Don't Do It, Elway! It's A Dirty Raider Trick!

You may not know it from my present-day hatred of televised sports, but I actually used to like watching the Broncos quite a bit. John Elway was a hero for me (and probably for about 98% of the people on the Front Range in the 1990s).
Anyhow, imagine my surprise when I saw this article after signing out of my hotmail account one day. Apparently, John just got engaged to a former cheerleader from the Raiders.
Obviously, this is just a ploy to steal his Super Bowl rings and take them back to the evil "Raiders' Lair," deep inside the haunted, pirate-infested caves of Oakland, California.
At least no one can say I didn't try to warn him.

(Photo Credit: Fox Sports on MSN)

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Se Vende RAV-4

I was planning on writing a lot this weekend, but I was busy taking care of some other pressing matters.

On Saturday evening, my car once again returned home triumphantly on the back of a tow truck. The problem this time seems to be the transmission, so hopefully we’ll be able to get it fixed soon. Fortunately, it happened in the late afternoon, as I was returning from a job fair at work. Usually, I get home at 11:30 or so, which is a much worse time to have your car break down, as you can imagine.

I only mention this because some of the details surrounding the car’s breakdown and subsequent towing seem—to me, anyhow—to be an interesting asterisk related to Costa Rican cultural studies.

The car’s transmission got jacked as I was going down a hill, and I was fortunately able to take it out of gear and coast into a parking lot…a parking lot for a car dealership. After I called Angela to ask her to call the insurance company to request a tow, I started hanging around outside my car. I walked over to one of the employees working at the car lot, and apologized for leaving a broken car in front of his dealership, since I imagined it wouldn’t be great for business.

He said it was OK, that they were closing up anyhow, and that they were going to start bringing the cars “inside” soon (even used car dealers don’t leave their cars outside…such is the paranoia here regarding car theft). We talked a bit more and as it turns out, the guy was named Andrés, and he lives in Llano Brenes. Llano Brenes is the town just down the road from Berlín, and as far as I can tell, its claim to fame is a motocross track. I mentioned I was living in Berlín, and we started talking more about cars.

This is the strange part. He asked me if I was thinking of trading in my car, and I said that I had ironically said to my wife the night before that I wanted to try to find a smaller car to save money on gas. He told me that RAV-4s—the car I have--were in demand, and that he could probably give me a good deal if I wanted to trade. Out of curiosity, I asked him how much I could get for my car which, being laid out in front of him, obviously wasn’t even in great working condition. The price he quoted me was $3,000 more than I paid for the car a year and a half ago.

I thought I’d misunderstood him, and had heard the price in thousands of dollars instead of millions of colones. I told him that the car had 150,000 kilometers on it, and I asked again. He said that was no problem, and told me the same price. I’ve done some investigation since then and apparently, cars here appreciate in value. I still cannot believe this, but everyone reassures me it’s true. And it’s not only got to do with inflation, because the prices converted to dollars also go up, as well.

For example, Angela’s dad’s car—a 1985 Toyota Land Rover--is now worth more than he paid for it when he bought it used three years ago. Also, a Toyota Yaris bought new in 2004 for $10,000 can now be had for $11,000 or even more.

Look, I don’t know shit about mechanics or economics, but should this really be happening? Anyone got a good explanation?

Before I left the lot, the guy even said he could give me a small, economic car like a Tercel or a Yaris as a trade-in for my RAV-4…and that he’d even throw in a Suzuki Sidekick or a Geo Tracker, so that I’d still have a four-wheel drive car if I needed it. Costa Rica is weird sometimes.

In any case, the tow truck driver arrived, and he brought the car to my house. As it turns out, he was from Palmares, and is probably some sort of cousin of Angela’s dad. Even before we knew that, though, Angela had invited him in for coffee and cookies. Johnny—the driver’s name—told us that he used to fix Angela’s family members’ various cars, and then regaled us with stories about towing cars that Berlín drunks had crashed into ditches.

Maybe to you, these events aren’t that interesting, but when I put them all together and take a step back for observation, it just makes me think, “Hmm, I guess that is a bit different than in the U.S.”

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

More Elitism

I noticed just a day or two ago that this week’s Newsweek has a column by Sam Harris that follows a similar logic to my “Elitist” article the other day. The title is “When Atheists Attack,” which is a sort of poor title choice because it doesn’t reflect too well the content of the article. The sub-title is better: “A noted provocateur rips Sarah Palin—and defends elitism.”
Hmm, sounds a little like a description of an article I wrote just last week, right?
Actually, no. I’m definitely not “noted,” even in the most generous application of the word.
In any case, the article is actually quite good, and I’d recommend you take a look at it. Here my favorite lines:

“What is so unnerving about the candidacy of Sarah Palin is the degree to which she represents—and her supporters celebrate—the joyful marriage of confidence and ignorance.”
AND
“When it comes to choosing the people whose thoughts and actions will decide the fates of millions, then we suddenly want someone just like us, someone fit to have a beer with, someone down-to-earth—in fact, almost anyone, provided that he or she doesn’t seem to intelligent or well educated.”

