Dia de Accion de Gracias

Happy Thanksgiving to the thousands of Pepino Suave family, friends, oficionados, and creditors. Thanksgiving '06 finds me with my annual Thanksgiving cold and flu, thank you. I am 180-some pounds of cough, mucus and misery. Physically, anyway. Otherwise I am goofy with mirth and thanksgiving. Li'l Pepinita is over at Opa Suave's crib helping out with the bird. Dear Pepina is in our cocina doing the trimmings. In an hour, we'll drive over with a wagon full of goodies, and celebrate at Opa's.
I leave you with my incomplete list of Things Pepino Suave Has to be Thankful For (TPSHTF, and pardon the dangle Grammarians).

TPSHTF:

• The Two Beautiful Ladies I live with that show me how to love and to give.
• My wife who is a walking definition of unconditional love and goodness, and giving. Each day, Dear Pepina proves that the glass is half-full.
• My daughter who I love like nothing else in this world.
• A family, both in-law, out-law, and blood relation, that are there throughout thick and thin, puns good and bad, sadness, gladness, and casseroles.
• A job that I love and that is the envy of everyone on weekends, and holidays, and during summer months.
• Students, their parents and colleagues who inspire, challenge, and make me belly-laugh.
• A relative body temperature of 98 degrees Fahrenheit and a pulse.
• The daily newspaper, Pepinoville Press.
• Four seasons, especially spring and fall.
• Leaf blower/vacuums and mulching lawnmowers.
• Seconds, especially when the firsts include mashed spuds.
• Split wood piled high in the garage.
• Long underwear, and short winters.
• Raisin bread toast and pork rinds.
• Homemade wine.
• The movie, Its a Wonderful Life, viewed with my family.
• Wrestling Li'l Pepinita after school.
• Cereal for dinner.
• Great nieghbors.

That is just the first page of a volume of thanksgiving...

Super agradecido,

Pepino "Gobble" Suave

El Gato

Angel is our cat. Li'l Pepinita welcomed her into our, until then, petless abode on her birthday. Li'l Pepinita is very happy with Angel el Gatito.
Today we found a cat fece on the front room floor.
Can a cat fit in a slow cooker?

Gateo,
Pepino "Gato Sabroso" Suave

Honey Crisp

You have not had an apple until you've tried an Honey Crisp. It's candy disquised as fruit. Adam would get a little more empathy from us sinners had he been offered a Honey Crisp by naggy Eve.
I didn't understand all the talk about the biblical fruit until I finally ate one the other day. It's just like they say: sweet as honey, and crisp as, well, it's crispy.
What are you doing? Go get yourself a Michigan Grown Honey Crisp.

Me qusta la manzana,

Peppy

*This message brought to you by the Michigan Fruit Growers Association.

Aunt Nina

This Veterans Day weekend, I had the pleasure to visit our favorite army veteran, Aunt Nina. She had lots of pictures to share from her autumn cruise to Alaska. She's planning a road trip to Florida in a week.
While sipping free-trade coffee, the spry octogenarian reflected on life in North Carolina during the 30's. Her house didn't have a well, so she and her sisters had to "carry water". It wasn't until a well was dug that they didn't have to carry water, or carry it that far. In the winters, the well pump had to be primed with warm water before it could be used.
Andale, I have to go get my tea out of the microwave...

Siempre agradecido,

Pepino "Cargando Agua" Suave

Post-Election

I woke up to an unsolicited email from a be-suited banker, broke and over-weight, claiming he "told me so" (he has " told me so" about dieting and finance, too). Apparently the early results of yesterday's election made him feel rightously (sp?) vindicated. As well, he apparently felt the elections somehow castigated the likes of this humble pepino. He didn't vote. I did.
Regardless of what the be-suited banker may believe, I don't have a particularly strong political persuasion. However, I am happy for the very independent Mr. Joe Lieberman. His party, that of the "people", all tolerant and open minded, jumped off his band wagon faster n' a pickle on a wet dinner plate, and he still won an election; by a bunch, too.
Locally, we give our sentiments to the biggest loser, dollar for dollar, Mr. DeSoap. Although he invested more money into the gubenatorial campaign than the U.S. has spent in Iraq, his bubble burst big time. Mr. DeSoap, you still have your "soap". Or lots of people to sell your "soap". Or lots of people to recruit lots of people to sell your....
And finally, the electorate was convinced that school funding is bad for business. No well educated child is going to get in the way of making a buck in this state. Proposal 5 flunked.

Bien confundido,

P. Dedo Morado Suave

Election Day

I have received 2,345.09 unsolicited, pre-recorded political phone messages since the weekend began. What little t.v. I watch is jammed packed with political marketing.
My vote this mid-term election was carefully calculated by a long, dirty laundry list of data, hunch, and reflection. If I go thrue yet another day of tele-arrogance, and televised groveling, I will throw the list to the wind, and vote for the people and proposals that least invade my privacy.
So there.

