Sitzblog

Debugging Man and Machine

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 22:45:00 +0000

For a period of about two months, my computer was having trouble with its anti-virus program. Apparently, the utility it used to update virus definitions got --wait for it-- a virus. As you may know, I hardly ever connect my computer to the internet anyhow, but it was still annoying. That dilemma, along with a new hare-brained scheme to charge for parking in Palmares, has resulted in me being a bit M.I.A. on the blogging scene of late. In the end, the virus problem got resolved after a couple weeks of back-and-forth emails to Customer Service. However, another potential problem remained.

When I was driving back from an in-service day in San Jose a few weeks ago, some of my coworkers were talking about traveling sicknesses, and the topic turned to "de-parasiting" pills. Evidently, many people here routinely take a pill every now and then to get rid of parasites. "What," they asked me, "You've never taken one of those pills before?" Well, I'd not. Evidently, my trip to Nicaragua a few years ago may have left me with more souvenirs that I had imagined. Plus, I'd been waking up with teeth and jaw-aches, and apparently grinding and clenching teeth is also a common result of parasites.

So, Angela and I bought some pills at the pharmacy and took them, crossing our fingers and hoping for luck. Next up, we have to take Chubby (our new grey cat) to the vet to get de-wormed also.

Ah, Costa Rica. It'll infect you with love. And other stuff.

Novemblog

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 03:02:00 +0000

If you remember reading my blog around this time last year (probably not, so here's the link), I mentioned that November was --and indeed still is-- NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. Last year I attempted to write a novel, but unfortunately it fizzled out sometime mid-month. But I was excited and motivated to start anew this year and get the bastard churned out once and for all.

Until I realized that I couldn't write a novel.

In fact, around October 31st, it occurred to me that I actually quite suck at writing fiction in general. I had never really considered my writing, or most writing, for that matter, in such broad strokes as "fiction" and "non-ficiton," but the more I thought about it, what I write on this blog and anywhere else is basically non-fiction. Actually, the last "fiction" thing I wrote was probably in some "creative writing" class at Timnath Elementary School, about two decades ago. If I'm not mistaken, it would have probably involved a talking dog and the DeLorean from Back to the Future.

But I digress. The main point is that I write non-fiction. Moreover, I actually strive to write essays. When I was a high school student, I probably would have been amazed to know that I'd turn into such a nerdhole who enjoys writing essays about current topics in the world, but there you have it. And some of my favorite authors --David Sedaris, Dave Barry, David Rakoff, and what the hell why are all of these guys named Dave, now that I think about it-- are also non-fiction essayists. I guess that propensity towards non-fiction explains why my novels were turning out to be such shit. Once I came to that realization, I concluded that I'd in fact not write a novel. I just couldn't face the self-recriminations and guilt that I would feel if I set out to do something so grand, only to fail... or worse yet, to succeed and to actually complete a novel, although likely a novel that I feared even I myself would find tacky.

So, I'm gonna keep writing non-fiction. I was actually going to continue my Blogtoberfest idea I started last year, but unfortunately I remembered that idea around October 17th, far too late to pick up the Blogtoberfest celebrations in drunken earnest. But I'll see what I can do about making this November a so-called "Novemblog." As usual, I've got quite a few blog ideas on little sticky notes and spiral notebooks, so I'll try to flesh those out in more detail this month.

Until then, thanks for reading, and good luck to all of this month's novelists!

What A Country!

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 03:12:00 +0000

Sometimes in this blog, it's easy for me to get too focused on the bizarre, annoying, and mind-baffling aspects of life in Costa Rica, and I forget to mention the things that make living here great.

Things like Coffee Flakes:

When you wander out of bed around 10 AM and slip into your Technicolor Dreamcoat, there's only one thing on your mind: "How's about we get a balanced breakfast into this-a here body, with as much coffee as possible!"

Well, with Coffee Flakes, you no longer have to pour both coffee and milk on your cornflakes, since the coffee's included, babies! So pull up a chair, get a place with a view of the Jumbo Atlas (since there's no newspaper delivery in Berlin) and pour yourself a big bowl of Coffee Flakes to start the day off right!

Your body will thank you.

Some Pictures To Get Caught Up

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 18:13:00 +0000

I've been carrying around my little USB flash drive thing for a while now, and it's got some pictures that I meant to put up one time or another, but never had the chance. So, here are some selected pictures of what's been going on here recently:

This is a little flower/rock garden I made in the front of our house from rocks I dug up in the yard (while trying to flatten the dirt for the grass). We got those little bushes put in, too, by the same people who brought the sod. I was impressed, since it was only about 100 bucks for 360 of those little plants, and the people even planted them for us.