At least I’m not the only one out there thinking along these lines.

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Final Part Of "K" Music Review

Hi there everybody!
As promised, here is the third and final part of my "K" music review:

KLASSE KRIMINALE – “INTERNATIONAL SOLDIER”
When I was at the music store in Palmares, this album caught my attention straight off because of the doubling-up of K’s in the group’s name. It kept my attention when I noticed that many of the song titles were in Italian, and that the album seemed to have been produced in Germany. Hmm, could I have possibly stumbled on a bona-fide Fascist punk album tucked away in the middle of Central America? As it turns out, the album actually has a little badge on the back that says: “We support Cable Street Beat; Strictly Antifascist.” So, in terms of avoiding the moral implications that come with buying music that was literally made by Fascists, this was a good thing, but in terms of having interesting things to write about in a mock music review, this was a negative development.
Basically, this album appears to come from what seemed at first to me like a brilliant, unexplored genre: Continental-Eurotrash Punkrock! However, when I actually listened to the songs, I wasn’t as psyched. See, the songs actually are mostly in Italian, and I don’t know crap about Italian. If you couple that with the fact that I usually have trouble understanding song lyrics in any language, plus the fact that punk lyrics are nearly indecipherable anyhow, then you basically have a fairly loud album with a lot of unintelligible shouting.
The style is mainly a ska-ish style of punk; it’s not unlike an unpolished Ska-P, which is a Spanish ska band whose lyrics I also can’t understand. The songs on “International Soldier” are individually pretty decent, but after listening to 3 or 4 of them, it’s hard to tell if you’re still listening to “Me Wanna Change Le Monde,” or if you’ve moved on to “Tu Vieni Da Garageland.” By the end of the last track (“Oi! Fatti Una Risata”…whatever the fuck that means), you just feel like putting on some good, old-fashioned Eurotrash Girliepop to cleanse the palate.
This album is best heard when played loudly over the speakers in a shitty Fiat on the way to an anti-fascist rally in Genoa featuring bad Clash cover bands and 1-Euro cups of grappa.

BEN KWELLER – “BEN KWELLER”
It has recently come to my attention that everyone named Ben is a good guy. Or, at least every Ben that I’ve ever heard of is. Maybe you have childhood stories about some asshole Ben who pinned you on the ground and dangled loogies over your face. If you do, I’ll thank you not to share them with me. But enough theoretical anecdotal evidence aside; let’s look at the facts:
-Ben Kingsley is a great actor, at least judging by “Gandhi” and “Sneakers,” the only two movies of his I’ve seen.
-Ben Schneider is a friend of mine, and he’s a great guy.
Good enough for me!
Also, on the musical front, Ben’s been kicking some ass. You’ve got Ben E. King, Ben Harper, Ben Folds, and Ben Kweller.
This self-titled album is actually Kweller’s third album, and it’s arguably his best. It’s also arguably his worst. How can this be, you ask? Well, Kweller’s style is all about putting out ditties that are solidly-enough rooted in rock to bring in the guys, but poppy and quirky enough to keep the girls from leaving mid-album. This has been the case for his three albums, and the resulting musical style seems to have remained consistent throughout. So, there are definitely songs that I like more than others, but they all generally fall into the category of “Sincerely Semi-Ironic Acoutsi-Pop” (Somebody get me a trademark for that term, stat!).
For evidence of this, just look at his album covers, and when you spy his curly brown mop-hair, you’ll know what I mean. For his first album, “Sha Sha” (a great album that my buddy Dustin turned me on to), Kweller’s wearing a Soviet-style fur cap with earflaps, and he’s even brushing his freaking teeth! To up the irony ante for album 2 (“On My Way”), Kweller had to actually be more subtle: He appears standing in the mountains, and he’s wearing cowboy boots and a sweater vest. Oh yeah, and he’s standing next to three wolves! (Or dogs that look like wolves…I’m not a freaking veterinarian). For the album “Ben Kweller,” his irony was already so thoroughly established that he just has a very simple torso-and-head shot. The only overtly ironic element is the red bandana around his neck, with the calculated effect being that it would be so lame that it would be cool again.
Wow, wasn’t I talking about music a minute ago?
OK, musically-speaking, this album is good. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s quite as good as his first two albums. Of course, his style and playing has surely matured a bit, and maybe the lyrics on this one are as sophisticated as the ones on the others, if not more. But there are still a few songs that happily putter along without really shining, and there are also a few issues with his choice of lyrics.
The opening song, “Run,” begins with the words, “Over hills / over dales / I’ll run / to you.” This isn’t terribly enlightening to begin with, but in the song it actually sounds like he’s saying “Over here / over dere…” That may be a calculated cuteness, but it’s kinda stupid in the end. Also, the third song, “Sundress,” is just a downer to me for some reason. I know it picks up the tempo mid-song, but by then it’s too late. Sometimes, however, the goofy lyrics can work in Kweller’s—and the listener’s—favor, as in the song “Penny On The Train Track,” which opens with a bouncy, piano-infused beat and the line: “I’m-a just a penny on the train track, waiting for my Judgment Day / C’mon girl let me see those legs, before I get flattened away.”
All these critiques, however, overshadow the end result: this is definitely a good album that I would recommend to my friends. I just bring these points up to help. It’s called “Constructive Criticism.” Look it up.
If you see a Kweller album in the stores, grab it up. Also, I hear word that he’s got a new album called “Switching Horses” coming out, and if you happen upon it in that industrialized and audio-fied nation up north between Mexico and Canada, I’d be happy to hear what you think of it. He’s also great in concert (In the BK concert I went to, he opened with a solo, which was an acoustic guitar version of Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby” with customized lyrics). And as a final note, many thanks to Bobby Majzler for giving me this album as a Christmas gift!

