Thursday, April 28, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Treme
"Living here now is like a dream, the way that everything in a dream is the same yet not the same, familiar yet strange, not quite right, but you just can't put your finger on it... Whatever comes next is just a dream of what used to be."Treme - Creighton Bernette
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
"All the Cappuccino in China" from Steve
Steve wrote this for his sports blog in April of 2005. It sums up the best trip of our lives, and we had many. We should have taken more. Going to Venice on his forty-eight birthday last year would have been comparable, but I had to go without him. This trip to China I'll remember the best. Cause he's right, it was like a second honeymoon. Except better.
All the Cappuccino in China - April 20, 2005
All the Cappuccino in China - April 20, 2005
Hold on to your breasts and pinch your nipples because the great Samichlaus has returned. Yes, it’s been over a month. Yes, I’m sure all of our loyal fan thought that Samichlaus had retired his keyboard and moved to greener digital pastures, but no. In fact Mrs. Chlaus and I have returned from a month long business trip to China.
Now Samichlaus ain’t no dummy. We will not be blogging about business secrets or coworker’s nuisances hence running the risk of being Dooced (note the use of the blogger savvy terminology. If you want to read a really funny chick blog check her out: www.dooce.com. Whether you have a penis or a vagina Dooce will entertain). Besides, you’re reading Sports Blog Steves, the Internet’s best site for sports insights. So without further ado….
Chinese Sports.
The number one sport for the Asians is called “Take the Westerner’s Money” and there are several variations. The object of the game is to accost the Westerner and attempt to sell them something. Points are awarded as follows: Asians are awarded 2 points for every Westerner who enters their “store”, 5 points for a sale, and an extra point if they sell more than one item. Westerners score points based on how many times they have to say no before the Asian gives up. One no, 5 points two no’s 4 points, 3 no’s three points. Deduct 1 point for a hand gesture and one point for the use of the Mandarin word for no, pronounced “boo-yah”
Without a doubt, Karen excelled at this game. Her specialty was the ubiquitous variation known as “Hey Lady want a bag?” and a typical round went like this:
Asian: Hey lady bag? Hey lady bag? Hey lady bag?
Karen: No
Asian: Hey lady bag? Just come in and look (tugging at Karen)
Karen; (crossing her wrists in the Asian gesture for no) NO!
Asian: Hey mister, watch? Rolex?
Game over. Karen scores 3 points to the Asian’s nothing. The Asian has opted to start a new game with Samichlaus who looks strikingly like f*ing Buddha with a goatee.
Asian: Hello? Hello? Hey mister, watch?
Samichlaus: NO! NO! NO! (Waving wildly) Boo Ya! Boo Ya! (nearly running over his petite wife while trying to avoid the evil watch saleswoman)
No points awarded.
When the final tally was calculated, yours truly scored a respectable 63 points for while allowing 48 points against. Karen however set a new International record by scoring 793 points for, 480 points against and 5 bags purchased.
There were several other sports that were popular in China. One of my favorites, called “Take the long way home” was played during rush hour and involved taxi drivers. Another called “Eat this you gluttonous fat American” was enjoyed by the Asians and involved eating “exotic” foods like bird spit and chicken feet. The feet, by the way, were delicious.
And then there was the cappuccino.
Yes I drank a lot of tea, and bottled water was the only water you can drink, but what amazed me was the amount of cappuccino I consumed. Asians don’t know how to make coffee, but they do know how to make cappuccino. In fact all they have is cappuccino makers, so if you order coffee you get cappuccino without the milk. Out thought was “What the hell”. So we ordered cappuccino every day and damn if it wasn’t the best goddamn cappuccino I ever freakin tasted. Delicious, frothy, smooth cappuccino, as if Marco Polo himself gave them the secret in the 1100’s AD as a way of saying thank you for rigatoni.
I have much more to write. The NFL draft is this weekend. Baseball started while we were gone. The NCAA finals were dribble-riffic. And when we got home, the flowers we planted were in bloom and the trees were sprouting leaves. We left in winter and came home to spring, and that just made sense. For on this trip, a second honeymoon as it was, I fell in love with my wife all over again, and all is right in the world.
