Al dia,

Pepino "Boom-Boom" Suave

University of Michigan

Last week's Pepino/Pepina 10th anniversary tour took us to Ann Arbor where we met as students after serving in the Peace Corps. We took these shots outside of the student union.

Con mucha nostalgia,

Peps

Se Acaba

"Vacation's All I Ever Wanted, Vacation Gotta Get Away"

-Las Go-Gos

Alas, today is the last day of school for Pepina and me. This is the time of year that reminds us why we love teaching so. Ironic, as this is also the time of the year that civilians wish they were teachers. Huh.
The Pepino Suave community can now look forward to more frequent entries. Stay tuned for:

• A review of brother Periodista's visit to Pepinoville this week with son Tigrito
• Gossip, inuendo, and sarcasm
• Rages, diatribes, and rants
• The continuing saga of Bob el Gorila, as told by Coco Loco
• Tips for healthy hair
• Commentary regarding Pepinoville's controversial court case, "Smelt It vs. Dealt It"

Find your summer reading write here at El Blog de Pepino Suave.

Pura vida,

P. Suaveson

La Quiero Mucho

Why the silence? Is the family Suave in peril? Is the author of this blog suffering blogger's block? Has the Pepinoville Board of Education silenced our dear pickled friend? Does the drought in entries spell the end of the oft-maligned Pepino Suave Blog? What is the price of tea in China?
No, sweet reader of mine, no. No to all the above questions, save the last (to which I say, "I don't know, ask the good people of Lipton who buy their tea leaves cheap from the Orient").
'Tis rumor and speculation that has forecast the demise of the Pepino Suave Blog, a project of Bob the Gorila's Mobile Laboratory of Yippee-Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories. Seems some folks can't give a guy a few weeks of toss-off quotation entries and cheesy jokes. The reader is both the writer's muse and his curse. Curse the muse, I say.
No, the blog and it's author are alive and well. In fact, the dry-spell was initiated by Pepino Suave's (If I may speak in third person. Oops. If he may speak in third person...) tenth anniversary tour with his child bride, Pepina (of Inky fame. See side bar for link. Ink's Link. I like it. ). Yes, darling Pepina and I traveled the path of our courtship: from the boutiqued streets of Ann Arbor, to the crumbling streets of Detroit, and on to the fish-strewn beach of Lake Erie where I made the best proposition of my life, and then to St. Clair, where we rented the same room above the bar as we did on our wedding night. I think it was the same band as ten years ago, as well. The room charge wasn't the same.
Yes, we left li'l Pepinita with Bompa and Abuelita, and hit the road. Just the two of us, our memories, and a CD player full of tunes now refered to as "classics" (when did Devo become a classic?).
Besides the CDs, we took our marriage journals with us, a kind of counseling exercise we began about 8 years ago after our third marriage (I'll explain that in a future entry). We re-read some of our old entries and laughed our stomachs sore. Our thoughts from a few years back were telling. One in particular rang true for me: years ago Pepina recorded the advice that Father Sayers gave to us - that at the time of our wedding we would love each other the least. The Padre knew his stuff, for a guy who'll never be married.
I love Pepina more than I did ten years ago. I don't love her half as much as I will if blessed with ten more years.

Llegue,

P.Suave, esposo de Pepina