Well, folks, that’s about it for this edition. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. So in the meantime, listen to some music for me! --Ryan Sitzman

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Politics, Part 2 of 2: The Elite

I remember that during the last couple of elections, one of the things that people were talking about when discussing the presidential candidates was the question of which candidate they thought was more genuine and “down to earth.” One expression of this thought was the question, “Which candidate would you rather sit down and have a beer with?” Now, to me, this question is patently absurd. That’s the kind of criterion that you examine when you’re looking for a drinking buddy, not when you're electing the president of your freaking country!
Basically, though, over the last few election cycles the prevailing sentiment was that George W. Bush would be a better drinking buddy than either Al Gore or John Kerry (Nevermind the fact that Bush is a reformed alcoholic and supposedly doesn't drink anyway). Still, Kerry was seen by many to be out of touch, and he was sometimes called an “elitist,” which is a term that has now been tossed at Barack Obama, as well. Now, call me an old-fashioned relic or an imperialist bastard or whatever, but I want my presidents to be elitists. If I wanted a “regular, everyday guy” to run my country, I’d vote for my mechanic. And about 20 minutes after his inauguration, all that would be left of the country would be a giant, smoking hole. No siree, I want someone who is incredibly capable to run my country.
I’m a pretty nice guy. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone who knows me. I’m not a genius, but I’m not really that stupid, either. I actually have an MA, and I can speak three or four languages with a degree of coherency and fluency (and English is one of them). Still, the fact that I’m a nice, smart guy says nothing about my ability to become a president. The way I see it, I’m selling my country short if I vote for anyone who isn’t freaking amazing. Sure, the person I vote for can be nice, but they better be so smart that they just about have brains coming out of their ears. They better make me feel like a freaking assbrain in comparison. And I don’t care if my presidents speak condescendingly to me or if they prefer doing crossword puzzles to watching NASCAR, as long as they are really, really, really smart. Oh yeah, and they can’t be a disgusting hypocrites, either.
I’ve never really understood the point of politicians who try to lower themselves to the level of society’s Lowest Common Denominator. Indeed, a president is the leader of every citizen, whether that citizen is a billionaire genius like Bill Gates or a dipshit societal mooch like Kevin Federline. But that doesn’t mean that a presidential candidate should have to try to appear “folksy” just to get votes. Obviously, it’s necessary to have support throughout the broad spectrum of society in order to win an election, but shouldn’t a president be somewhat above that? Wouldn’t the ideal president be such an amazing, upstanding, and intelligent person, that the whole country would be proud to refer to him or her as one of the finest examples of its citizenry?
These are all just my thoughts, but to finish these musings and wrap up my two-part political special, I’d like to give my opinion on the current candidates and whether I’d like to drink a beer with him or her (after all, I’m still part of that earlier-mentioned Lowest Common Denominator that talks about this crap). For the vice-presidential picks, it’s a hard race to call. I have a feeling that Sarah Palin would probably have some interesting stories about…well, ice, I guess…but I can’t imagine that she and I would have that much in common to talk about. In fact, she might be the Anti-Sitzman. Joe Biden seems like he'd be kind of friendly in the right kind of circumstances, and I can actually imagine drinking a couple of beers with him, mainly ‘cause he’d lose track of the time. Plus, when I’d go to have a whiz, I’d return to find that he’d already paid the bill.
As for our possible future presidents, I honestly can’t imagine drinking a beer with John McCain. The only circumstance in which I could see this happening is if I were still underage, and I tried to get him or any other sufficiently old person to buy me a six-pack at the liquor store. And Barack Obama? Well, I can’t actually imagine drinking a beer with him, either. In fact, after getting slightly trashed with Joe Biden, we’d probably call up Obama, and even though it’d be like 2 AM, we’d ask Obama to come and give us a ride home in his Celica. Sure, he’d be pissed, he’d get annoyed when Biden and I would shout while arguing about whether Use Your Illusion I or II is better, and in the end Barack would probably give us a lecture on how we needed to grow up and be more responsible in the future. But still, he’d probably come through when you really needed him.
Maybe I’ll vote for him.

(Comic credit: "Get Your War On," by David Rees. More available at www.mnftiu.com. Interestingly enough, this one is from 4 years ago.)

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Continuation of "K" Music Review

Hi Everyone,
Well, my brother has his "D" music review finished, and it's up on his site. You can read it by clicking on this link. It's pretty good, despite the Celine Dion (ha ha!).
And, not that you're necessarily interested, but here is the second part of my latest music review, for the letter "K." The rest of it can be read at www.ryansitzman.com, or in a few days, when I post the final part.