Now Samichlaus ain’t no dummy. We will not be blogging about business secrets or coworker’s nuisances hence running the risk of being Dooced (note the use of the blogger savvy terminology. If you want to read a really funny chick blog check her out: www.dooce.com. Whether you have a penis or a vagina Dooce will entertain). Besides, you’re reading Sports Blog Steves, the Internet’s best site for sports insights. So without further ado….
Chinese Sports.
The number one sport for the Asians is called “Take the Westerner’s Money” and there are several variations. The object of the game is to accost the Westerner and attempt to sell them something. Points are awarded as follows: Asians are awarded 2 points for every Westerner who enters their “store”, 5 points for a sale, and an extra point if they sell more than one item. Westerners score points based on how many times they have to say no before the Asian gives up. One no, 5 points two no’s 4 points, 3 no’s three points. Deduct 1 point for a hand gesture and one point for the use of the Mandarin word for no, pronounced “boo-yah”
Without a doubt, Karen excelled at this game. Her specialty was the ubiquitous variation known as “Hey Lady want a bag?” and a typical round went like this:
Asian: Hey lady bag? Hey lady bag? Hey lady bag?
Karen: No
Asian: Hey lady bag? Just come in and look (tugging at Karen)
Karen; (crossing her wrists in the Asian gesture for no) NO!
Asian: Hey mister, watch? Rolex?
Game over. Karen scores 3 points to the Asian’s nothing. The Asian has opted to start a new game with Samichlaus who looks strikingly like f*ing Buddha with a goatee.
Asian: Hello? Hello? Hey mister, watch?
Samichlaus: NO! NO! NO! (Waving wildly) Boo Ya! Boo Ya! (nearly running over his petite wife while trying to avoid the evil watch saleswoman)
No points awarded.
When the final tally was calculated, yours truly scored a respectable 63 points for while allowing 48 points against. Karen however set a new International record by scoring 793 points for, 480 points against and 5 bags purchased.
There were several other sports that were popular in China. One of my favorites, called “Take the long way home” was played during rush hour and involved taxi drivers. Another called “Eat this you gluttonous fat American” was enjoyed by the Asians and involved eating “exotic” foods like bird spit and chicken feet. The feet, by the way, were delicious.
And then there was the cappuccino.
Yes I drank a lot of tea, and bottled water was the only water you can drink, but what amazed me was the amount of cappuccino I consumed. Asians don’t know how to make coffee, but they do know how to make cappuccino. In fact all they have is cappuccino makers, so if you order coffee you get cappuccino without the milk. Out thought was “What the hell”. So we ordered cappuccino every day and damn if it wasn’t the best goddamn cappuccino I ever freakin tasted. Delicious, frothy, smooth cappuccino, as if Marco Polo himself gave them the secret in the 1100’s AD as a way of saying thank you for rigatoni.
I have much more to write. The NFL draft is this weekend. Baseball started while we were gone. The NCAA finals were dribble-riffic. And when we got home, the flowers we planted were in bloom and the trees were sprouting leaves. We left in winter and came home to spring, and that just made sense. For on this trip, a second honeymoon as it was, I fell in love with my wife all over again, and all is right in the world.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
"Somebody to Love" from Steve
As the weather has been especially nice, I've found myself getting outside more. Steve and I loved sitting on the back deck, watching the birds fly to their feeders, and catching up on every little thing. It always felt like we had better conversations on the back deck than on the couch where the television could distract us. And, as I've mentioned, it was one of Steve's favorite places to play his guitar.
The nicer the weather, the more time I spend out back. The more time I spend out back, the more I reminisce about the time Steve and I spent out there. And I keep hearing the neighbor's comment about throwing open her windows every time Steve would play sitting outside.
And so, I thought I'd share another tune, "Somebody to Love". It's instrumental, which I also love because as far as I know, it's the only instrumental The Scrubbs recorded.
DISCLAIMER: (again) I ask you to be nice. Please don't upload this music somewhere else, use it for your own purposes, or even be so bold as to say it's you playing. Because this band worked hard, put their hearts into this, and a widow who wants to share shouldn't get shafted.