Super molestado,

Pepino Representado

Bald Guyz

Pops Suave gave me the heads-up on a new product for the scalp-rich. Bald Guyz Head Wipes are the perfect remedy for the five o'clock shine. One of these wipes will knock the gleam off your dome. The secret is a quick drying swiss formula "specially formulated for The Bald Guy". Plus, it has a Green Tea extract that will leave your head with a "natural healthy look after each use." Buy a box now at your local pharmacy.

Coco pelado,

Pepino "Brillante" Suave

Happy Halloween

The streets of Pepinoville were full of frolickers; it was as if there were no cable t.v., Game Boys, or computers. Dads and moms, grandparents, and kids mingled and shouted "Happy Holloween", and "Thank you", and "How are you?"

Me queda encantado,

Pepino S.

Fine Line

My dear daughter, Li'l Pepinita, nurturing my love for books, gifted me Alan Alda's new memoir, Never Have Your Dog Stuffed. Alda isn't just the actor behind the great Hawkeye Pierce of M.A.S.H., the fellah can scratch out a good line or two. The title of his autobio is brilliant enough, but pales in comparison to the first line of his book, one of the goofiest I've ever stumbled across:

Chapter 1

"My mother didn't try to stab my father until I was six, but she must have shown signs of oddness before that..."

Alda's book shows, page after page, that it takes a cruely bizarre childhood to eventually be nominated for 32 Emmy Awards, write, act, and produce in dozens of movies, and get home in time for dinner. Actors

My favorite chapter so far? Chapter 4, which tells the tale of Alda's childhood pet that eventually ended up stuffed next to the den fireplace.

Leo,
Pepino Lector

Applebee's

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

Super ocupado,
Pepino Suave

Tech Support Plea

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

Atrasado,

Peppy

Haunting Begins

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

Pennsylvania Wedding

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

Felicitaciones,
La familia Sauve

Pig Trough Dancing

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

Baile pues,

Pepino S.

En Camino

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

Coliflor,

Pepino Menonito

Los Tigres

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

Un fanatico de nuevo,
P. Suave

Applebee's America

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

Con orgullo,

Pepino "Lector" Suave

Autumn

Gozando de la vida pepina,

Peps.

Aniversario

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

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

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

Con amor y respeto,

P. Diddy Suave

Una Soga de Mocos

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

Muchos mocos,

Profe. Suave

Navigator

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

Lector familiar,

Pepinazo

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

Rubia's Birthday

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

Esperando,

P. Suave

Overheard

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

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

Wife: Gerry.


Oigo todo,

Peps

9/11/01

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

Atentamente,

P.S.

Patriots Day

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

Puro Estadounidense,

Pepino U.S.A. Suave

Grandpa's Ears

First of many memorable things I hear in hallways:

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

Oigo todo,

Profe. Peps

First Day of School

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

Atentamente,
Profesor Pepino

El Agronimo Bailarin

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

Hasta la proxima,

Pepino Agronimo

Diet of a Monk

The Diet of a Monk works on two principles:

1. If it tastes good, spit it out.
2. If a rabbit wouldn't eat it, niether should you.

We'd like to thank my father, Bompa Suave, for his contributions to this entry.

Salud,

P. Sano Suave

Correction

The Editorial Board of the Pepino Suave Blog, A Pickled Journal of Musings, Rants, Advice, and Ambrosia Recipes regrets the oversight of language published herein that is unsuitable for our fine readership. In the Tuesday, August 22 entry entitled "Marge Simpson", the author of this blog used terms that aren't consistant with the quality or theme of this blog. The language has been edited, the error corrected. We regret if any readers have been offended.
You kinda had to be there to get it, anyway.

No ofendo,

Pepino Suave and Co.

P.D. Will that do, Pepina?

You Say Tomato

Pepina is passive aggressive. She seeks retribution in sweet, yet effective ways. Take tomatoes, for instance. The other day, Bompa and I trapse over to neighbor Jardinero's house for a chat. Seems he's up to his elbows in the vegetable/fruit and asks me if I'd like a bag full. I says no, I have plenty, as I have my own tomato plants in the Suave Half Acre Estate. Thanks just the same. I says maybe my Pops could use a few, as tomatoes have little cholesterol, hydorgenated fats, high fructose corn syrup, dextrose, flavor; those things that are not part of Pops very limited Diet of a Monk (future entry). Pops obliges and takes the bag of plump, juicy, ruby jewels home to put next to other bland foods that contribute to a healthy life. Pepina finds out that I passed on Jardinero's bounty, and I don't hear the end of it. Neither does metropolitan Pepinoville. By the end of the week we have enough tomato donations from the gardens of family and friends that Pops and I had to build more window sills for storage.
Pepina, you made your point.

