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

A Pepino Pause

Is life worth living?

Aye, with the best of us,

Heights of us, depths of us-

Life is the test of us!

-Corinne Roosevelt Robinson

Gozando de la vida,

P. Suave

10th Year

Today dear Pepina and I celebrate 10 years of marriage.

There is no more lovely, friendly and charming relationship, communion or company than a good marriage.
-Martin Luther, Table Talk (1569)

Me quedo bien contento,

Sr. P. Suave
Esposo de Ingrid

Teacher's Lounge Joke

O.K. kids, ear muffs. Ear muffs for the easily offended, as well. Ear muffs for the Pepinoville Public School District (PPSD) Administration, too. This entry had better not end up in my file, or the Pepinoville Education Association (PEA) will get involved. This was done on my home computer, o.k. educational leaders, no caps? Loosen up or don the ear muffs. Your call.

The following is a glimpse into the heart of Pepinoville's finest educational institution, La Escuela de Expectaciones Realisticas, where No Child is Left Behind Mrs. Pedos, as she has chronic gastro-intestinal problems. Anyway, the heart of any school is, of course, the teachers lounge. We here at Pepino Suave's Mobile Warehouse of Yippee-Skippee Games, Songs, Stories (PSMWYSGSS) know the public's image of the average lounge of teachers: middle-aged geeks hunched over spelling quizes with flailing red pens. In reality, we are a hip group of wise acres like the docs on Scrubs, and PSMWYSGSS seeks to promote and/or embelish that image. Nothing gets by us practical joking pedogogins. Here is a sample of the ironic hilarity found in the room labeled "Staff", located between the midget drinking fountains, and the room labeled "Do not Enter" where Mr. Dormilon, the janitor, naps during school hours:

A young schoolteacher barges into the principal's office in a panic.
"I just caught three boys trying to see how high up the toilet wall they could pee."
"What did you do?" asked the principal.
"Well, I hit the ceiling," the teacher told him.
"Good job!" said the principal, "That's one for the staff."

Oh, man, we laughed 'till the bell rang.
O.K. Earmuffs off. As you were...

Con mucha risa,

Pepino Comico

Obras de Coco Loco

Below are the last handful of Bob el Gorila episodes, the creation of Blessed Breading's bilingual artist, comedian, and probably one of the finest Napolean Dynomite dancers this side of Rio Pepino, the distiguished Coco Loco. Double click to enlarge. Enjoy.

Con todo gusto,

Pepino Fanatico


 

 

 

 

 

Fallen Heroes

Flags are at half-staff this week in honor of police officers killed in the line of duty.

Que Dios les bendiga a los que nos protegen,

P.S.

Grannyisms

Thimble Pie- a flick of the index finger applied to the skull at a torque rate equivalent to the strike of a tightly-wound cobra, or a snapped bungy cord. Leaves a sensation of combined shame, grief, and the pain of a migraine.
As in, "I beat Granny at sixteen hands of Pay The Man and she gave me a mighty thimble pie." or, "I left my science project on Granny's bed so she cracked me from behind with a thimble pie. Where are the 22's*?"

Me hace falta mi abuela,

Pepino Nieto

*Canadian over-the-counter, eh, painkiller with the potency of morphine.

DeSoap

This just in from Pepinoville's newspaper, The Pepinoville Rag: the personal driver for one of Pepinoville's Royalty, Suds DeSoap (heir to the vast AltiSoap - formerly called AmSoap- fortune) was arrested for driving under the influence while Mr. DeSoap was attending the Bono "Incredibly Rich Celebrity With a Cause" lecture at the DeSoap Memorial Structure Number 13 on Friday evening. Mr. DeSoap's 2005 Maserati was impounded and his driver, Mr. Juan Sanchez de la Montoya Jackson, an employee of AltiSoap earning a salary reportedly in the six figures, spent the night in the DeSoap Memorial Jail. He was released after a $186,98,098.09 bond was anonymously paid Saturday morning. Meanwhile, AIDS and poverty continue in Africa, as do Bono's lecture tour and young DeSoap's trust funds.
More to follow.

Al dia,

Pepino Periodista

Ladronasos

We got hit.
Pepina and I, combined, have lived a good score or so years in places usually refered to as, "Don't Go There", or "Why Would You Live There?", or "Where? You Crazy?" In fact, upon moving from Detroit to Colombia, we justified it by citing the Motown's murder stats in comparison to Colombia's. It was a wash.
Anyway, here we find ourselves tucked into tranquil Cuke County, home of good schools, high-fat foods, and a smile-and-a-how-do-you-do as the town motto. The police are at their busiest chasing our toilet paper or spray-paint lugging children, or escorting the local royalty, the DeSoap family. Everything the Family Suave wanted in order to raise our Li'l Pepinita in peace, neighborliness, and tasty but life-shortening food (the Red Hot Pickle has a three-for-one chili dog special on Mondays, two-for-one chiliburger on Tuesdays. The relish bar is stocked with real mayo and butter).
Well, last night Pepina's Asian Express was broken into while we slept. Yep. We think the pickled perps were the Dark Side version of Barney Fife, 'cause they didn't get the little rice burner, and they and/or their get-away vehicle sustained some damage, because the Asian Express, discovered in the middle of Roux Relish by our neighbor (El Indigeno, as he cradled his teething new born and sipped NyQuil), had its driver's side door torn forward, crumpled into the quarter panel. Musta' hurt.
Pepinoville's Finest arrived toot-sweet, took a report, and were on their way to a garage break-in within minutes (garage break-ins are epidemic in Pepinoville. We are the Garage Break-in Capital of the World. Colombia doesn't even come close).
The Asian Express sits forlornly in the P. Suave One Car Garage. Tomorrow Yours Truly will investigate how the years of premium payments, combined with zero claims history, will result in major frustrations for this auto owner.

Luchando por la justicia,

Pepino Sin Coche

Beisbol

Pepinita's team won atleast one of the games today. We aren't supposed to keep score. There are no losers in this league. Well, maybe one: Pepino "Boom Boom" Suave. Let me explain, if an explanation is possible.
All went well the first game and a half. It was a perfect baseball morning, what with the sun, fresh cut grass, and uniformed tykes running in all directions around the Pepinoville Baseball Complex. A Beaver mascot benevolently terrorized Pepinita and neighbor Zanahoria. Coaches sheparded their flocks to the appropriate dugouts. Pepinita and her teammates showed a lot of progress, and played like they were enjoying themselves. We fans kicked back, relaxed, cheered, and felt that, yes, baseball is the finest sport on earth. Then I revealed to the whole Pepinoville community my lack of baseball prowess.
Bompa, Grandma, and Pepina and I were seated behind the backstop. We saw a few foul balls whiz past during the double header; one actually glanced off of Grandma's outstretched hands as she protected her face (Bompa would'a caught that one if it weren't for the hot coffee he had in his hand). Eventually a ball got tipped back in our direction again. I write "in our direction,"but I went for it as if it were just out of my reach and I were to have some semblance of coordination. I jumped in to the air, me and my collapsable Coleman chair airborn, the tips of my fingers coming within a few dozen feet of the softball, only to come crashing to earth, my crumpled seat first, then me on top of it. As I began to untangle myself from the chair and some scrub that I had rolled into, there was a quiet come over the crowd. Once I was standing and awkwardly readjusting my chair, laughter drowned out the chirping of birds, buzzing of insects, and squeeking of the chair. My parents had their heads in their hands, and Pepina appeared to be weeping. You could sense the kids were feeling much more comfortable about their ability level. The parents had a look on their faces like their property value had suddenly nose-dived.
I felt as big as a guerkin.

