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