Back for Costa Rican Mother's Day (August 15th), we took Angela's mom and her sister Toni to Termales del Bosque, one of our favorite tourist spots. This is them enjoying a much-deserved froofy drink in the hot springs.

Also in August, we went to Colorado, but when we came back, we discovered that the drawers in our closet were all covered with mold on the bottom. It's hard to see here, but it was like salt and pepper mixed in with wasabi. Mold is depressing.

We also bought a couple dozen Costa Rican tamales recently when Berlín's community hall was broken into. Some thieves took the school's cooking supplies, so local mothers made and sold a bunch of tamales to pay to replace them. Why was the school in the community hall, you ask? Because the roof of the school blew off nearly a year ago in that fierce wind storm, and they've not gotten around to replacing it. Therefore, Berlín's school is back to one room, with plastic tarps dividing the grades. Dammit.

We bought a carrier to take our assorted cats to the vet, and for some reason Cucho loves to sleep there. Thus proving once and for all that Cucho is a moron.

My friend and ex-coworker Angie (or as I call her, "Fonseca Quiros," due to her last names) sent me this picture of us during a job fair. I'm the one on the right.

This is a nice plant called "rice and beans" due to its two flowers of different colors. On our trip to Limón during Annie's visit, a lady gave us a twig from the plant, and we put the twig in some water in our kitchen. A few months later, we have a beautiful plant.

When I was walking around Berlín the other day, there was fog everywhere except a little opening in the clouds, showing Puntarenas and the shining Gulf of Nicoya around it. Berlín is frustrating but beautiful at times.

Speaking of beautiful, here's an orchid that my mother-in-law Cecilia had growing on her back patio. It's strange, since it grows down, from the roots of the plant.

Nature's weird.

Well, thanks for reading. I'll be trying to get some more posts up later this week, but until then, hope this finds everyone in good health!

Still Around

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 22:32:00 +0000

I realized I've not been on the internet in a week or two (when my students started complaining that I'd not gotten their emails). I should remedy that. I'll get some posts written ASAP. And I've almost finished the video game Fable, about 5 years after most people finished it, I realize...

In the meantime, enjoy this poster/calendar displaying Costa Rican meat cuts (taken at my sister-in-law Toni's house):

(First Rule of Blogging: Always keep an image like this on hand to post in a hurry, just in case times get busy)

Roberto Barquero, Where Art Thou?!

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 22:44:00 +0000

Costa Rica doesn't have the gameshow The Price is Right. That means that we also don't have the benefit of Bob Barker's daily message to control the pet population by getting our pets spayed or neutered.

In other words, we have another freaking cat.

And it's small. Like the others, this one just showed up at our place. It sucks to be an animal in Berlín, so we decided to take him/her/it in. Name pending, although I like "Steel Blue" or "Blue Steel," whichever one Zoolander called his "look."

Well, whatever. It's cute and friendly, at least.

Our full-time cat Cucho gave it his usual warm welcome that he gives to all newcomers: "Can You Feel The Love Tonight?"

More to come.

400th Post!

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 22:41:00 +0000

Woo-Hoo!
That last post about miel de ayote was my 400th post on this blog! To celebrate, tonight we're gonna have a flash party (like a flash mob, but less prone to violence and more in the vein of partying down)! I'll be live blogging the event (with a delay of a few days until I get connected to the internet again)!
See you at the party, starting in T-minus 20 minutes!
Woo-Hoo!

Costa Rican Cookin': Miel De Ayote

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 00:55:00 +0000

Hello again! We're back in the kitchen with another tasty recipe that's sure to get your mouth watering. Today we'll be observing my sister-in-law (and neighbor) Antonieta at work in her kitchen. If you remember my last post about chorreadas de elote, my intention was to get some more traditional recipes on here, but at the same time, to find ones that could be prepared outside of Costa Rica. I thought today's miel de ayote would be a good option, since ayote is related to squash and pumpkins. However, when I saw the procedure, I began to doubt that many of my readers would be trying this at home. In any case, I'll still give you the run-down, so you can do a bit of armchair (or deskchair) cooking:

First of all, you'll need to get an ayote or some type of pumpkin or squash. I think that ayotes are distinct from pumpkins and squash in that they're hard as hell (BYOMachete), and they have what appears to be a horrid skin disease on their outer shells:

This is the kind of thing that makes you want to turn around and walk back in the direction you came from. In any case, you gotta hack this bastard into some small chunks using a machete, an axe, or a big-ass knife.