Perdoname,

Tomate Suave

Dear Pepina

Dear Pepina has a new post! Someone finally gifted her a handful of tomatoes, so she saw fit to return to the keyboard.
Click on Dear Pepina to your right, and enjoy.

Esposado,
P.S.

Marge Simpson

My li'l brother, Casi Italiano, is the brain o' the brothers. You do the math on who got the good looks. Pause. Anyway, Casi Italiano (CI) is a big fan of everything Simpsons. In fact, for CI, every real-life event has some kind of Simpson context to it. CI could link bubble gum on the sidewalk to a Simpson episode (CI, feel free to post the appropriate episode under "comments", below). Well CI and his wife, Super Italiana (cooks with real butter) paid a visit to bucolic Pepinoville last week. The villagers and I kicked in to buy him a blow-up Marge Simpson doll, instead of the usual key to Pepinoville. He cried. He laughed. He hugged the still-boxed-and-deflated Marge Simpson doll. Then he hugged Super Italiana, crushing the box.
America, there ain't nothing like family. Happy family. Huggn' Marge-Simpson-doll-happy family. You can say that again.

Un hermano contento,

P. Suavecito

Chicken Salad

Pepina whipped up a chicken salad today that would smack you in the shorts. Man, it was good.

Buen provecho,

P. Suave

Grannyism

We like to provide our audience with linguistic support. It is one of the many free services our readers receive, thanks to Bob el Gorila's Mobile Laboratory of Yippee-Skippe Games, Songs, and Stories.
Grannyisms are the words and gestures of wisdom or rancor attributed to our maternal grandmother, Granny.
Granny's lexicon was unique. It was a hodge-podge of the rich experiences of her life - from Bay City ("A good place to be from"), to Coram avenue, to the shores of Lake Erie.

Today's nugget:

Goodness Gracious - An exclamation of surprise, dissapointment, or disgust.
Ex.: 1. "Goodness Gracious! How did you get that bike into that tree?"
2. "Goodness Gracious! Get your hand out of there!"
3. "Goodness Gracious! What's that smell?"

Me hace falta Bingo,

Pepinazo

Boise Joe

Boise Joe sent me a hat in the mail. It's a Great Lakes Storm baseball cap. Ironic, a Great Lakes hat sent to Michigan from Boise. I'm going to send him a potato(e).
Boise Joe, if you are out there, here's a shout out.
Remember our Cowboy days in Durango? Remember the guys bbqing inside the Gigante supermarket? Can you say Carbono Monoxido? Remember the kids from the rival school that kept following me and yelling nasty English at me? Ah, to be a cowboy, again.
Hey, it's still summer vacation. Think you could sneak those kissing cowboy pictures on the Pepino Suave Blog before students and their parents start reading my entries again? Give it a try. Dare ya'.

Gotta go see a man about a horse,
Pepino Vaquero

Hot Soup

Pepino Suave has got another hot new link for you cherished readers. It's called Hot Soup. Either double click on "Hot Soup" above, or under the "Pepino Picks" column to your right to view this breakthrough website. It defines itself as a site that:
"... will create a new community of influence among those in government, politics, business and entertainment who make the decisions and those who want to impact them. It will bring the inside world out and the outside world in, and create a richer dialogue and stronger connections between Opinion Drivers across the country."

That's us! Pepino Heads are Opinion Drivers by definition. We've found a home...

The editor of the site is the distinguished, award winning journalist Ron Fournier. Ron and I go way back. I got some smack on the guy that I might share with you all in a future entry. Maybe, maybe not...

Un hermano fiel,

Pepino Suaveeeeeeeeeeee

Tupperware

Li'l Pepinita and I have returned from our golf-light outing. The little knee-biter beat me by three points, and we lost in the go-cart race 'cause we were the only two-seater. The bumper boats weren't as exciting as they looked. Li'l Pepinita spent alot of time spinning in dizzy circles, shrieking a panicky, "I can't steer, I can't steer!"
We returned to Tupperware centeral at dusk. The smell of rubber based kitchen products mingled with scents of coffee and a United Nations of women's perfumes. Apparently, the celebration of burping food containers was a hit. At the peak of the bash, our parlour was packed with neighbors and other well connected V.I.P.s from the Pepinoville metropolitin area. Everyone who was anyone was at this gig, spending hard earned cash on products that will replace long lost containers from yesterday. I think sock makers and the Tupperware people have created a similar black whole where they maintain demand for their products by sucking previous purchases into oblivion. An incredible scheme. Alticor, eat your heart out.
Pepina and neighbor Cocinera scored a ton of free rubber for co-hosting the summit of plastic. Our shelves will be bursting with storage potential. We owe a big thanks to Tupperware for that. May you continue making what we really don't need, but might come in handy one day.
I can't wait to see my new lunch box with individual sections to seperate the veggies from the snacks, and the snacks from the entree...