KEANE – “HOPES & FEARS”
Of the four albums reviewed here, this is the second best. I’m pretty sure Keane is popular somewhere, but I’m also pretty sure that “somewhere” is not Costa Rica. So when I saw the CD in the store, I recognized the group’s name, but I didn’t know what type of music they sang. Interestingly enough, as I was putting this album onto my i-tunes, I realized that I already had an entire Keane album, “Under The Iron Sea.” I actually don’t know where that came from, but for some reason I think my brother Paul may have had the CD in Colorado, and I indiscriminately added it to my hard drive when I was there. As a result, the musical style sounded vaguely familiar the first time I listened to this CD.
In fact, “vaguely familiar” is a very good description of Keane. Ronny, the guy who owns the (only) music store in Palmares, described the group as “Britpop,” and said it was like Coldplay. Fortunately, it’s not too similar to Coldplay, because I don’t like Coldplay. There, I said it. I believe Paul and I talked about this before, but it seems like we agreed that both Coldplay and “hardcore” Coldplay fans are only slightly better than mediocre. That’s too bad, because basically everyone likes Coldplay (except me and my brother, it would seem). For me, Coldplay is like jazz: for some reason, you have to like both to be considered acceptable by the majority of poseurs in the western world, but in the end, both types of music will leave your ears as well as your musical soul feeling sonically underwhelmed. So, I suppose that if Coldplay ever releases a jazz album, I’ll be royally fucked.
But hey! This isn’t a Coldplay review. It’s a Keane review. Like I said, “Hopes & Fears” delivers the goods, and it does so in a relatively unpretentious way. And—I’m sorry, but I can’t resist drawing a comparison between Keane and yet another British band—it’s easy to sit back and relax while listening to this album, and to think, “Hey, Travis has still got it!” Because basically, Travis and Keane are just two different flavours of the same Limeypop. Not that that’s bad. When my votes are counted, “Under the Iron Sea” is better than “Hopes & Fears,” but both are better than most Travis albums. I guess that every Keane needs its Travis, just like every Nolte needs his Busey, and just like every Denzel needs a sad, sad Snipes. (A similar effect has been described in both the Malkovich/Lithgow Theorem and the Bateman/O’Connell Postulate).
Oh, and the last song on the album, “Bedshaped,” sounds like a song by a Pink Floyd that was trying to get in touch with its sensitive side.
So, I guess all British music is basically the same, yeah?
This CD is best listened to if you ever find yourself smack-dab in the middle of an emotional breakup scene in the second season of Smallville (or any TV show from the WB, for that matter).

KISS – “THE VERY BEST OF KISS”
Oh, freaking KISS. I have to admit that while I went into this review with a previous bias against KISS, I nevertheless tried to keep an open and positive mindset when listening to this album. After all, I did like a few KISS songs--like“Rock and Roll All Nite”—when I was in high school. But remember, I went to high school in the late 1990s, and that was a time when people liked all sorts of shit from the 1970s, for whatever reason.
In college, however, I gradually moved into the anti-KISS camp, and my status there was solidified by conversations with my friend Andy Parsons about how much KISS sucked. I don’t really remember why he hated KISS so much, but it seemed to make sense at the time.
Generally-speaking, then, I remained contra-KISS until last Christmas, when I read Fargo Rock City and a few other great books by Chuck Klosterman, who is an adamant KISS lover. That sort of awakened my curiosity, since I admire Klosterman’s writing style and his musical opinions (He has a great snippet in one book about how a Radiohead album foretold the events of September 11th). Around that same time, I also noticed that there were strong societal undercurrents based on admiring and obsessing about KISS. This love is evidenced by the strange phenomenon of the “KISS Army.” You know, I’m just doing some impromptu thinking here, but Costa Rica hasn’t had an army since 1948, and many Americans--especially KISS fans—really like their guns…Let’s just hope that the KISS Army never goes in search of a defenseless country on which to perform a military coup and establish their new homeland.
Um…where was I? Oh yeah, so I thought, “Maybe KISS isn’t that bad.” Unfortunately, that thought was wrong. KISS kind of sucks, when it comes down to it. I know that the standard argument against them is that they’re basically a bunch of dumb, brutish S&M clowns that can’t play their instruments or write intelligent lyrics to save their lives. I also know that the standard counter-argument to this idea is that a viewpoint like that is elitist and snobbish, and that music isn’t about intelligence, it’s about evoking a feeling. My personal take on KISS is that they’re dumb, brutish S&M clowns that actually can play their instruments and write lyrics, but the songs and lyrics that they write, although supposedly rocking or shocking, are actually just dull. The two times that I tried slogging through this album while driving in my car gave me two of the most boring, mundane, and restless commutes that I’ve experienced in a long time.
Oh, by the way, here’s a brief commercial pause, paid for by one of our sponsors:
“KISS ALBUM FOR SALE! ONLY SLIGHTLY USED, GREAT CONDITION. PRICE NEGOTIABLE. CONTACT RYAN AT RYANSITZMAN.COM FOR DETAILS.”
So, we’re back. This album is best when listened to the volume turned really low, with some good music playing loudly to drown it out.