Here's Toni showing the other reason I'm thinking this recipe may not work to well in the U.S.: tapa de dulce. This is basically a huge compressed chunk of sugar cane. Brown sugar would give you a similar taste, but it may not work the same. In any case, you have to chop and wash the tapa de dulce and add it to a pot with the ayote. That's how hard this sugar is: it fears neither water nor machete!

After accomodating the chunks of ayote (blistery side down) and dulce in the pot, you'll want to put it over your wood fired stove.

Mwa ha haaaa! Wait, you don't have a wood-fired stove? Oh crap. Well, this may also work on a regular stove, but I don't quite know how to do it.

Once on the stove, add about a half-cup of water. This may seem like precious little water, but somehow once the sugar melts and bubbles, it'll do just fine.

Partially cover, and wait about an hour or so.

Watch, observe, and wait by the fire, listening to the rain on the roof.

After about an hour, check on the pot. It should look like boiling Gremlins.

You can use a spoon to spread some of the syrup (miel) all over the ayote. That'll help it absorb the flavor.

Depending on what you've got, you can serve the ayote either hot or cold. If you've got a really thin-shelled ayote, you can theoretically eat the shell, but generally it's best scooped out and served without the shell. It's good with a bit of milk, cream, or ice cream.

Delicioso!

In any case, I hope you liked this, and if anyone is brave enough to try this at home (or over a campfire somewhere), I'd love to hear from you!

Buen provecho!

Cool Video

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 02:34:00 +0000

Maybe one or two of you remembers when I reviewed a JEM album (damn, that must have been way back in aught-six). In any case, I liked her first album, "Finally Woken," and it appears that sometime between now and then, she released another, and it's got a cool video. You can check it out below. Evidently, it's made entirely of photographs (approximately 25,000 of them). Enjoy!

Technology is smart.

Sometimes, that is. If you can't see the video, you can try to watch it at JEM's website or youtube.

Getting Trashed: ¡Ay, Que Pereza!

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 02:27:00 +0000

New on the scene: A Berlín "Trash Cage"

STARDATE: Tuesday, September 22, 2009 (Last Tuesday): It appears that Berlín just got garbage service! For the developed world, this isn’t that much of a coup, and I don’t want to seem like some imperialist diva bitch trying to impose my native values on my new country. It’s just that all the communities surrounding us have had garbage service for years and years, but the trucks never came up the extra three or four miles. Instead, the people of Berlín were condemned to burn our trash in smoky piles, like post-apocalyptic refugee extras from a Mad Max movie.

We were suspecting that the service may come at some point; in the last week or so two metal containers (not really garbage cans, but rather a sort of “trash jail”) have appeared on the road to San Ramón. And in fact the speculation seems to be true. My sister-in-law Teresa, whose brother-in-law works for the San Ramón municipality, called Angela this morning to tell us the news: the garbage truck will drive by at 5:00 am on Tuesdays. Cool, right?

Not so fast there, Skippy, let’s take a closer look at this. Based on an informal poll conducted by Angela (she called her mom, sisters, and sisters-in-law), this service isn’t wanted in Berlín. Excuse me? Yep, it turns out that with the exception of Angela and Teresa (who apparently managed to miss the trash man this morning, since she was combing her hair to look nice while giving him the garbage), people aren’t interested in garbage collection.

When Angela called her family members, they all said some variation of, “Que pereza,” which has recently become my catch-all for all that is frustrating and mind-boggling in this two-coast land. Basically, it means “what laziness,” but it really translates to, “Sorry, but I’m too lazy to even contemplate, let alone accomplish, what we’re talking about right now.” It’s somewhere along the same sentiment fault line as the British “can’t be bothered” in terms of the bafflement and aggravation it causes me when I hear it. This lousy pereza may turn out to be the bane of my Costa Rican existence (although to be fair and balanced, I have to admit that the positive upshot of this whole phenomenon is that I can happily work my 20-hour part-time job, and everyone seems to consider that to be a quite full and satisfactory workload).