Solo en America,

P. Suave

Stay Tuned

Got to go. Li'l Pepinita and I are headed for the links. The micro-links. Mini-golf. The house is being taken over by Pepina's gang of burpware babes. Next chance I'll update ya'll on:

• Boise Joe's package. Yes, many consider him The Package. Don't confuse.
• Pepina's Tupperware fest
• Miniature Golf
• A blow-up Marge Simpson doll, and her torrid relationship with my brother
• Grannyisms. This week's feature: "Goodness Gracious"
• The weather

Hasta pronto,

Pep

El Verano

Esparando Rubia....

Hey, anyone seen cousin Rubia? We here at Bob El Gorila's Mobile Laboritory of Yippee Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories have been waiting for her to call in her AMBROSIA RECIPE for weeks now. Thing is, we've got people calling all the way from Scabbed Knee, Montana wanting to know how to make the confection, and we keep putting them on hold.
Someone want to track her down for us? Gee whiz, at her age maybe it slipped her mind...
Soon as we hear from Dear Rubia, friends, we'll post her recipe. Stay tuned.

Un primo travieso,

P. Suave

Bob Dylan

• Bob Dylan is in Pepinoville tonight. He's in concert at the Pepinoville ballpark. We can hear his garbled voice as it drifts over town. Distorted by distance, rolling terrain, trees, and traffic, his lyrics are just as incomprehensible as when heard live. I remember seeing him close up and personal at Hill Auditorium in Ann Snob-bore some years back. My friend, Dead Head, got me a job as an usher for a few concerts that summer. Dylan played a few long sets, more music than most of the artists that summer. As close as I was to the stage and speakers, he could have been singing in Latin. Made no sense to me. Talk about a cult of personality. I get much more from reading his lyrics. His "Boots of Spanish Leather" is pure poetry. You can find it in literature textbooks.
• My idea is to get Bob Dylan to write songs for Pepina, our household songstress. She is relatively articulate. Together, they could sell some serious plastic. I'm going to have her audition "Watch Tower" for me tomorrow. Stay tuned.
• Li'l Pepinita has had a week o' cousins. Two Motown cousins are staying over at Bompa and Grandma's this week. Two days ago, the whole gang went to the beach and were joined by five more cousins from the other side of the family. Li'l Pepina esta bien contenta. She loves her kin.

Atentamente,

Pepino Perdido

Fresco

The Cuke County heat wave drifted East two days ago. We have had dry (er), cool temperatures and have immensly enjoyed it. Our plans do not revolve around Where The Air Conditioning Is. You can only go to the library and the YPCA,and los abuelo's apartments so many days in a row.

The Suave clan took a bike ride on a local bike path two days ago, the first day of human-friendly weather. Yesterday we attended the outdoor birthday party of Calabacita, the sweet daughter of La Pastora and El Pastor, Los Pastores. There were poney rides, penny hunt in hay, and an icecream cake that puts the ice in cream. It was one of the finest social engagements of the Suave calendar year. In the evening, we went to the ball game. The Pepinoville Pickles played the Boogerville Loogies. We had great seats right behind home plate, thanks to Ingeniera and her mom and pops, Los Jardineros. They gave us their box tix, as they had other stuff to do. Mil gracias, to them. Bompa and Abuelita attended, as well. They scored standing room only tickets. They didn't even have to sit for the entire game. Bonus. We lost them after the third inning. We caught up to them after the eighth inning, walking to the car (it was parked in the next county), each carrying a loaf of the free bread which is traditionally handed out to each fan upon leaving the Pepinoville stadium.
Suave fans, stop by this week for bread pudding, french bread, various breaded meat products, various sandwich variations, or just to enjoy a slice of the spongy, encriched white substance. Nuestra casa es tu casa.
The Boogerville Loogies trounced the home team something like 9 to 0. It was a nice, cool night, though.

'ta fresco,
P. Suaaaaaaaaveeeeeee

La Prensa

The Pepinoville Press headline this morning "Carter: Bush Hurts Prospects for Peace". Our former president honored the Pepinoville Metropolitan area with a visit to some wealthy friends up in Pepinoville Heights. Gathered there were longtime friends and financial supporters. The purpose of the event was to raise cash for Pres. Carter's son, Jack, who is running for a U.S. Senate seat in Nevada. Apparently neither his visit to our fair town, nor the fundraiser, nor the fact that Pepinoville Heights is hundreds of miles outside of Nevada, was as newsworthy as his remarks about our efforts in the Muddled East. Go figger.