Desequilibrado,

P. " Boom Boom" Suave

Double Header

Pepinita Pelotera has a machine-pitch double header today: 9:00 and 10:30 games at the Pepinoville Municipal Ball Park. As I write these words, dear Pepinita is getting "stylish" for the games. Rumor has it that Bompa, Grandma, and Opa (and quite possibly Contadora and Califacador) will be among the throngs of spectators. Game one is against our delightful neighbor pal, Zanahoria.
I'll bring my camera.

Papa Pelotero,
P.Suave

Canoli Update

Just back from the communion double header at my brother, Casi Italiano's house. Although I am short of time, I am compelled to dispute People magazine's report, in their May 1 edition, that my dear sister-in-law, Salsa de Tomate, provided a mere 2.6 : 1 canoli to guest ratio. In reality, it was a precise 4.89776 : 1 canoli ratio. I was there.

Comiamos mucho,

Pepino Sin Leche de Magisia

En Rumbo

Sorry for the lull in entries this week. Pepino Suave and familia have been busier n' a one legged man in a pompis-kicking contest. With the break in the weather, our social commitments have mutliplied like the crabbgrass on our front yard.
Tonight is Pepinita's and my second annual Daddy/Daughter dance at La Escuela de Expectaciones Realisticas (sic). We put a shine on our dance dogs last night. Gonna trip the light.
As well, we're doing a road trip this weekend. Packing up Pepina's Asian Express, parking the Pepino Suave Express in the garage, and heading to Brother Casi Italiano's house on the east side for a communion double-header. We'll give you the poop on the rebound.
The people at Pepino Suave's Warehouse of Yippee-Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories wishes you a fine fin de semana. We'll talk soon...

Manejo mucho,

Pepino Chofer.

El Examen

Here are some examples of the results of last week's unit test. All the questions are based on the story El Muchacho Pastor located in the box. Congratulations to Lindisima, Pelota Veloz, and Cerda Rara. These distinguished students allowed me to use their corrected tests for this fair blog. Gracias muchachas.

Con orgullo,

Pepino Profesor

P.S. For the myopic: double click on the image to enlarge.

Dangers of Teaching

Double click on "Dangers of Teaching" above for a shocking report regarding elementary education.It reveals that, inspight of the incredible draw a lucrative elementary teaching position might have, a job in the grammar school classroom may threaten your health. Read and shudder. I did (read and shudder).

Corro riesgo,

Pepino Nervioso

Jabon

Cuke County is owned by a soap heir. That's right. The guy got his money from his pops the soap maker. Well, daddy didn't so much make soap, as he had other people sell the soap that he didn't make. Then they found more folks to sell the soap that he didn't make. And it kept going and going like some kind of out of control pyramid or something until pops was richer than the Pope. Now the son is rich and wants to rule the whole gal dern county as if he were the Pope. Anyway, I see him on t.v. tonight pitching his plan to be Supreme Ruler of the Whole World. In the commercial he is driving a car. It kind of struck me. What is the guy doing driving a car? Isn't that reckless? Surely a guy richer than the dickens doesn't drive a car himself. What's he doing driving a car on T.V? And he's talking, too. Talking and driving as houses whiz by in the background. A rich guy from Pepinoville Heights driving in town? No wonder our insurance rates are biggern' an October pumpkin. Guy should go back to taking care of all that soap money his daddy made by not making any soap, and leave the driving to the hired help. That would provide atleast one more job in Cuke County.

Asustado,

Peps

He Has Risen!

He has risen indeed! Can't say the same for Pepina's houseplants. Here the good people at the Pepino Suave Experience provide you examples of Pepina's household flora, both before Pepinita finding the Easter egg, and after; no resurection as hoped. In fact, some scientists have termed Casa Pepina the botanical equivalent of the Valley of Death.

Feliz Pascua,

Pepino Suaveson

Las Obras de Coco Loco

(Double click to enlarge)

Here we have the next installment of Coco Loco's ungoing saga "La Vida Loca de Bob El Gorila" (Coco Loco, you are the craziest fifth grade coconut we know).
Enjoy.

Marmelada Fresa

Yet again, our international fan base saves the day. Yesterday's entry detailed the mediocracy of the jam selection in Casa Pepina. Within hours Pepino S., the author of these words, received a can of homemade strawberry preserves. The jar was sent from as far away as across the street, Rue Relish. La Criada, our nieghbor and Pepinita's daycare provider (she provides care during the day), read my plea and promptly sent her daughter, Zanahoria, to our stoop with a jar of the sticky condiment. I am forever in their debt. My hat is off to them, as I bare my bald pate to the sun that kisses the dimpled fruit called fresa. Now that's jam.

Buen provecho,

Pepino Satisfecho

Jam

Everything has its standard. Baseball bats have Louisville Slugger. Hockey sticks, Bauer. An orange? Sunkist. Looking for a tire? Start with Firestone.
What is the standard for jams? I don't think we need a Pepino Poll for this one, folks. It is Strawberry. Strawberry is the standard for jams. It begins with the strawberry,then maybe grape, or rasberry, and then you go boutique with the marmelades and fruit salsas.
I'm not the finicky type, but when I look in the fridge, I expect milk, a dozen or so eggs, and strawberry jam. And a glowing light bulb so you can see the milk, eggs, and jam. Not Great Expectations here, fans.
Seems my Dutch wife, dear Pepina, learned from her Home Ec. teacher that grape is the staple flavor of jams. We've got more grape jam than we do, well, staples.
Sorry to go Andy Rooney on you, folks, but my jam and toast was barely mediocre today. I shoulder a burden. I'll tough it out.

Sin una buena marmelada,

Pepinito Hambriento

PS Today, Pepina did make an Apple Crisp that would knock your socks off and have them do laps around the yard. Good stuff.

Student Work

(Double click for a better look-see)

This is Coco Loco's first installment of the continuing saga of Bob el Gorila. Bob el Gorila is the famed, if controversial, CEO of Pepino Suave's Institute of Games, Songs, and Stories.
Coco Loco, author and illustrator, is one of the many creative students at Blessed Breading. He was first inspired by Bob el Gorila way back in second grade. Coco Loco's cartoon depiction of Bob's travels around the world will be an ongoing feature of the award-winning Pepino Suave Blog. Eat your heart out Gary Trudeau.