The nicer the weather, the more time I spend out back. The more time I spend out back, the more I reminisce about the time Steve and I spent out there. And I keep hearing the neighbor's comment about throwing open her windows every time Steve would play sitting outside.
And so, I thought I'd share another tune, "Somebody to Love". It's instrumental, which I also love because as far as I know, it's the only instrumental The Scrubbs recorded.
DISCLAIMER: (again) I ask you to be nice. Please don't upload this music somewhere else, use it for your own purposes, or even be so bold as to say it's you playing. Because this band worked hard, put their hearts into this, and a widow who wants to share shouldn't get shafted.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Out, Out Brief Candle
Dead Guy: "I was so young. Why me?"Six Feet Under
Nate: "Well, why the fuck not you? What did you think, you were immune to this? Everybody dies, everybody! What makes you so fucking special?!"
Thursday, April 7, 2011
"I Know You Rider" from Steve
Steve used to sit right outside the bathroom, door ajar, and play his guitar for me while I showered. He'd strum, stomp his foot, and sing. I felt like Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra, being sung to while bathing. And when I emerged, Steve always received a standing ovation. Which, he would explain, always kept him coming back to the same venue.
Steve would also take his acoustic guitar to play out on the back deck. I loved listening to the music drift in through the open windows as I washed dishes or finished the ironing. Stupid menial household chores made better on a lazy Sunday afternoon with his music. Just the other week my neighbor flagged me down and said how much she has wanted to come by to give her condolences. She felt awkward trying to approach me since she hadn't known until several months after he died. She decided she had to say something to me after the warm weather appeared. Evidently, she had come to recognize the arrival of spring each year when she heard him playing outside and would run to open her windows to hear the music more clearly.
It brought tears to my eyes when she told me this. To find out that others enjoyed those alfresco musical moments as much as I did. It would have given Steve great pleasure to know that someone rushed to open windows every time he stepped outside to play. An audience we never knew about.
The song below was recorded by Steve's band, The Scrubbs. It's the only acoustic file I can find. I like this recording best out of all that I've found because, at home, he mostly played acoustically. It sounds more familiar to my ears. It sounds more like Steve to me. I'd like to share a bit of that here, with you.
DISCLAIMER: I've been desperately trying to find a way to share the .wma (music) files that Steve recorded with his band. The best format I can find, without having to create yet another account somewhere, is to use my SkyDrive. (Thank you Microsoft!) It does mean, however, that when you click on the song it will download to your computer. So I ask you to be nice. Please don't upload it somewhere else, use it for your own purposes, or even be so bold as to say it's you playing. Because it's my husband, my Steve, playing that guitar. He's also one of several, singing.
Steve would also take his acoustic guitar to play out on the back deck. I loved listening to the music drift in through the open windows as I washed dishes or finished the ironing. Stupid menial household chores made better on a lazy Sunday afternoon with his music. Just the other week my neighbor flagged me down and said how much she has wanted to come by to give her condolences. She felt awkward trying to approach me since she hadn't known until several months after he died. She decided she had to say something to me after the warm weather appeared. Evidently, she had come to recognize the arrival of spring each year when she heard him playing outside and would run to open her windows to hear the music more clearly.
It brought tears to my eyes when she told me this. To find out that others enjoyed those alfresco musical moments as much as I did. It would have given Steve great pleasure to know that someone rushed to open windows every time he stepped outside to play. An audience we never knew about.
The song below was recorded by Steve's band, The Scrubbs. It's the only acoustic file I can find. I like this recording best out of all that I've found because, at home, he mostly played acoustically. It sounds more familiar to my ears. It sounds more like Steve to me. I'd like to share a bit of that here, with you.
DISCLAIMER: I've been desperately trying to find a way to share the .wma (music) files that Steve recorded with his band. The best format I can find, without having to create yet another account somewhere, is to use my SkyDrive. (Thank you Microsoft!) It does mean, however, that when you click on the song it will download to your computer. So I ask you to be nice. Please don't upload it somewhere else, use it for your own purposes, or even be so bold as to say it's you playing. Because it's my husband, my Steve, playing that guitar. He's also one of several, singing.
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