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Politics, Part 1 of 2

Oh man, politics are terrible.

I think that’s a statement that few people would disagree with, regardless of where they fall on the political spectrum. So far, I’ve been trying to keep this blog free of politics, partly because it gets people riled up and annoyed, and that doesn’t work for this blog; Sitzblog is a uniter, not a divider. Also, the other reason I don’t mention politics much is because—let’s face it—it’s pretty boring to read about politics. So I’ve generally tried to machete-carve a different path through the blogosphere jungle, but for this post and one that will go up in a few days, I’m going to roll up my sleeves, get my hands dirty, use some tired clichés, and talk about politics.
I have to admit that McCain’s vice-presidential pick, Sarah Palin, has at least gotten people talking. Or that’s what it seems to me. I haven’t actually watched a TV news show since…well, for months and months. I also missed Palin’s apparently electrifying RNC speech, which I guess lit a fire under both Republican and Democrat asses. I get basically all of my news about the U.S. through the internet media, and there are inherent advantages and disadvantages to that. One of the advantages, though, is that the delivery of eloquently-written and fired-up speeches is largely lost, and only the written content and ideas remain. As a result of this, I have begun to favor Obama, while at the same time I’ve begun to seriously question the veracity of McCain and the competence of Palin.
Let me explain this in an roundabout way. I have been continually amazed over the selling points of Palin, which basically all seem to revolve around three ideas, namely, that she: 1) is a working mother; 2) is a lifelong member of the NRA; 3) apparently can kill and butcher a moose. Somehow, all of these three points are supposed to illustrate that she’s a capable leader who is still “in-touch with the common people.” To me, however, she seems a bit like my mom…if my mom were bat-shit insane and had access to a large arsenal of hockey sticks and guns, both of which she would use to kill moose. Now that I think about it, I still don’t believe that my mom would make a good vice-president (Sorry, mom, but I love you just as you are, and I wouldn’t want you to be "changed" by Washington!), but she would probably be as good as—or even better than—Sarah Palin.
As to the other two gun-and-moose related points, all I have to say is this: If John McCain is elected president, there’s a very real possibility that he wouldn’t finish an 8- or even 4-year term. He’s statistically in the danger zone, health-wise, and if you couple that with the fact that a good number of presidents haven’t lived to see the inauguration of their successor, then you should probably start becoming concerned. Do you really think that she’s qualified to be our president? If so, then vote McCain-Palin. But be sure you can confidently answer a few questions: Sure, Palin can shoot and field dress a moose, but can she do that with an unruly foreign dictator? Sure, she’s mildly attractive in a Republican, if-that’s-what- you’re-into type of way, but she still can’t hold a candle to the Ukranian prime minister, hottie Yulia Tymoshenko (Shown in the picture on the right...her hair reminds me of a delicious bread). And finally, sure, Palin flip-flopped and was against a bridge to nowhere after she was for it, but technically, isn’t all of Alaska basically considered “nowhere”?
All of these questions should be on the mind of the nation, but especially on the minds of Republicans. About 10 years ago, I held no political affiliation, but I personally leaned towards a sort of Traditional, Green Social-Conservo-Democrat-Islamofascit political outlook (I include the “Islamofascist” part because it’s a word that's so hilariously ridiculous and overblown that it makes me chuckle every time I hear it). In the 2000 election, I probably would have voted for McCain, had he been the Republican candidate. I was also one of those who said that if Hillary Clinton won the Democratic nomination, I would vote for McCain. But after seeing the woman that John McCain thinks is the most qualified person in the entire country to take over power should he die, I now realize that he’s just as crazy as she is.

By the way, if, like me, you happen to be living abroad during this coming election, then there’s still a good chance you can cast a ballot. Follow this link to the Federal Voting Assistance Program to find more details about having the last state and county you resided in mail your ballot to you. I did it, so we’ll see if the democratic process—as well as international postal service—really works.

(Tymoschenko photo credit: www.ukraine-observer.com)

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Update

I know I’ve not updated the blog for a while, but I’ve been pretty busy lately. For a few weeks there, I was frantically watching seasons 3-6 of Smallville in order to get them back to my friend Angie, who was going to be transferred to Moravia (which is east of San Jose...Costa Rica…I’m pretty sure the original Moravia is somewhere in the Czech Republic). I got all of the seasons watched, and it’s probably good that I’m off it now, since everything was starting to turn Smallville on me. First I started thinking of trying to get an internship at an English-speaking newspaper—just like Chloe did! Then my sister Diana started running a coffee shop—just like Lana did! And then my grandma broke her leg and had to go to a physical rehabilitation center—just like Lana did! (And we can only hope that Grandma, unlike Lana, didn’t meet any psychos named Adam who turned out to actually be a dead guy who was resuscitated through the means of Luthorcorp’s shady Kryptonite rock testing…you didn’t, did you Grandma?) Anyhow, thanks again to Angie, who helped me and Angela kill a couple weeks of free time, as well as countless bags of microwave popcorn.
Also, our house construction has been advancing slowly but slowly, and that takes up a lot of our “free” time. You can follow this link to see the latest pictures, which I just put up today. And finally, I was also pretty busy for a week or two back there because I really got into using the exercise bike while reading “Memoirs of a Geisha.” Oh crap, did I just say that shit out loud? Better check…let’s see…MIA because of Smallville…house construction…Geisha. Dammit. I did say it. And I did read it. But hey, we can’t read “War and Peace” all the time, now can we?
In any case, here are a few recent pictures to keep you coming back for more:

A palm tree.