Para servirle,

Peps

News Flash

The Pepinoville City Council passed a resolution this afternoon to legalize the use of marijuana for medicinal purposes.
On another note, a study by the Pepinoville Public Health Department has discovered that 100% of Pepinoville City Council members have been diagnosed with glaucoma.

Su periodista,
P.S.

Vacaciones

As we enjoy our spring break in partly-cloudy Cuke County, the good folks at Pepino Suave Yippee-Skippe Games, Songs, and Stories wish you were here. Why, just this afternoon we spent time in the Pepinoville Public Library. Pepina searched for the latest tome of suffering and trials, Pepinita gazed at the computer screen, and I looked at back issues of Cuke's Life. Libraries are exceptionally quiet during spring break. Even the staff is on vacation. I'd never seen today's librarians before. Substitute librarians. Contract librarians. Freelancers.
I found a neat book about a dog killed with a pitch fork. I wonder if they'll make a movie about it. Pepina found one that pits a sister against a sister in a struggle against DEATH. Hey, family reading...
Tomorrow is the triple header: lunch with Aunt Nina, swimming at the YMCA, and the final Blessed Breading Fish Fry of the 2006 Lenten Season. Get 'em while they're hot!
Vacation's all I ever wanted...

Vago de los vagos,
Pepino S. y familia

Pescado Frito

Friday's fish fry at Blessed Breading Parish was a hoot and a half. The Pepino Posse is growing, as Inginiera joined the clan Pepino, Pastores Lama and Obeja (and daughter Lana), Contadora (her tan fading as tax deadline approaches), and her husband/ my euchre partner, Calificador.
I think Ingeniera ordered baked and then went up for seconds of fried, so we don't have a finger on her political persuasion. We know she is gainfully employed, attends church services regulary, and drives sensibly, so she surely isn't one of them. Then again, who knows; a wealthy landlord once accused Pepino Suave of being one of those. Ironic, if you follow me. I've been accused of being one of them and one of those, depending on what part of the state I was at the time. Go figger.
Anyway, Inginiera's politics isn't the topic here, fish is (are?). The Catholic Icelandic Cod was some of the best I've ever sampled. Go Lent.
See you next week by the dessert table...

Porque poco cocos como, poco cocos compro,
Compa' Pepinito

Vacaciones

The Pepino Suave Experience is shutting down for a week. Pepinoville Public Schools are closed for spring break. I'm taking my rubber chicken and zombie glasses and staying home.
"What does Pepino Suave do for leisure?" millions ask. Well, this being the first day of vacation and all, I'm am still in my Sponge Bob pajamas. Although presently I am writing these lofty thoughts, Pepinita and I are going to spend a good part of the morning watching PBS kids. (Mr. Rogers inspires me). We will spend the remainder of the week avoiding my public, watching Pepinita avoid the ball during her soccer league games, and watching dear Ingrid avoid taking us too seriously.


Gozando de la vida,

Pepino Perizoso

El Periodico

They say a watched pot never boils. As well, a watched porch stoop never produces the morning paper. I have pathetic weekend habit. I get up out of bed, and instead of dragging a comb across my head, I peek out the front door in hope of seeing a freshly folded, entombed in clear plastic, morning paper. It never happens. I usually repeat the ritual every 3 minutes, 42 seconds until the paper finally appears, albiet too late for me to read over a cup of coffee as I have already had three cups and am about to leave on a pickled mission of some sort. By then it technically isn't the morning paper, anyway. It is the mid-morning paper. Or the late morning paper. Or news that is so late that it is not news anymore; it is history. I'd complain to the good folks at the Pepinoville Press ("We give you an objective perspective of a slanted point of view. Every day," boasts the masthead), but that would compromise my already distant relationship with the paperboy, Melonhead. He is one of those sweet, quiet adolescents who could just be on the eve of blossoming into a huge, angry teenager. I want to stay on the distant side of him. So my weekend paper comes belatedly each weekend morning, and I continue to pace back and forth from the kitchen table to the front door, like a dog in some sick psycologist's experiment. Like the wacky doctor's canine, I had been programmed for this behavior since I was a child in midievel Detroit. You see, the paper in those dark ages would come in the wee hours of the morning; a 6 a.m. arrival was late, kids. Yea, you could begin reading the Detroit Free Press while it was still dark out! Imagine... And get this: there were two local papers in those ancient times. And they were independent as well. Yep, two different owners and two different editorials. So you read the morning paper in the morning, then you came home from work, school, or gangland activity and read the evening paper, the Detroit News, in the evening! Hey, the fudal Detroit of my youth may not have offered much more than a corrupt, race-baiting mayor, thrillingly unsafe streets, and a court-mandated bus ride to a school on the far side of town, but atleast you could read about it first thing in the morning. And then again before you went to bed...

Desesperando,

Pepino Lector

Huele Pescado

Smell that? Yep, them's fish frying. Pepino Sauve and the Sultans of Sole will hold their sporadic-weekly pilgramage to the Blessed Breading Lenten Fish Fry. See you there. We'll save you a seat.

Super hambriente,
Peppy

PD I'd be much obliged if you'd pass me your second's tickets, seeing as you're going to toss 'em anyway...

A Pepino Pause

Knowing all truth is less than doing a little bit of good.

- Dr. Albert Schweitzer

Bondad,

Peps

Pescado Al Horno/Pescado Frito

Last night la familia Pepino went to our first fish fry of the Lenten Season. We missed the first two fries because of a sickness and a late soccer practice. Both times, our pickled pal, El Calificador, attended alone as his bride was on a humanitarian shopping trip in the Bahamas, and we bailed at the last minute and without warning. I lured him and his tanned wife to the dinner last night by calling them from the fry location, Blessed Breading, and told them I was waiting for them in the shadow of the Mother Mary. They came, as did the good Pastors Lama and Obejo, and their daughter Lana. It was interesting to note that the choices of fried or baked went along political lines. We always thought it was a Michigan State, University of Michigan thing. The Pastors aren't football fans.
The fish fries are a festive occasion, especially on St. Patty's day. I can see how a faith endures centuries if the faithful are allowed to show piety at dinnertime, and then drink to dawn accompanied by Irish music. Go Catholicism.
The highlight of my teaching week occured Tuesday when a student exclaimed in Spanish, "!A mi me gusta Moco Loco!" ("I like Crazy Booger"). That kind of impromptu language shows real, purposeful acquisition. The low point was that most of the class and some of the staff felt it was inappropriate. I borrow a line from the Zombies classic: "Please don't let me be misunderstood". Carry on.

