Applebee's

If I got one call about my promise to review Ron Fournier's Applebee's America, I got a million. Tranqui, tranqui, nieghbors, I'll get to it. I only finished the tome of marketing wisdom a week ago. I guy has to digest all the universal truth it contains, and peep at the new issue of Mad Magazine before a guy can synthesis how it has changed a guy's course in life. Chill.
My long awaited comments on reknown author, wiffle ball allstar, and quick-witted recontour Ron Fournier and his Pulitzer-bound tear-jerker, Applebee's America will appear in various November entries. As Granny would say, "Keep your pants on. Or, " Hold your horses. Or, "Where's the fire". Or, a sharp, stinging thimble pie to the temple.

Super ocupado,
Pepino Suave

Tech Support Plea

Hey, my tech-savvy readers. How do I get great icons, like the one to the left, on my sidebar? Maybe brother Casi Italiano is out there reading this. Could you punch-in and help out a 'mano? I want to get these hot links on this baby before the rest of the world catches on and I'm just coughing road dust.

Atrasado,

Peppy

Haunting Begins

The first handful of many Holloween bashes were held yesterday. Above, a Li'l Pumkin displays the gastromical offerings at Pepinoville's Santo Sobrio Lutheran Church annual celebration of the Satanic. It was followed by revelry at Pepinoville Elementary Escuela de Expectaciones Realisticas. Li'l Pepinita enjoyed a day full of haunts, starch, salt, sugar, corn syrup, and artificial flavors.
Only 48 hours until actual Holloween day, and there is still plenty instructional time to be interrupted in celebration of things spooky. On Tuesday, let's put behind No Child Left Untested, cancel math class, and have a costume parade.
Remember, it's about the kids.
Asustado,
P. Boo Sauve

Pennsylvania Wedding

A wedding party playing in an autumn field, a ride in a cauliflower truck, dad and daughter dancing, and bubbles from well-wishers; these kids know how to throw a wedding.

Felicitaciones,
La familia Sauve

Pig Trough Dancing

Apparently, in Pennsylvania Dutch country, if an older sibling of the bride or groom is yet unmarried, he/she is made to dance in the pig trough. Here, the single sis of the groom trips the gruel fantastic, as they say. She fell on her pompis, at one point. A trooper, she got right back up and cut a rug in the porcine platter.

Baile pues,

Pepino S.

En Camino

I'm in Pennsylvania as I file this entry. Can you tell? The clan Suave, accompanied by Opa and dear friend Patriota, have spent the weekend in Pepina's hometown, a sleepy burough tucked into the hills of south east P.A. We're here to attend the wedding of two great youngsters - our beautiful niece, Simpatica, and her fine beau, Electrico. The wedding was great, as were the sights. We saw a vivacious Penn-Dutch gal dance in a pig trough. We saw Pepina's childhood surrogate Mom, Mrs. Conversar, clean a floor while maintaining a, frankly, very engaging chat with her visitors. Pepinita and I experienced the plight of an ilegal alian; we hitched a ride to the wedding in the back of Agronomista's cauliflower truck. When, in the wet darkness of the post-wedding evening, Uncle Doble Pensionado opened the back of the truck and peered over the mounds of vegetable at our wide eye selves, Pepinita and I feared it was the Migra, and we had no papers. What fun!
All this, and more, when I get back to headquarters. Stay tuned and the author of this blog and his staff of handsomely paid gorillas will inform you of our gay adventures in the birthplace of our beloved Pepina.

Coliflor,

Pepino Menonito

Los Tigres

Felicitaciones a todos los fanaticos de Los Tigres de Detroit.
It has been a long time coming.