Just below that bit of enlightening news is an article entitled, "Your Grass is Fast". It is a shocking expose on why our grass is growing so fast this time of the year. The in-depth piece links both heat and moisture as the key culprits. The article even includes a graphic that shows average rainfall and temperatures over the past six years.

I can read the Press, eat my Cheerios, and become an informed citizen. Three birds. One stone.

Leo y aprendo,

P. Suaveson

Faltan 32 Dias

A mere thirty-two days must pass before our children return to the school house. What is on Pepino Suave's mind during these, the dog days of summer?

Here is a look-see for this blog's faithful reader (s):

• Nothing. Absolutely nothing, somedays. Somedays I can stare at a wall without a single synapse sparking in my melon. Truly remarkable. I think. Actually, point is, I don't think, sometimes.
• How long will it take for students to get it that summer is over, school is back in session, and it just isn't fair? My money is on September 5th, 3:00 p.m. You?
• How long will it take for teachers to get it that summer is over, school is back in session, and it just isn't fair? Put 20 clams on 9/5, 7:30 a.m for me, will you? Easy money...
• Who killed the mockingbird?
• Pepina and I could watch 24 hours, non-stop, of the Daily Show, and Colbert Report. To think we got cable for the soccer...
• Li'l Pepinita could listen to 24 hours, non-stop, of Radio Disney. Thing is, it's a weak signal, and it only comes in on the Pepino Suave Express radio. We've put on extra-miles just so the little pickle can finish listening to a song.
• My hips don't lie, either. So what's the point? I thought music lyrics were strange in my day...
• The Calabaza patch is taking over the back yard. It has a grip on the lilac tree like a sea monster on Captain Jack Black.
• Go Tigers

Faltan pocos dias,

Peppy

Todavia

Still hot.

Pepino Asado

P.D. See Pepina's new entry for details.

El Sol Me Pica

Pepinos Suave sits here, tapping out these words, sweating more than a cold glass of cherry kool-aid on a mid-day asphalt driveway. I'm sweating alot, for those who don't drink cold glasses of kool-aid, or who are not familiar with mid-day asphalt driveways on a Cuke County July afternoon.
On your average day, no matter the weather, Pepino Suave has the fortitude of a super heroe. Ask Pepina. Alas, my kryptonite, my aquilis (?) heal, my weakness is what I'm trying to say, are temperatures above 90 degrees farenheit when the humidity index is higher than water itself. When gills break out on my neck. When parts of me I didn't know I own chafe and burn like the coals of a thousand fires. When Li'l Pepinita fails to plead a plaintive and constant, "Let's wrestle". When it really is hotter than Hades. These are the times ol' Pepinito tosses aside his superheroe bravado, slumps his narrow shoulders, shuffles along, whining a mantra of , "Man, its hot", or "Hay pero que calor". Fans, the heat takes the Yippee out of me Skippee. Lo siento mucho. It's just that it is so hot...

Stay tuned for an account of how Pepino Suave endured carribean summers, or conversely, how the locals restrained themselves from pummeling a whiny, sweaty, bald headed gringo.

Hace demasiado calor,

Pepino Sudando

Hay Pero Que Calor

Cuke County is sweltering this weekend. We're all going to the YPCA for a swim this afternoon. Come join us...

Aguantando el calor,

Peppy

Bobble Heads

The hard working white collars at Bob El Gorila's Mobile Laboratory of Yippee-Skippe Games, Songs, and Stories have decided it is time to shamelessly exploit the magic of the Pepino Suave Experience (this concept is trade marked, you sticky-fingered thieves). Besides bumper stickers, giant foam pickles, coffee mugs, and desk calendars, we now offer Suave family bobble heads. Pepino, Pepina, and Li'l Pepinita are forever imortilized with plastic and springs in this series of action figures made by DeSoap laborers in China, and offered at a reasonable price to you, the few on this troubled planet with enough disposable income to enable a market for bobble heads and other useless crap.
Don't call 1-800-PEPINOS yet, as our inventory is stuck in the New York customs. A customs official named Mohamed found our products to be of a "suspicious" nature. Privatization...