Hasta la proxima comida,

Pepino Pescador

Pepino Politico (continued)

Pepinita's Pepinoville Lighting lost a nail-biter, 7-2, in the last 45 minutes of the game. Not bad for the first game of the indoor soccer tournament. We return you now to our Pepinoville Political Update:

Bushel, in true Machiavelian manipulation, gave the rest area management contract to the the Brussel Sprouts. The local press got wind of it and put it on page 8, buried under a lifestyle piece entitled, "Don't Pour Out the Pickle Jar: There Are Plenty of Uses for the Juices! ", and all Heinz broke loose. The Sweets, for years accusing Bushel and his cabal of racism, xenophobia, and arrogance, went full tilt against the rest area contract. They marched on main street with placards and shouts, "We are Insecure!", "Remember the Compost!", "This Stinks!", "Civil Right, Civil Shmights, Protect Us!", "Go Back to Where You Came From!", and other sentiments unprintable on a blog as esteemed and widely read as this one.

Talk about a one-eighty, Bushel finally got some support for his security message, as well as isolationism, and distrust of Anyone Not Like Us.

Bushel's plot went so well some Dill insiders predict that Bushel may propose to end all war, everywhere, and dismantle the entire pickle arsenal, hoping the Sweets will finally support more defense spending (the pea catapults are merely plastic spoons).

Bushel may even propose halting the construction of the new PickleMart planned just off the Interstate...

Comun y corriente,

Pepino Suave

Pepino Politico

Pepinoville politics heated up this week. The Dill Party ("The Dills") and the Sweet Party ("The Sweets") are at each other's throats again. Actually, it all began with an ironic coup on the part of the leader of the Dills, Bushel. For years his mantra has been security, yet his attempts at protecting his pickled costituency have often been obstructed by the Pickles Sweet. Well, he found an opportunity to get everyone in the same barrel when the contracts for managing Pepinoville's interstate rest areas went up for bids (the two rest areas, on either side of Interstate 57, are what put Pepinoville on the map). For years the rest areas were managed by a Cauliflower concern out of Weeki Wachee, Florida. Well, the Cauliflowers went bust like their former empire, and the contract was available for bidding this year. One of the bidders was a group of Brussel Sprouts out of Hells Creek Bottom, Mississippi. I am sure our audience is aware of the average pickle's suspicion, dislike, and thinly veiled contempt of a brussel sprout. For centuries the Cucumber nations and the Brussel Sprout nations have been at odds over the most germain element of each other's belief system: What is the best irrigation? Brussel Sprouts, of course, are trickle irrigationists, strictly speaking, and Pickles are direct irrigationists, with some splinter groups believing in hydroponics (but they are rarely taken seriously). Anyway, it has been a centuries-old conflict that has become unusually heated with the recent composting of thousands of pickles by an ultra-conservative brussel sprout group called "Moisture or Death".

Editors Note: This very important Pepinoville current event brought to you by the good people at Pepino Suave International Casa of Yippee Skippee Games, Stories, and Songs will be continued after Pepinita's soccer game. The ball drops in twenty minutes and the Pepino Suave Express isn't even warmed up! We gotta go....

Familia

Pepino Peludo, my barely younger brother, and his cherubs, Lobo Gaseoso and Bailerina paid a visit to the estate of Casa Pepino this weekend. Actually, Pepino Peludo dropped off his daughter Bailerina on Friday while he and Lobo (El Mas) Gaseoso continued to the lakeshore to sleep on a submarine with the remainder of their cubscout pack. Imagine a flatulent wolf in an enclosed submarine for a night. There most be a service patch in it somewhere.
Bailerina showed us how much more to a kitchen there is besides a microwave. She is quite the cook. Once Lobo Gaseoso and his old man showed up on Saturday, we decided to hike Pepinoville instead of our usual wrestling match (Pepino Suave is getting old and brittle). The hike was supposed to take us along the winding Rio Mocoso, but we ended up stumbling upon Pepinita's school. We decided to try the trek again on Sunday, only to have Lobo Oleroso fall into the creek. Oh, we became disoriented, again, as well. Next visit we'll just play dominoes.
As usual, it was enchanted visit from a fun family. Pepinita is in heaven whenever her cousins are near. I heard non-stop giggles all weekend.
They know they have a casita in Pepinoville, whenever they wish to return.

Un tio orgulloso,

Tio Suave

A Pepino Pause

My recent semester at the University of Know It All Yet Know Nothing has made the following quote all the more apt:

There is little room left for wisdom when one is full of judgement.

-Malcom Hein

Atentamente,

Pepino Escolar

El Viernes Es Nuestro

Feliz viernes, compadres. We made it. The personnel department at Pepino Suave International Yippee Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories is swamped with complaints from exhausted associates. Why, we had the Pickled Dads and Daughters camping last weekend, Pepino Suave's last class at the local University of Know It All Yet Know Nothing on Monday night, Parent/Teacher conference with Pepinita's fabulous profesora and pancake supper at church on Tuesday night, Ash Wednesday service on, you guessed it, Wednesday night, dinner with Opa on Thursday night. To wrap things up, Pepinita has soccer practice tonight. It's enough to make a guy feel like a jar of relish.
This weekend Pepino Suave's brother, Pepino Peludo, arrives with his two cherubes, Chilito, and Fresa. They're going to help us celebrate Pepina's 432snd birthday!

Al paso,
P.Suave

Sr. Letterman

This ol' pickle couln't sleep last night. Instead, I watched late night boob-tube. D. Letterman made me laugh with his "Olympic Question":

Question: What's the difference between the four man bobsled and the two man bobsled?

Answer: Two men

His show is always enlightening and fact-filled. PBS featured Paul McCartney at Abby Road. There was an info-mercial, as well. Who needs sleep?

Desvelado,

Pepino S.

Ralph Tenia Hambre

The fifth graders at Uncle Pepino's Home for the Wayward Guerken illustrated a wonderful story told in Spanish. Here are a couple examples of their craft:














El Cuento:
Habia un muchacho que se llamaba Ralph. Ralph tenia un problema. El tenia hambre. El queria comer papas fritas. Ralph fue en un bus rojo a McDonalds. No habian papas fritas en McDonalds. Ralph lloro', y lloro', y lloro'.

Atentamente,
Profr. Pepino Suave

Highes and Lows

The public relations department of the Pepino Suave Institute of Yippee-Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories has been inundated with requests from around the globe for a more "personal perspective" of the heart of the institute, the clan Pepino. After a lengthy second or two of modest, "aw, shucks", and "who'd want to read about us?" We decided to share with you one of our titilating household routines, the daily "Highs and Lows" ("oooooohs," and "aaaaahs" in the background), which are normally discussed over dinner in the Casa De Pepino. Today's Altibajos:

Pepinita: My high was, um, was school. My low was, aaaah, having to do this (Pepinita has tired of this daily "high-low" routine. It has lost all meaning).

Pepina: My high was catching up with everybody (Pepino came home and the phone was still warm to the touch). My low was: I can't really say I had a low (Pepina's always this positivo).