Un fanatico de nuevo,
P. Suave

Applebee's America

On Wednesday, all of Pepinoville and Aunt Nina came out to party at the Dill Boulevard Applebee's, one of only 14 in metropoliten Cuke County, as one of our home-town heroes, the much-herald author Ron Fournier, came to town to sell some books. Not just any book, mind you; the book Mr. Fournier was hawking was co-crafted by his own nimble fingers. With him he brought a partner author of Applebee's America to sign books, eat snacks, and sip iced tea with throngs of fans, potential readers/coffeetable book collectors, and creditors (Papa Pepino). There was a cake, too (see above).
We thank Mr. Ron Fournier (hope I spelled that right), his partner in prose, Matthew Dowdnier, and the fleet-footed staff at the Dill boulevard Applebee's for the bountiful book bash.
Pepino Suave Readers, I can't recomend this book more highly. I am on Chapter 7, "Americans On the Move", and would have finished the book by now if I could just set aside this month's Mad Magazine and concentrate. I'll include in my October entries some of my analysis about my reading (of Applebee's America, not Mad Magazine. Silly) and encourage you to do the same by commenting when appropriate. The Pepino Suave editorial board encourages Mama Pepina's comments to include her "outside words". Children sometimes read this blog...

Con orgullo,

Pepino "Lector" Suave

Autumn

Gozando de la vida pepina,

Peps.

Aniversario

Another year has swept passed us. Yes, today we celebrate Papa and Mama Suave's 44th wedding anniversary. As we did a year ago, the Pepino Suave Editorial Board has packaged some marriage vocabulary for our esteemed readers, in honor of our beloved padres:

No lo hagas - Don't do it. Classic pre-marital advise with a latin twist.
Te quiero a morir - I love you to death, or, My love for you is killing me.
Besame Juanita - Kiss me Jane. As with one of last year's entries, this one has little to do with the marriage theme, but is a classic meringue lyric.
Hay Pero Que Calor - Losely tranlated, Dang Its Hot. Another memorable meringue hit that refers to the tropical climate. Many tropical married people dance to meringue (so it's a stretch. It's 6:00 in the morning, fans).

On behalf of the countless Pepino Suave Blog fans around the globe, and especially Pepino S. and his siblings, Periodista, Casi Italiano, and La Monja, we wish Papa and Mama Suave a happy anniversary. You are the authors of our days....

Con amor y respeto,

P. Diddy Suave

Una Soga de Mocos

Tbere is a veritable plague of colds seeping thrue Pepinoville elementary schools. I have classrooms of children sneezing like a gang of alergic hungry hippos. One remarkable sneeze accured yesterday in Mrs. Lithium's second grade class. Little Stue reared back and let loose a sneeze that released a rope of light-green mucos. The booger lasso landed a good foot away, and attached itself to his wrist. He stared at me, a string of boogers stretching from his left nostrol to his arm, as if I had an answer to his dilema. I pointed to a tissue box (Mrs. Lithium provides a box of tissue at each cardinal direction. Stue went South). He made it to the tissues and back to his desk without breaking his brilliant band of boogers. It took him the entire calendar routine to clean himself up and disenfect ( a bottle of hand cleaner can also be found in any direction, He returned South). Hardly a classmate was wiser, Stue and I were so discrete.

Muchos mocos,

Profe. Suave

Navigator

Hey Pickled Peeps of mine.The guy that gives me the low-down on everything from fashion to furniture, my personal navigator, a slack-joweled lokel named Ignatius, has told me about a book called Applebee's America. This tome of contemporary marketeering was written by a couple of guys, and by Ron Fournier, a revered journalist and savvy Pay-the-Man wiz. You got to get your mits on this book. Today I am going to tell nine people to read it.

Lector familiar,

Pepinazo

P.D. You can own your very own copy: www.amazon.com

Rubia's Birthday

Happy birthday, today, to our beloved cousin, Rubia. Rubia, our readers surely recall, is the author of the finest ambrosia recipe this side of Rio Pepino. Our youthful thirty-year-old-or-so has yet to disclose the ingredients of her marshmellowed concoction to the Pepino Suave community. As she eats her cake, we await.

Esperando,

P. Suave

Overheard

In a Cuke County area bathroom, the wife brushes her hair, and the husband shaves while listening to the radio news show:

Husband: Did you get a load of that reporters name? Gerald Stupedowski. Wow. What do you think his nickname is?

Wife: Gerry.