Gozando del Mercado Libre,

Pepino "Negociante" Suave

El Vaso Me Queda Medio Lleno

The world is going to Hades in a handbasket. Gas prices are almost as expensive as anywhere else in the world. Our globe is warming. Folks in the MiddleEast aren't playing nice. The sky is falling, apparently.
Still, I get a kick out of the nice stuff that endures in the midst of chaos. Like tonight's cool, breezy sunset. Or Li'l Pepinita's piano playing wafting out into the neighborhood. Or the lady who smiled and waved when I let her into my lane during obnoxious traffic on A Pain Avenue. Or the kids in the neighborhood who just want to have fun, and have it no matter what. Or unsolicited "Te quieros" from sweet Pepina. Or a bunch of laughs and catching up with old pals. Or good food and drink without fail, daily. Or a hope-filled, take -your-breath-away view over the Cuke Valley ridge at sunrise from the back of the Walmart parking lot. Or parents close enough you can bike to, or drop what your doing and get ice cream with. Or grandparent's eyes when they see their grandchildren. Or all the good that overcomes all the bad, all the time.

Que les aproveche,

P.S.

Pete & Joe

This weekend, Pepinoville was graced with the presence of two very old friends of Pepino Suave, Pete & Joe. Pete & Joe, known as Los Dos de Detroit in these parts, came for their bi-annual visit to a Pepinoville sporting event and late-night euchre-fest. It being summer and all, we went to see the Pepinoville Pickles play Dayton Dills over at the ballpark. It was probably one of the most eventful of all their visits in the past, as we were accompanied by Bompa Suave and Abuelita Suave, the parents of the author of these words. As well, Li'l Pepinita tagged along in a courageous effort to overcome her pathological fear of mascots. She chose to enter the arena of her personal horrors flanked by the hulking frames of Pete, Joe, and Bompa, three fine examples of good nutrition and regular exercise. Or regular nutrition and some exercise, depending on the hulk. I digress. It was a wise move on Li'l Pepinita's part, but unnecesary. She took to this challenge like she did those of her first two-wheel bike, her big-girl bed, sleeping without Lamby, and eating pork rinds. With a lot of whining and squirming at first, before you knew it she was yelling at the mascots, running the aisles with Pete in order to catch a free
t-shirt thrown by the giant muppets. She watched a little of the game, too.
Pete & Joe were a big help. Not just with my daughter's mental health, but also by cleaning up what would usually be left overs of our pre-game bbq. As well, Pete engaged me in a lively discussion of the DeSoap family influence on everything here in Pepinoville. Seems that folks on the other side of the state are pretty curious about a DeSoap heir running for governor. Pete says all they know about DeSoap is that he is very rich cause his Dad made a bundle on a deal where you don't really sell soap, you just get a lot of other people to get a lot of other people to sell soap, and it's is like some big pyramid or something. I said that's all we know about the guy, too, and that every other stucture in Pepinoville has got his name on it.
Anyway, our team won inspite of giving up four runs in the first fifteen minutes of the game, the park was packed with a season record amount of fans, and there were fireworks at the end of the game. Best thing, though, was that a local bread company gave away a loaf (or two) of bread to every fan leaving the park after the fireworks. By the time our gang got back to the BompaMobile (thanks again for driving, Dad), we had nine loaves of bread at our feet. Someone was even heard to exclaim, "Joe, you're stepping on my bread."
As we played euchre well into the next day, we snacked on the spongy bread, comforted with the fact that the company claims that its enriched wheat flour and preservatives would provide us with a handful of essential vitamins. And iron. Pepina scorched a loaf or two in the morning for french toast. Pete and Joe headed out of town with a couple loaves on the dash board. Life was good.
Indeed, Pete and Joe blessed us with more than just the fine company of cherished friends. They bequeathed us with a wisdom earned from a veritable lifetime of television veiwing. The boys explained to us, this during a closely contested euchre game, that Scooby-Doo and his young charge Scrappy-Doo had a bond that goes much deeper than the normal crime fighting partnership. We feel like a veil has been lifted from our eyes...
Usually retuning in the winter to watch the Pepinoville Penguins hit the puck around the DeSoap Memorial Arena, Los Dos de Detroit promise an extrodinary summer return in two weeks to visit Cuke County's famed beaches. We'll keep a loaf of bread in the freezer boys.

Scooby-Dubee-Doo,

P. Suave

Pepina Writes!

Yes, you heard right - Pepina published an entry today on her world famous blog "Mi Vida En Durango". Double click on "Dear Pepina" under "Pepino's Picks" on your right. She reports on some fantastic emotional progress made by our Li'l Pepinita.
May her scars one day heal, and the counseling bill be reasonable...

Un esposo enemorado,

Pepinaso

La Familia Musical

Our Southern Ohio readers have crippled our costumer relations bureau with a flury of calls, letters, emails, and thrown rocks regarding an omition in our report about the Suave Family Reunion. Seems that the author of these fair words neglected to report about the Suave Family Sing-Along. After being berated by dear Pepina over the last 398 years about our lack of musical prowess, we struck back. While she was visiting the lavatory, we broke into a ditty from Pepina's favorite soundtrack, Grease. She re-entered the dining area as a table-full of Suaves belted out, in several keys (most off), "You're the One That I Want". Like the trooper she is, Pepina picked her jaw up off the ground and joined in, as we promptly stopped singing. We're so funny....