Pepino, El Mas Suave: My high was the cheese that Pepina puts on our lunch sandwiches. Pepper Jack. Puts a zing in the ol' lunch bag. Something to look forward to all morning. My low was that our nieghbor, Rooftop Ralph, slipped on the ice while walking his dog around midnight, and spent a good hour on the cold cement shouting for help. Broke his shoulder. Glad he wasn't on the roof...

Para servirles,

Pepino Suave y familia

El Cazador

Queridos Lectores,
My much-older brother Rocky, of butternut squash fame, has forwarded this pickled clan a hilarious video game . We'd like to share it with you, our thousands of beloved readers from around the globe. Double click on "El Cazador" above and snicker with abandon.

Cuidado con donde disparas,

P.Suave

Calor Humano

A Pepino Pause

The purpose of life is to increase the warm heart. Think of other people. Serve other people sincerely. No cheating.

-The Dalai Lama

Aumentando mi corazon,

Pepino Para Servirle

Gorditas

On Friday, staff and students at P.Suave's Home for Wayward Guerkins prepared and consumed mexican gorditas. Everyone enjoyed the Durango treat. Pictured are several helping hands preparing the gorditas, and Profesor Suave himself posing for history.

Buen provecho,

Pepino Cocinero

-2F

It is cold. Had I run this morning, I'd be a pepinosickle. Cars crunch throught the streets, it's so cold. It's so cold, we can hear Grandma and Bompa Pepino say, "Eat your frozen hearts out," all the way from Hurricane Alley. Osama Bin Laden, upon perusing the Cuke County weather report, is quiet happy with his surroundings, it's so cold. My, there is such a chill the paperboy won't make it 'till sundown; we'll be reading the backs of the cereal boxes 'till noon. It's not just the cold, it's the lack of humidity. It is so cold, had I left my remaining bottle of genuine Mexican taquila out on the stoop, it mighta' got slushy. Maybe not. Still, it's plenty cold. It's so cold, coffee tastes better. I gotta think Cheney called off the hunt today, it is so cold. Hey, did you hear "Allah" Gore blamed the cold on the U.SA., it's so cold? The chill forced Brittney to sit her baby under the dash closer to the heat vent. It's is so cold the Greenpeace spokesperson on global warming had no comment today. It is so cold Ted Kennedy is calling for the impeachment of the President, stating, "It's so cold. The President's people knew days before that it was going to be cold!" It is so cold, Pepinita doesn't want to climb her tree today. It is too cold to garden today. It's so cold Pepina's indoor plants got frostnipped. The Pepino Suave Express, an inanimate minivan to some, is leaning toward the Casa de Pepino for warmth, it's so cold (while Pepina's Asian Express is housed nice and cozy in the Casa de Pepino's 1/2 car garage). It is so icy, the Pepinoville librarian seems to have a warm demeanor (still no waivers on late fees. Period).
It is cold.

Invernal,

Pepino Cobijado

Change In The Weather

A winter storm has hit Cuke County like Vice-presidential buckshot. Pepina's school is on a two-hour delay, and Pepinita and I are watching CUKE T.V. for the fate of our school days.
Stoke the fire, it may be a long cold one this weekend.

Hace mucho frio,

Pepino Helado

Bondad

A Pepino Pause

Kindness in words creates confidence, kindness in thinking creates profoundness, kindness in feeling creates love.
-Lao Tzu

Hagamos algito bonito hoy,

Pepino Positivo

Juguetes

I have always been amazed at children's creativity. I've seen kids create games using discarded bike tires, plastic containers, and other 'trash'. During my time in the Dominican Republic I watched in amazement as children played baseball with balled-up duct tape, and folded cardboard squares for mitts. In a vacuum empty of internet, video games, and fabricated playscapes, kids tend to create. In the Dominican Republic, and many other parts of the world, the children's own imagination is their Toys 'Er Us.
The Dominican photagrapher Jaime Jimenez has published a collection of photographs that document the toys that Dominican children have made with their own hands and minds from whatever they find in their midst. Click on Juguetes above, or on the sidebar to view Mr. Jimenez' beautiful gallery of children's ingenuity.

Con todo respeto,

Pepino S.

La Cucarracha

Pepinoville saw the snow fly this week. After days of gloomy slop, this place is finally looking like winter, for crying out loud. Snow, and freezing temperatures have overcome the effects of global warming this week. We love it. Folks don't realize, but the cold keeps the cockroaches small. Snowbirds figure that out right quick. There are bugs down south that'd make an Orkin man squeal.
Pepino Suave recalls a cockroach as big as a saucer. It was back in the early nineties, when our pickled pal lived in the Carribean. He was visiting the house of an American friend (the house, from a U.S. point of view, was more the size of a tool shed). The friend, new to the Carribean, wanted to get rid of the omnipresent pests in the abode (he was oblivious to the omnipresent characteristic of the roach). Having brought bug bombs from the states, he placed them around the shack, ignited them, and we headed into town for refreshments. Upon returning, we opened the door to find dozens of huge cockroaches, belly-up, covering his residence. They adorned the bed, table top, and everywhere on the cement floor. We swept them, rattling like bottle caps, out the door. A gaggle of neighborhood chickens congregated outside the door like a mob of offended Muslims, pecking at the carcasses, and carrying them off in their beaks to snack on outside the perimeter of the poultry, only to hop back into the fray for seconds, thirds, and so on (there were a lot of cockroaches, their shells shining in the sun). In the middle of the frenzy were three chickens skirmishing over the remains of a cockroach the size of said saucer. Each had a piece of the pest, and were pulling on him with all their might. It was a sight for the Animal Kingdom show that used to be on t.v. when Pepino S. was a mere geurkin.
So brave the mad winters, midwesterners. It tames the yucky side of nature.

Sin creaturas grandes,

Pepino del Invierno

Bromas de Vaquera

Question: Where should an 800 pound gorilla go?
Answer: On a diet.

Submitted by Vaquera, a very funny fifth grader.

Siempre bromando,

P.S.

Obras Estudiantiles

How's this for student work? Two of my students at Uncle Pepino's Home for the Wayward Guerkins submitted these stories for publication (pardon the lack of appropriate Spanish punctuation. Librace sent me keyboard help for this weeks ago, but I still haven't read the volumn of information yet.):

El Lobo Esta Triste

por Panal Sucio

El Lobo esta triste. El Lobo no tiene agua o leche o frutas. El lobo va a D&W. El lobo compra comida. El lobo agarra hamburguesas, frutas, y pan. El lobo va a su casa. El lobo cierra la puerta y se sienta en el sofa. El lobo come hamburguesa, fruta y pan. Ahora, el loba esta bien.

El lobo Esta Furioso

por Cerda Rara

El lobo no come por tres dias. El Lobo tiene hambre. El lobo va a la refrigeradora y abre la puerta. El lobo grita, "Oh no, oh no, no hay comida." El lobo esta furioso. El lobo va a D&W. El lobo compra hamburguesa y papas fritas. El lobo come hamburguesa y papas fritas. El lobo va a su casa y duerme.