They've started putting up some of the windows in our house.

This picture is from last weekend, when we went to Angela's sister Teresa's house. Their cat had kittens, and they offered us one. We're thining of taking it, and while the kittens spend more time with their mother, we're in the final stage of negotiations, which include coming up with a good name (I'm voting for "Han Solo Junior").

Angela just has a...way...with cats.

Just look at this cute little shit!

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

New "K" Music Review On ryansitzman.com

Hi there,
Just so you know, I've posted the next letter in my A-Z Music Review Revue, featured on www.ryansitzman.com. I thoroughly invite you to check it out. The theme is the letter K, and there are four great reviews of four semi-great albums. I'll be posting it here on the blog in parts, as well, but for now, I'll let you read the introduction. Remember, go to ryansitzman.com and click on "Music Reviews" to read the thrilling finale!

EXCERPT FROM "K" REVIEW:
"Greetings everyone! Once again, it’s been a long, long time since I sent my last A-Z music review, and a lot has happened since the last edition. As you all know, my younger brother Paul has tried to steal the wind out of my sails by starting his own music A-Z music review series. And dammit if the boy ain’t efficient, and a good writer to boot. In the time it took me to get through about one average letter, Paul has already made it to C, and he sent trash-talking word that D is on the way, too. At the same time, though, Paul’s a good rival, and he even set up a page on his website that links all of the reviews that he wrote, as well as links to all of mine. Good sport, old boy! You can find the links by clicking on this link.
Alas, rivalries like this are a story as old as time. However, this isn’t an elementary school field day; not everyone gets a feel-good yellow “participation” ribbon. Since these are music reviews we’re dealing with here, let’s use a musical analogy: The entirely excellent and competent Paulieri continues to produce music reviews of the highest quality and virtue, but they will never match the soul, wit, and sheer fickleness of the reviews written by his contemporary, Wolfgang Ryandeus Sitzart.
Having said that, let me don my powdered wig, and let’s get Baroque on this batch!"

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Still Covering The Crime Beat

Well, since I recently made fun of the stolen cow that got stuck inside a Hyundai Elantra just north of here, I suppose it was only a matter of time until my Motherland of the Estados Unidos tried to up the ante for odd, animal-related crime. I saw this article in a section of the La Nación called “Caja de Cambios,” which means “Gearbox.” It’s a section of the paper with filler material related to new cars and gas prices, and it provides an outlet for people to complain about the shitty potholes everywhere, and to send in pictures of tricked out Hyundais with razor-blade doors and prominently-featured neon accessories.
In any case, I found this article below:

It reads:
“POLICE ARREST A GOAT.
-ALABAMA- A goat was arrested, a Mercedes-Benz was lightly damaged and a dog went for a ride. All of this happened when a lady who was driving the Mercedes saw a goat and a dog playing on national highway 72, in northern Alabama.
The goat jumped over the vehicle and didn’t want to get down. Later, an officer captured it and put it in his patrol car, but then the dog jumped inside the car, and for that they also took it away in the police car.”
So, the score is now even. Costa Rica: Your turn. I know you won’t disappoint me.

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Speling Be

When I used to go to restaurants with my extended family, I noticed that my grandpa—Bill Holthaus—sometimes gave a pseudonym when he made reservations. I think it was usually “Jones” or “Smith.” When I asked him about it, he said it was because the flunky hostesses usually butchered his last name, and it was just easier to give a common name that they’d likely be able to spell. Keep that little anecdote in mind, because it’ll be important in about three or four paragraphs.
One thing that I’ve noticed since I began teaching: a lot of people suck at spelling. This goes obviously for native speakers of both English and Spanish, but since most of my students are native Spanish speakers, I’ll concentrate on talking about them.
I think that the root of the problem is that Spanish is a highly phonetic language, and there aren’t very many tricky words, orthographically speaking. Sure, a Spanish speaker may write a C or S when they should use a Z, and then there’s the perpetual problem of mixing up V and B because they make the same sound in good ol’ castellano. Still, that’s nothing nearly as complicated as English, with its bastardized mixture of words and spelling systems from all sorts of languages.
Most of the problems here seem to come up when a Spanish speaker has to spell words from another language. For example, I’ve seen various trucks that have been repainted, and instead of just leaving a plain-colored tailgate, people elect to also re-paint the brand name of the truck they’re driving (Brand consciousness here is strangely very high; it’s like a marketing agency’s dream audience, but alas, that’s a topic for another post at another time). In any case, I’ve seen at least three different cars that had their brand names re-painted boldly, proudly, and wrong. I saw a beat-up old “Hiunday” truck just a week ago, and one of my favorites from the past was a mini pickup that read “Izusu.” This, of course, begs two questions: 1) Why not look at another part of the car to figure out how to spell the name correctly? and 2) Why be so concerned about a shitty brand like Hyundai or Isuzu—How about choosing something classier like “Mersedes Bens” or “Lan Rober”?
All of that really doesn’t matter much until it all hits home: “Ryan Sitzman” is definitely not a common Spanish name. Strangely enough, the name “Bryan” is very popular here, but in order to get it pronounced correctly, you need to write it "Brayan." Basically, though, when it’s not tourist season, I may be the only Ryan in the country. As a result, most conversations I have about my name go something like this:

Guy at Gas Station: “Would you like a receipt?”
Me: “Um, sure.”
GGS: “What name should I put?”
Me: “Well, I’m called Ryan.”
GGS: “Oh, Brayan.”
Me: “Almost. It’s like ‘Brian,’ but without B.”
GGS: “So, Bryan.”
Me: “Uh, yeah, but without the B.” (As I say this, I usually notice that the guy is writing “B-R-A…”) “Oh, umm….”
GGS: “Huh?”
Me: “It’s R-Y-A-N.”
GGS: (Getting confused and crossing out letters) “B-R…?”
Me: “Sure.”

So yeah, as it turns out, writing “Ryan Sitzman” in Spanish is an orthographic clusterfuck. As a matter of fact, many names of people I know are so confounding to my students, that I’ve included names of my friends, family members, and teachers in the spelling section of some of my exams. Bobby Majzler. Phylis and Clarence Sitzman. Maj Friedrich. Julien Katchinoff. Troy Storfjell. You’re all minor celebrities in Costa Rica, for the mere reason that spelling your name can nearly bring my students to tears.
Anyhow, the picture above is a receipt that a store clerk insisted on completing when I bought a shirt on the way to San Carlos (aka “Saint Chuck”). Angela was with me, and both of us were spelling my first and last name for the lady at the register, so I know this spelling isn’t due to my bad Spanish. I still have no idea how the girl came up with “Fraiyan Sixsman,” though, when we were spelling it for her in person, one letter at a time.
The end result: if there were restaurants around here that took reservations, I’d be making them under the name Roberto Sanchez.

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Back, And The Same As Ever

It's been a while since I wrote something here, so I decided it was time to bother the world again. I actually HAVE been busy, though. Most of the last month's weekends were either spent with Ben Schneider (he of the Ben Schneider Memorial Potlucks fame), or celebrating Mother's Day. Yep, Mother's Day is August 15th in Coast Tasty. It's kind of the same principle as in the U.S., but the result is pretty different (I'll give you a hint: It's all about the women gossiping and drinking wine in the kitchen, while the men fill up on beer in the living room. Basically, it's just like Father's Day here, except that it ostensibly honors the other parent).

I also tried to make some Oatmeal Raisin Cookies to take to my mother-in-law. I usually make Oatmeal Chocolate Chip, but I didn't have any chocolate chips, so I decided to turn to Betty Crocker for a new recipe. Well, that bitch Betty is a liar. For some reason (I'm guessing too much heat or too little flour), they spread out too much and were still goey. I don't know how many times I said "Motherfucking cookies!" the other day. Well, I guess I do: probably about 6 times. One way or the other, if you have a good recipe for this fine delicacy, pass it on my way. I'm at about the same altitude as Colorado, by the way, so that might affect the recipe, too.

Anyhow, I've accumulated a few pictures from the last couple of weeks, and I decided to include them here. Also, I put up about 10 new construction pictures on the Construction Sblog, so click this link to check them out. So, let's get going:

Ben Schneider, the intrepid explorer and former Active Single. Here he is eating a granadilla, with its crunchy seeds covered in a snot-like fruit goo. Ben was actually my first college teacher, technically. The irony of that is that since he's only 2 years older than me and because he still has his hair, no one here believed that when I told them.

One weekend we went to La Fortuna and the Arenal Volcano to show Ben some of the local highlights. We saw this tree-like thing at the entrance to a hanging bridge tour. As I so eloquently said it at the time: "Man, it's just like a cluster of fucking life!"

This time we almost outdid ourselves; we made Costa Rica live up to its name when we took Benjamín "El Capitán" Eschneider to both coasts in one week. These couple of pictures are from near Esterillos, in the Central Pacific coast. In the picture above, Angela is mercilessly hunting a poor little crab. She actually was able to catch it, although she just wanted to see how deep its tunnel went.

Here I am with Ben. Now, a word about the Ben Schneider Memorial Potlucks. When I lived with my friend Himal Shrestha in college, we decided to have a potluck. Ben was a teacher for both of us, so we invited him. He said he'd come, but he didn't. So, we dubbed the potluck the First Annual Ben Schneider Memorial Potluck. A few months later, we held the Second Annual Ben Schneider Memorial Potluck, which Ben awkwardly came to (awkwardly, because he was still alive, contrary to the potluck's title). Over the years, many events have been dubbed Ben Schneider Memorial Potlucks, and Ben made it to most of them. That's why I say he's a good man.