Pobre Pepina,

P. Suaveson

Hace Mucho

After many days and 2,240 miles la familia Suave has returned to Casa Pepino in beautiful Pepinoville. Here is the sequence of our journey:

• Far Southern Ohio for the Suave Family Reunion. We gathered with kin in the foothills of Appalachia for three days of swimming and nature hikes (er, hike. Sorry blood. We'll watch nature from the window next year. My bad. Calomine for the itchies, little ones).
• Upstate New York to provide cheap labor. Pepino Suave dropped off the Pepino Chicks, Pepina and Li'l Pepinita, at Tia Agronima's Orchard/Fruit Stand. There they visited and toiled along with Tia Agronima, Tio Tractor, Prima Bailarina, Primo Lap Top, and Prima Pennsylvania. Li'l Pepinita even got to work the cash register at the fruit stand where fruit is sold at the same prices as cars. $2,476.08 for a quart of Slap Knee Rasberries. By the way, I love how fruit is named for the market: sugar snap beans, honey nut squash, dew drop peas. I made these up, but you get the idea. The market made like a gazilion dollars, so they''ll probably break even. I can understand, now, why farming needs to be heavily subsidized by our generous government 'cause you can make 3 bazillion dollars on a plot of sun kissed soy beans, but still have to walk barefoot in the snow. In the summer. I'm glad I teach for food....
• Upstate Vermont, where English is a second language. Lots of French spoken along our Northeast border, friends. I attended a teacher conference in a hotel that could have been anywhere in the U.S., on a street that could have been anywhere in the U.S. I really didn't feel I was in Vermont until I drove a few miles to Lake Champlain, where I camped until it rained. Then I felt like I was in Vermont, so I moved to the reknown Ho Hum hotel, down the street from the conference, where I felt like I was anywhere in the U.S. again.
• Side note/rage: Conference was tres excellent. More on that later. Let's talk about hotels, 'cause they got the same thing going as agriculture. Get this, it is a teachers conference, so we got a slim budget, 'cause we squander all our money for bulletin board decorations, and chalk. We decided not to get coffee as part of the hotel package. You know why? I'll tell you why: $16.00 a pot of joe is what these hotels are charging. Yea. And they charge the same for a stale, boxed lunch if you choose to cater that, too. $16 a box lunch. What a racket. I got my coffee from the gas station and stomped right by the registration counter with an air of " I'll show you", my hand gripping a styrofoam cup of steaming coffee, some dripping over the side 'cause I was stomping. I'm going to write my congressmen. I should charge that rate for each lesson. Each kid. Hey....

Stay tuned for more on our week, as well as a review on Papa Pepina, the caretaker of the Suave Estate while we were gone. Be good.

Tu querido vegetal,

P. Suave

Llegamos

We're baaaaaaack! Gotta go check the calabaza patch. We'll update you later...

Hogar, dulce hogar,

Pep Si

Checking In

Found an internet cafe in the hotel of my conference. Thought I'd drop in and say hi.
Pepino got washed out. Been camping since I dropped the Pepino Chicks off at Tia Agronima's orchard. While they provide cheap, albiet documented, labor, I am kicking back at a teacher's conference in the Northeast. In order to curb expenses, Bob el Gorila has asked me to go third class. So I camped on the shore of Lake Champlain until I was rained out last night. Got a room at the Ho Hum motel (I'm not kidding. I'll take a picture of the sign and post it). Watched lots of CNN and ate what was left in the cooler.
Will fill you on all our adventures later. Especially once Pepina and Li'l Pepinita debrief me on their work as share croppers (I hope to pick them up tomorrow afternoon). Gotta go. Last call for the coffee and donuts....

Desde el Motel Ho Hum,

Pepino Andareago

Gone Camping

The pitbulls are fed, the trap door over the piranah tank is greased, and the triggers on the motion-sensored rifles are set on "hair".
Happy Independence, America. We're going camping....

Gozando de la vida,
Pepino Perdido

P.D. Can't promise any entries 'till we get back. Sorry America.. We'll talk soon.