Eternamente orgulloso,

Profesor Suave

El Tecno Numero 1

Pepino Suave is featured on the website of the Escuela Tecnica Numero 1 (Durango, Mexico)the school at which he taught English and trained as an Extreme Mariachi artist during the fall 2005 semester. He is pictured prominently on the home page (upper-right with the Mariachi sombrero), as well as several other pictures including the Desayuno 2006, and various action shots taken on campus. Double click on El Tecno No. 1 at the side bar to your right. Share it with friends.

El super famoso,

Pepino Bailerin

Tecnologia

Here
I give you, dear reader and taxpayer, a look at the technology that ol' Pepino Suave intergrates into his Yippy Skippy Foriegn Language Program. Your tax money at work, I like to say. Pictured here is an Overhead Projector model 620, manufactured by our friends at 3M and considered the Buick of overheads. It is not only used as a stage for our friends and other assorted props, why it also projects illustrations of our stories of love and loss, as well as text of the same (in Spanish, claro). Located on a cart with wheels, it is mobile and features shelves and collapsible tops onto which we put our matamoscas, rubber chickens, plastic food replicas, and other essentials to instruction. When we begin our Spanish Arobics, it is easily rolled into a corner, away from peligro.

The staff here at Pepino Sauve Yippy Skippy Language Programs is exhaustive in its efforts to keep you potential school board milage propents informed of where your tax dollars are spent. Vote yes. Bob the Gorilla always does, you should, too.

Vota si',

Prof. Pepino Suave

Pepinoville Elementary School

Pepinita had another action-packed week at one of the finest educational establishments in Cuke County, the Pepinoville Elementary School for the Garden Variety. Today, she recounts a spellbinding event that unfolded in her homeroom this week:

Yesterday at school I put my back pack into my locker, I went into my classroom and I sat down at my desk until everbody else came, but who was sitting at her desk? Why Berenjena! And then the bell rang and everyone came into our classroom and this girl in my classroom, her name was Tulipan, saw something that Berenjena was doing. She kept looking and looking at Berenjena and I did, too. Sooner our later we found out what she was doing. She was ripping up her pants and drawing all around her pants, too. And so Tulipan telled on her. And then, after she got telled on Berenjena putted permanent marker on her lips! And kept putting permanent marker on her lips! And this time I wondered what she was doing and I looked longer and longer and longer and I saw she was drawing on her lips and I telled on her and she had to flip a card and so she had to have a note sent home to her mom and dad. I didn't feel that good about telling on her. And by the way, she is only four or five years old and she doesn't know how to count by ones to one hundred and she's in first grade. That's all I can tell you folks. Bye.

The Pepino Suave Editorial Board adds:
Permanent markers should not be in our children's schools. No child should be left behind with stained lips. This is an outrage, and it is no doubt funded by the Bic, Crayola, and Expo corporate lobby. Get these conglomerates, and the taint of their tools out of our children's desks and Must Do centers. Act now, and write your congressman or congresswoman. Or send us money, and we'll do it when we get a chance. Maybe after the harvest...

Desafuriado,

Pepino Suave
Un humilde padre

La Ratita

Ask yourself, "Self, what would I do in a moment of choice? What would I do if a grown woman got so caught up in unplanned home improvement projects that she dragged a tarp in from the garage in the middle of winter so as to protect the new carpet from spilled stain, only after her condescending husband asked her what dress she'd like to be laid out in if she spilled stain on the new carpet instead of Grandma's desk that probably had no sentimental value to Grandma but apparently does to her grand-daughter-in-law, and in with the tarp she dragged in a MOUSE?
Well, in that said moment of choice, Pepina squeeled like a stuck, er, she squeeled, um, real loud. Pepinita screeched like a night owl and climbed the sofa like a mountain goat. Pepino Suave, you might have guessed, performed as cool as a cucumber. Yes sir, as cool as one of Farmer Buchard's finest Essex County Cuke's. Eighty shiny cents a bushel, no less. I ain't called Pepino Sauve for nada.

***

Hours after Pepina's Martha Stuart Trance (MRT), we were snuggled in the den; fire crackling in the hearth, family programming on the tube, Grandma's desk drying in the corner (the fumes from the stain inhibiting our usual snacking jones). Li'l Pepinita and I were sharing the couch, and Sra. Pepina opted for Uncle Bob's Leather Recliner of the Gods that is broken-in better than any baseball mitt I've ever seen. As quickly as you could say, "What are you thinking?", Ingrid jumps on us like a flying monkey on Dorothy. She hugged me like I was the last life preserver on the Titanic. My shout of, "What the...?!" was muffled by her right shoulder, or her clavical, I can't be certain, but it was muffled, anyway. She gripped me tighter than she would a half-off whatyamicallet at a Kohl's sale.
"A mouse crawled into the fireplace!" she yell/screeches, depending on who's telling the story. My brain is starved for oxygen yet she squeezes harder and yells, "It just ran out of the fireplace!" Now Pepinita is on her toes like no world-class balerina could, balancing on the top of the couch yelling something like, "Ooooooh, oooooh!" I struggle from Pepina the College Athlete's grip, she simultaneously joins her daughter atop the couch, a la Balerina Barby, and I launch after the rodent. That's right, Pepino Suave persued the mouse in a room the size of brother Mike's wet bar. In my efforts, barefoot by the way, I hit every wall and skinned a toe on the fireplace but made no headway with Mickey's kin. I grumbled incoherently under my breath not only to indirectly place blame, but to give the impression that the weight of the free world rested on my lonely shoulders, as well. Meanwhile, the gals maintained the exact same pose as described above.

With only enough sense to know that, if I couldn't keep up with the J.V. girls in high school cross country, this ol' Pepino wasn't going to out run vermin; I set out for the garage to find the rat traps. Once armed with peanut butter and sunflowers, I placed them about the den and off we went to bed. A side note, only a sliver of our obese-king-size bed was utilized that night, between the three of us.
We wake up from our dilled slumber this morning, and the dames won't leave the bed unless I go check the traps; Talea claiming she saw mouse turds by the bathroom door.

Sleepy eyed, I made for the den. The trap under Grandma's desk I checked first. Licked clean of Skippy, it was still armed. Sneaky critter. I go over to the trap by the fireplace only to find a little rat deader n' Jack Abremoff''s (sp?) career (As a lobbyist, anyway. Word has it that he and Rocky are working on a book deal). I do a little Pepino Suave victory dance and the girls come out of hiding like its V-day or something. We hug, I got some well deserved pats on the back, the girls show some misplaced grief for their former foe ("liefershlot" murmers my now somber Dutch wife), and life goes on. End of story.
Still, this incident might remind some of our long-time readers of a little rope-a-dope Yours Truly had with a Mexican winged rat back in September. Any of you thousands of new readers might want to go over to the sidebar there and double click on early September and find out for yourself (El Murcielago, Sept 1, 2005. Enjoy).

Ol' Pepino just can't stop saving the world for his beloved Pepinas...