Oigo todo,

Peps

9/11/01

It was the second morning of sheparding 48 fifth and sixth graders at our annual camping trip at a YMCA camp some 50 miles from school. It was our kick-off event; a way for the students and teachers to come together as a group as the school year began. My cabin was the first awake that morning. We were a group of 6 boys and myself and we were eating breakfast in the cafeteria close to the parking area. We heard the sound of tires on gravel, and went outside to see who was arriving. A handful of parents were popping out of their cars into the sunlight of a gorgeous fall morning. At first, I guessed the parents decided to play hooky and spend an uninvited day with us in the sun. Their faces didn't show that sentiment; they looked rushed, distracted. They told me some buildings had been hit by planes in New York, and they were going to take their kids home with them. That was the first we heard of the catastrophy.
Those of us that remained followed the camp staff down to the lake where the flag was at half-staff, and we discussed with the students what we knew of the tragedy. I spent quite a bit of time jogging between our group and the main lodge, trying to get a hold of my wife using the camp's phone (we purchased our first cell phone soon after). Ironically, I could only reach my parents in Canada, and they relayed messages between us. My wife told us of her dad's heart attack upon watching footage of the disaster, and the shamefully exploitive gas prices at the gas stations in town. My brother, an Associated Press reporter covering the White House at the time, was one of the last to evacuate the potential target.
Our bus returned to the school half-full that evening. I remember being surprised that not a single parent was late in picking up their child. A disaster of that scale made folks punctual, apparently.
I returned home to a changed world.

Atentamente,

P.S.

Patriots Day

The Pledge of Allegiance
I Pledge Allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands,one Nation under God,indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

Puro Estadounidense,

Pepino U.S.A. Suave

Grandpa's Ears

First of many memorable things I hear in hallways:

"When I get home I tickle my grandpa's ears."

Oigo todo,

Profe. Peps

First Day of School

Actually, my first day back to the classroom was last week. Some of my schools thumb their collective noses at the new law that would have students return after labor day. Technically, I was teaching illegaly last week. I hope I don't get fined for my transgression.
As I begin another school week, my thoughts are with the teachers and families in the Detroit Public School District, whose schools continue to be closed because of a strike. May those who count the beans choose to do what is best for children.

Atentamente,
Profesor Pepino

El Agronimo Bailarin

Many moons ago, when ol' Pepino S. still possesed a tuft of hair or so, he toiled as a volunteer for an obscure governmental organization in a land far away. The wise beaurocrats in Washington assigned our friend to the Agricultural Program, as he had been reared in Detroit. Our young, idealistic American was to promote modern agricutural techniques to poor campasinos. After three months of training that included the identification of key agricultural tools like the shovel, he was sent to a remote part of the countryside often refered to as the "arm-pit". Soon, his success as an agricultural extensionist spread throughout the land, like manure on a fresh plowed field. He was asked to consult at the village of a fellow volunteer, Lee "Subjuntivo" Scott. After fifteen minutes of pointing at trees and other green stuff, Pepino Suave asked Subjuntivo if there might be some libation in those parts. Subjuntivo led young Pepinito to the Middle of Nowhere, home of the rockingest discoteque in the Carribean; the wildly popular Sammy Play. There, Subjuntivo and Pepino put into practice the keen meringue techniques that they had acquired during training in the capital. The locals had never seen anything like it: two tall, bumbling gringos dancing like they were paid to (thank you U.S. taxpayers). Upon the closing of Sammy Play, Subjuntivo and Pepino were obliged to walk back to the village, as neither could balance on motorcycle or horse.
That night remains a great part of local lore, and to this very day, the author of this blog is refered to as "El Agronimo Bailarin" (The Dancing Agronomist), and his good friend and contractor, Lee, is remembered as "Subjuntivo," for his unparralled mastery of the cruelest verb tense in the world.
This memory was dug-up out of an old pile of nostalgia labeled "No Future In Politics" when Subjuntivo paid us a visit last week. He happened to be in town on business, accompanied by El Tejano, a man with a strange physical resemblance to Pepino Suave, but much wiser and employable. Unsolicited, he shared with us some terms that we had never heard of, and cannot share with you on this very public blog. The editors of this fine entry would not dare to offend the readership with terms like Gorila Fingers.
El Tejano reports to Subjuntivo. Pepino Suave reports to no one. Save Pepina.

Hasta la proxima,

Pepino Agronimo