Garage Sale

I'm exhausted. I've been running a garage sale for the last 1.5 days. Our garage sale was supposed to last 3.0 days, but our competition was just too stiff. Not only was all of metropolitan Pepinoville holding garage sales, but some of the best junk was being offered by our very neighbors on Calle Calabaza. We couldn't compete.
By noon yesterday I had all our household overflow packed into the Pepino Suave Express, ready for a trip to Goodwill.
My best costumer was a retired lady who bought one of our old phones for two bits. I tossed in another old phone for free. It was then that the old lady asked me, "You want to know what I do with these phones?" I couldn't very well say, "No", so I just waited for the inevitable. She tells me she sells 'em on Ebay for 25 bones a piece. Either she's on a fine prescription, or she is a savvy entrepreneour (sp?). My thought is, if you're buying old phones on Ebay, for any price, you must be on a fine prescrition, too. Crazy garage sale people...

Walgarage,

Pep Si

Beer Buffet

I entered the corner gas station with the paperwork for the loan on a tank of gas, and to my surprise I saw a salad bar. No, this was no salad bar. Why, it had no sneeze guard. I crept closer, rustling the chip display and stumbling over the full-sized beer wench (I know. I do a double take, too, when I see the 6'2'" bikini-clad blonde with a beverage in her hand. She's not real. She's so fake. She's cardboard.). Sure enough, it was a 12 foot-long beer buffet. Twelve feet of iced alcoholic beverages. I gazed at the sweating cans and bottles reclyning on a bed of crushed ice and reflected on all who had sacrificed to make this real. Harp music replaced the classic rock station, a gentle glow replaced the flickering floresence; until the cashier, truly bigger than life, shook me from my meditation with:
"I got one in my basement."
Seems the cashier, a young lady that could easily be a Monty Python Player, scored a buffet from the beer distributer and put it in her basement, next to the ping-pong table.
Says its a riot.

Pepina, if your reading this, never a world about your spending habits if you happen to find a beer buffet at a garage sale.
'Nuff said.

Sin buffet,

P. S Out.

Trifecta

Pepina, my beloved spouse, achieved what most bargain shoppers can only hope for - the Thrift Shopper's Trifecta, 2006. Yes, her ever-lastn' effort to find a good buy paid off this week, big time. Like the uncommon triple play of baseball, Pepina's trifecta unfolded so quickly, it took until bedtime for Yours Truly to figure out the immensity of Pepina's accomplishment. Let me lay it out here for you, Dear Reader(s):

Pepina's Thrifty Trifecta (or Triple Crown)

• A 7:00 a.m. wake up in order to begin a forty-mile round trip to her school to buy $3.58 worth of stuff that a retiring colleague was selling and had not used during the last 768 years of her teaching career. Now Pepina gets to store $3.58 of the ol' school marm's stuff for the next 768 years of her teaching career. Phenomenal. Doesn't stop here...
• Pepina drives her Asian Exress for a full week, or 3,876.908 miles, on an empty tank until gas prices reach an all time high ($3.10), then fills up the tank. Backward speculation at its best. Brillant girl.
• Finally, upon shutting down our garage sale for the night (after having sold a few dollars of our household surplus), Pepina goes kitty-corner across the street to attend Pepinoville's 85th Tupperware party of the calendar year (82 of which have been held on our humble street, Calle Calabaza). Amongst the giggles, gossip, and girly gab, Pepina managed to acquire 40 clams worth of burping beverage containers. Sheeesh. Out with the old, in with the new. Tupperware. Put Tupperware in line with Amway of the booths in hell ol' Pepino Suave will be forced to visit if I don't attain The Great Reward. Pepino praying....

On behalf of Bob el Gorila and all that is his, we congratulate Pepina on her (expensive) achievement. We love you.

Con poco plata,

Pepino Pobre

Al Dia

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

• Beer Buffets
• Garage Sales
• Pepina's Trifecta

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

No fio,

P. "Negociante" Suave

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

Danger in the Classroom

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

Hasta alli,

P.S Out...

Bullet Points

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

Esperando a Rubia,

Pepino Bailarin

A Reflexionar

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

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

Me pongo a pensar,

P. Suave

Potential

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

Orgullosamente,

Peppy

Ambrosia

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

Me gusta,

P. Suaveson

El Pescador de Frisbee

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

Pezco poco, porque poco pescado pido,

Pepino "Pescador"Suave

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

One Red Paperclip

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

Atentamente,

Pepino Suave

Dia de los Padres

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

Un hijo afortunado,

P. Suave

Hay Pero Que Calor

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

Mucha pelota,

Pepinazo

La Calabaza

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

Me defiendo,

Pepinazo

Inky's Baaaaaack!

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

Un fanatico de ella,

P. "Summer Time" Suave

Pepinoville Update

Ketchup:

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

Al dia,

Pepino "Boom-Boom" Suave

University of Michigan

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

Con mucha nostalgia,

Peps

Se Acaba

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

-Las Go-Gos

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

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

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

Pura vida,

P. Suaveson

La Quiero Mucho

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

Llegue,

P.Suave, esposo de Pepina

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