El Pepino Mas Macho,

Pepino Ratero

Bob La Gorila

Bob La Gorila made a rare stop in Pepinoville this week for a photo shoot. Before the Pepino Suave staff could interview him, he was back on the road, en route to Buttzville, New Jersey, by way of Bugscuffle, Tennesse. As always, he travels in his Winobago searching for the very finest yippy skippy games, songs, and stories. He left two brand-new and costly matamoscas, and some goofy stories about a lobo and a gatita. Some fella' mistook the matamoscas for flyswatters. We just about busted a gut laughing. Flyswatters. Absurdo.

Nos vemos en Toadsuck Arkansas,

Pepino S.

Domino

The 2006 Pepino Suave International Program of Yippy Skippy Games, Songs, and Stories will include Dominoe Fridays. Above you see las manos y las fichas in action, during a recent Friday afternoon tournament. Priceless.
You want to play? Well here are the Rules (translated for your monolingual convenience; I write with an air of bilingual arrogance):
Las Reglas: 1. Only Spanish spoken (see dominoe vocabulary below), 2. No dominoes on floor or in any body cavity, 3. Spanish Fridays only if all our work is done.

Dominoe Vocabulary*: Yo tengo I have it, yo paso I pass, tu turno your turn, impate tied, agarra siete grab seven, doble seis double six, llamo mi abodado, I'm calling my lawyer.
* This is just a jump start vocabulary to get our monolingual friends up and running.
Juego mucho,

Pepino Domino

Black Bean Chorizo Soup

The staff has been flooded by requests for information about the Black Bean Chorizo soup that was referenced in this blog, and in a lesser-known blog (inkyfournier.blogspot.com). Pepino Suave, your servant of dilled information, has been asked to provide some background about the dish.
I read about it in the newspaper. Not often do you see chorizo in the neighborhood newspaper (the Hispanic population in Pepinoville decreases dramatically at nightfall), so the word pretty near launched itself off the page and slapped me in the face. The slap sobered me up a bit, and helped me remember the fresh chorizo I have been saving in our freezer. Alfonsina, my Mexican Fulbright Exchange partner, prepared a big batch of homemade chorizo while she stayed with us last summer, prior to our emmigration to Durango. It was her own secret formula, of which Pepina, Pepinita, and I only remember that it contained three different types of chiles (we traveled far out of the Pepinoville metropolitan area to find them), and that Alfonsina set the concoction out on the counter for three days, covered with a dish towel as if it were a mass of bread dough.
Anyway, I already had the main ingredient, so I gathered the rest at the local grocers (after phoning lovely Pepina several times from the market to confirm what ingredients were already in our pickled pantry; never predicting her hostile reaction), and returned home with the hope of putting some food on the table, after a long day at the salt mines. The rest of the story is well documented, if not sufficiently appreciated, in "that other blog".

Si, Machos Andan En La Cocina,

Pepino Cocinero

Habla Pepinita

Pepinita and I have been talking about our experiences this fall in Mexico. It has been a month since we've returned, and we are finding it interesting to compare things here with things in Durango. I found some of Pepinita's observations interesting and thought I would share them with you:

Here in the morning it has this smell and it smells like dew on the grass and that is my favorite smell and when I wake up in the morning and it is peace and quite but in Mexico in the morning I didn't smell that smell or hear that hear. All I smelled was food that Ididn't like and I heard loudness like people singing really loud and music up really loud in the distance of the morning. Here I have grilled cheese and all kinds of that stuff but in Mexico I have hot, hot, hot tortillas and all hot stuff and I don't like that stuff. But in Mexico the thing that I did like were chichrones. They were pig skins. I liked them because they were crunchy and tasty. But I didn't like the school in Mexico because I went to a public school that spoke all Spanish, but I usually like public schools, I go to one here in America. I didn't like it because they spoke too much in Spanish. Whenever they talked I couldn't understand them and they couldn't understand me when I talked, but I did like it because whenever at recess I got candy for only one peso. I didn't like it because it had a playground but it didn't have play equipment on it. All it had was a pole. And when I played outside all I could do was run in circles with my friend Michele and my friend Lorena, and my friend Hassle. And there was not any toilet paper in the bathroom. I had to ask for toilet paper from my teacher. Oh, by the way, my teacher's name was Sra. Ofelia.

That's it, she said. Pepinita doesn't want me to dictate anymore. Hope you found here point of view as interesting as this ol' Pepino does.

Un padre orgulloso,

Pepino Suave

Libel

Ah, what envy has wrought! A fellow blogster, one inkyfournier.blogspot.com, included in her entry yesterday some scurlious rumors about the author of this acclaimed blog, Pepino Suave. Last Saturday, the sunny-day blogster made reference to my statements about me returning home when the Women's Work was done, , and how I hoped she enjoyed cooking as much as I liked eating. No, this bitter, yet bodacious, author of snipes wasn't done with her campaign against Pepino. Last night, thousands of readers alerted me to Inky's tripe. Upon reading it, I noted that the gorgeous guru of get-backs had yet some more venom to spill. As I labored over a hot fire making a Black Bean Chorizo soup, beads of sweat rolling down my balding pate into the concoction, ol' Inky was writing to her gaggle of readers about my supposed attempts to compensate for my ill-spoken remarks. Apparently, she was too busy taunting me about the handful of calls I made from the market to remember the tulips I bought her. So, a guy can get a girl tulips. Just 'cause I cook dinner, buy flowers, do the dishes, , sort the sock drawer and make hot chocolate once in a blue moon doesn't mean I am over-compensating. Does it?
Yikes. I'm as transparent as celophane wrap (as Aunt Nina might say).

Con mucha verguenza,

Pepino Sin Verguenza

PD Embarrassing pix of Inky in footy-pajamas to follow. Stay tuned.

Aunt Nina

Pepino Suave happened by Aunt Nina's house yesterday. After school I did the southern loop; dropped of the couch guts at the Williams warehouse, stopped by the union meeting, then drove over to our piece of North Carolina in Michigan. Sure as shootn', she met me at the door, the table prepared with cookies, Christmas candies, and coffee that'd make a cow dance (I'm trying too hard. Aunt Nina never said such thing, but she might say something like it. Surely better). We talked awhile. Its been a tough week for Aunt Nina. She lost a good friend this week. Ruth, a friend that goes back a generation, was buried Monday. Aunt Nina spent the whole day with Ruth's family, so yesterday she was plenty tired. You could tell. She was missing just a little of her usual spunk. Still, she kept up the pace.
During our converstation she was interupted three times by phone calls. All from local charities for which she volunteers. The one caller left Aunt Nina with instructions to the house of a lady she is to pick up tomorrow and drive to a doctors appointment. Aunt Nina regularly drives for an organization called Fish. She and other volunteers provide rides for the homebound. At 84 years, many of the people she drives are younger that her.
I love when she talks about years ago, as she has an incredible memory. No detail escapes her. I think she still can recall the tableclothes she and her sister put out for Aunt Bonnie's wedding some thousands of years ago. She remembers so much about my Mom's family that it feels like a homecoming listening to her. My siblings can understand when she talks about Granny's house being such a welcome home when Aunt Nina and her clan would come in to Detroit from Armada.
I left her as the afternoon paper arrived. My guess is she spent the rest of the evening reading the paper, emails, and preparing for the busy few days left in the week. The lady is busier than the dickens...