A beach in Cahuita, in the Limón province, which forms Costa Rica's Caribben coast. Oh, what? Another perfect beach? Sure, I guess I'll take a picture. Ho hum. (Yawn).

Angela, once again watching the little crabs with the steely death stare of a hunter. No wonder those little things run so fast!

Ben Schneider, doing what Ben Schneider does best: Kicking ass and NOT taking names (Why take names if you've so thoroughly kicked someone's ass that coming back to kick more ass would be superfluous and overkill?)

Ben Schneider, doing the other thing Ben Schneider does best: Stealing your woman. In fact, while you're wasting time reading this crap, he just ran off with your ol' lady.

Angela and Ben taking a snooze on Playa Negra, near Cahuita and Puerto Viejo. Limón has a somewhat bad reputation among Costa Ricans, mainly because there's a perceived high level of crime. But in a country of 4 million people where every robbery seems to make it to the national paper, that perception is easily affected. I, for one, felt completely safe wandering around the streets of Puerto Viejo, despite the annoyances of pot dealers trying to sell their wares to you. But that happens in many places around the world.
Actually, the only "altercation" we noticed was when the three of us were walking back to our hostel called Pagalu (check out the link; it's a good hostel, and the German owners are cool). As we were walking back, in the middle of the street we noticed a skanky-looking lady in a bra yelling at two American-looking guys. My theory was that she was a hooker, and that the guys had made a joke about her or something. Either way, she was trying to shove them and yelling something like, "Don't you fuck with me or I'll fight you! I'll fight you like a man!" We kind of steered clear of her and walked to the side of the street, where a local guy was watching the whole scene. He gave us our favorite quote of the whole trip: "That bitch is fucking crazy...hey, you guys wanna buy some ganja?"
Eyes on the prize, man.

Above you can see some weird painted palm trees on the road back home from Limón. Getting back home was much easier than getting there. Man, getting there sucked. You'd think that in a country that has two or three main roads, that those roads would be easier to find. But you'd be very, very wrong. The day before I left, I asked all of my students how to get to the road to Limón. The disparities between their answers bordered on comical, and one guy even advised me to "follow the cars" after I "got to San José."
One way or the other, though, we got back fine. Angela and I think it was because we both held our breath and made the same wish when we passed through the Zurqui tunnel: We wished that we'd not get lost in San José. And wouldn't you know it, but we got lost for only about 10 seconds, and then I just decided to follow a random Hyundai who was driving faster than all the other cars nearby. Sure enough, after about 10 minutes of winding San José roads and alleys, the street crapped us out onto the main highway to San Ramón! Maybe you just do have to "follow the cars."

Anyhow, I've got a few more automatic updates coming through this next week or two, so please stay tuned in. Thanks for reading!

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

Ein Blondes Wunder--Oder Zwei?!?

Since the first moment I set eyes on my wife Angela, I obviously realized that she was beautiful. However, I had no idea that she was so freaking cute--and blond!?!--when she was a little girl. I recently borrowed these pictures from her mom and scanned them for your "Awwww!" viewing pleasure. Enjoy!

Angela, probably about one year old. Or two? I'm a bad judge of baby age. Or does she even still qualify as a "baby" in this picture?

Angela, looking eerily like a little Swiss girl.

Don't mess with "La Chica Suiza."

Angela in a picture that she claims to hate, mainly due to the presence of the doll in her arms. Which I can admit is a good reason to hate a picture. Still, you can see that the blond in her own hair is fading away slowly but surely, and that she didn't just color her hair to protect her identity.

To keep things fair, I decided to include a few pictures of myself when I was just a little muffin (thanks, Annie and Matthew, for that term!). In the picture above I am wearing a denim vest -suit and a striped turtleneck which, although possibly cute for a baby in the early 1980s, looks totally pussy by today's standards.

As you can see in this picture, I ALSO looked remarkably like a little blond Swiss girl, just with a butch haircut! Here I am (once again in horizonal stripes...what the hell, mom?) with my sister Diana (in the stroller). As I ham it up for the camera and enjoy a balloon, a goat quietly eats my baby sister's head. Some things never change, I guess. Ah, memories.

Finally, here I am with my dad Clarence, in the only habitat where little blond Swiss children feel at home: in a meadow in the mountains. I swear, if Angela and I ever have kids--assuming that they don't come out evil and red-headed like the kid from Problem Child as a punishment from God--then the Blondies will probably come popping out of the womb grasping a fondue stick and yodeling about cheese and the importance of political neutrality.

Anyhow, that was Baby Angela and Baby Ryan.

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook

So Cute I Just Vomited

OK, so I know that SITZBLOG is not known for being cute and fluffy, but I came across this picture of a baby polar bear cub, and I wanted to include it. I think it was born in Germany a while back. But who cares because, shit in a bucket, this bear is fucking adorable!

365: Picture a Day Project    365 Leftovers    All My Pictures    Sitzbook