Un humilde sobrino,

Pepino S.

The Pepino Chicks

Alas, this esteemed blog has been absent talk of the Pepino Chicks - Pepino Suave's trophy wife, Pepina, and his lovely daughter, Pepinita. Let's catch-up.
Pepina cut her locks. Actually, Missy the Hatchet cut her hair. Pepina just paid her to do it (like $2,563.05, plus tip, more or less). After weeks of debate, and profound soul searching, Pepina went to the nieghborhood tress butcher and had a good yard or two of beautiful, auburn, silky hair shorn from her bean. Ol' Pepino wasn't included in the debate or soul searching. Pepina and I make hair decisions independently (why the snickers?). Still, es obvio to all living matter in the universe that I love Pepina's mane. No matter, when my betrothed gets an idea in her head, there is no stopping her (reference the Playscape From Hell in our backyard that Me Lady found at a garage sale and just had to buy. It took a crew of seven and four weekends to assemble the three seperate structures that now dwarf our house. I ought to have it insured. I am getting off the point). As I drove the Pepino Suave Express to the Butcher of Comstock, I practiced my lines ("It looks beautiful", "It looks great", "You look so much younger", etc, etc). Still, nothing prepared me for the New Pepina. She came bouncing out of Missy the Hatchet's salon with a bob that left me speechless. Shoulder length and sassy, it is Pepina. It says,
" I am perpetually cheerful and gay". My hat off to Missy the Hatchet.

Pepinita has a new club house, this one indoors. It is six foot long and richly apolstered. She bunks some of her dolls there, and often retreats to this shelter when Pepino Suave oppresses her with irrational rules and mandates (last night I asked her to put her dishes in the sink. Have I no sense of decency?). Actually Club Pepinita is the shell of our sleeper-couch. Since the Colombian exchange students left ("Los Bouncing Boys"), the bed part was rendered useless. In fact, those who chose to sit on the couch usually sunk to floor level and had to be assisted in order to stand back up. Well, I got ambitious the other night, tipped the thing over and extracted the bed mechanism from the couch. I threw it in the back of the Pepino Suave Express and plan to take it to the furniture repair people next week. Pepinita looked at the toppled carcass of a couch and exclaimed, "Cool, a clubhouse!" She has been playing in and around the structure almost non-stop. Meanwhile, Pepina's Garage Sale Epiphany sits idly in the backyard, adorned with last fall's soggy leaves and fallen acorns, serving a noble purpose: it was a great buy.

Quiero mucho a mi familia,

Pepino Familiar

P.S. Durango Mexico, the Pepino Family residence in Mexico this fall was featured on this mornings NPR* show, Weekend Addition. The program did a wonderful job describing the state of Durango's mystique, its music, and its people, without getting mired-down in a biography of Pepino Suave.
*This is no endorsement of NPR. Sometimes it does broadcast real news and information. This program was a good sample of such.

Readers Ask, Pepino Responds

Pepino's mail carrier is overwhelmed with the correspondence from yesterday's entry. I will respond briefly to the most frequently asked questions. More to follow. Also, stayed tuned for the World Famous Aunt Nina update next week.
Regarding yesterday's photo entry, these are my answers to your FAQs. For more clarification, read yesterdays "comments" if you have tons of free time, and little focus in life:

No, that is not the Pepino Family's Dominican Time Share.
Thanks, Dad, but there is not a primer on the market gonna help that paint job.
Yes, I paid rent to live there. The equivalant of a chicken and a half per month (un pollo y medio).
Very funny. No, no air conditioning.
Yes, there was running water. In the canal behind the yucca field. Es obvio.
Let's see, it was about the size of Pepino's current spacious one car garage.

Quisiera clarificar,

Pepino de Los Bienes Raices

Mi Casa Dominicana

Pepino Goes To School

Last night I began a class at the hallowed Aquinas College. Teachers, even pickled teachers, must attain six credits of study every five years to maintain certification with the State of Michigan. Fantastic revenue enhancer. For four hours each Monday night I trade my chalk for a syllabus and do the student thing. I am atleast a few thousand years older than the average student in my class. I'm even older than the prof. We'll see if this older cucumber is any wiser...

Siempre estudioso,

Pepino Estudiante

Alfonsina

One week down for the new year. My main impressions upon returning to U.S. schooling are positive. I am genuinly glad to be back, even as I wish I had more time with the students in Durango. My U.S. students seem to have had a good experience with Alfonsina, my Mexican counterpart. Overall, they were most pleased with the craft and culture activities she planned for them. Important for me is that it appears the students enjoyed the change of pace, even as I have received many unsolicited requests for my stories, games, and songs, just like the old days.
I am impressed with the ways in which Alfonsina tried to adapt to the situation here. My job is very different from hers in Durango. My students are much younger, there are more grade levels to teach, and different schools to which to travel. Her school is huge (around 1,500 middle school students in the day school alone, almost as much in the night school), her classrooms packed (as I have written, an average 40+ students), and her students older (all her students are the equivalent of our eighth and ninth graders). She did an incredible job making connections with many students in a short amount of time.
I have had the chance to talk to a few of my colleagues and administrators about the fall semester. The main impression they share with me is that Alfonsina was "ready to go home" during her stay, and that she wasn't the happiest camper. Still more reason for me to believe she had done a fine job inspite of her homesickeness, and the complexity of a new job and lifestyle.

Con respeto,

Pepino Socio

Pepino Guero

I teach at three different schools here in Pepino Heights, Somewhere In The Midwest (SITM). This year, one of my schools is new to the Pepino Suave Program. On Thursday, my first day of teaching there, I was asked 2 zillon times, "Are ya'll Mexican? Ya'll don't look Mexican." The teachers, upon meeting your pickled servant, would say something along the lines of, "A french name and you speak Spanish. Interesting."

Tu legumbre,

Pepino Confundido

Back to School

Yesterday was Pepino Suave's return to North American academia. I'll continue in third person, o.k.? Whoops, I slipped into first person already. Shoot, there I go again.
Anyway he was pleased with the state of the classroom and students that his Mexican counterpart, Alfonsina Arreola, left him. She has proven to be a pro, and a fine example of the mexican educator.
This entry is just a word or two to reveal to the Pepino Suave readers that the blog is not going stale. No, the untold handfuls of people responsible for putting this blog together are still tracking things pepino to report to you. Stay tuned. Pepino S. visits Blessed Sacrament and Creston Christian schools today. Report to follow.

Siempre vagando,

Pepino Raro