What was I bitching about? Ah yes, the garbage. So, que pereza, right? I guess I could understand that sentiment if you had to pay extra money for this service, or if you had a 5-km-long driveway; but in fact the service is one of the services –and possibly the only one-- that is apparently included with our miniscule property taxes. And as for the 5-km driveway, forget it. People in Berlín just apparently don’t want to walk a bag of trash 50 steps out to the road, and would instead prefer to burn it in a hole in the middle of a coffee field. And I could understand that sentiment if it were based on good, old-fashioned pyromania (after all, it is fun to burn trash, even though you smell like shit and burnt plastic afterwards), but the fact that it’s based on laziness and resistance to change, especially positive change, has caused me to end this post before my eyeballs explode.

UPDATE!: STARDATE: Today: Well, we're officially in week two of Trashgate, and it seems to have gone better this week. Apparently the priest made an announcement about the garbage at mass on Sunday (hmm... that clause can be read in a few ways... the priest evidently explained that the truck would be picking up the garbage on Tuesday mornings). As a result of the announcement, metal trash jails and sawed-off tin trums appeared all around the village, and people seem to be buying into the trash collection idea... slowly but surely.
Twenty years after the original Berlin Wall came down, Berlín's Wall of Trash is also beginning to tumble.
So, now to the question on everyone's mind: Who shall be our Hasselhoff?

Eliminate Prejudice: Be Color Blind!

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 03:36:00 +0000

(Click play on video to get in the right mood for this post):

OK.

We all know that the primary colors—so called due to the fact that you learn about them in primary school—are red, yellow, and blue. According to Timnath Elementary School lore, all other colors are made by mixing certain proportions of those three colors. Fair enough.

So why is green such hot shit, then? Did you ever think about it? When we think of colors, sure, we think of the primaries, but next we think of green, but not orange or purple. Why the bias? Here’s the sad truth, folks: green is just yellow mixed with blue, while orange is yellow and red, and purple is simply a splash of red mixed with a dash of blue.

Together we can stop this. Instead of greenery, ask your landscape designer for some purplery! Don’t be green with envy; instead, be orange with anger! Why ask your electric company to use green energy when they could be using mauve energy! And finally, stop eating collared greens and start eating collared ochres!

We’re coming for you, green.

Meet The New Scratch, Same As The Old Scratch

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 20:54:00 +0000

The other day people in my office kept calling my name. The same thing happened at my in-laws’ house, when my sister-in-law said my name a few times. When I looked up, she wasn’t looking at me, but she was frowning and pointing at a dinner plate. Has the world gone nuts?

Yes, it has gone nuts, but as it turns out it’s not my fault. It just so happens that I’ve got a weird name for Spanish speakers. As I wrote a while ago, my name has caused some trouble here (and God forbid we get my last name involved). Even after I introduce myself, most people here still call me Brian, and even the best spellers usually land somewhere between “Brayan” and “Raian” when writing my receipts, which for some reason almost always have to carry a name. In an attempt to avoid confusion, I’ve taken to calling myself “Angela Jimenez.” That hasn’t worked so well, though, since people don’t always realize that I’m giving them my wife’s name to make things easier, and instead they often think I’m saying “Ángel Jimenez,” which would be a guy’s name. I guess I don’t look like an Ángel nor an angel, so that tends to confuse things just as much. But we’re getting off track; why was my sister-in-law invoking my name to scold the dinner plate?

I'm not sure how it’s possible that this didn’t occur to me in the three years I’ve lived here, but “rayan” actually means “they scratch.” My sister-in-law was pointing at the glass plate and explaining why she didn’t use certain types of scrubbing pads, and in turn the staff at my work were saying that some people were scratching out something in writing. Hence, “rayan”… “they scratch.”

Now that I think about it, I had a similar problem while living in Germany. The “ai” plus the short “i” diphthong sounds in my name seemed to cause the Germans just as much trouble as the Costa Ricans, but instead of making my name longer, the Germans would usually shorten it. The R usually converted into a guttural scratch (in the north) or a slightly trilled R (in the south), and somewhere in the process my name got downgraded to one syllable. As we all know, the Rhine flows through Germany, and so does the Ryan (at least when I’m floating down a river on my raft made of sausages).

To add confusion to that, “rein” is also a word in German, and it sounds the same as “Rhine”; rein can mean “pure” or “clean,” but it can also be used to mean “in” or “inward,” as in Komm ‘rein! (“come in!”). One of the host families I lived with in 1998 always loved to say “Komm ‘rein, Ryan!” And I can’t really blame them as long as I keep saying “No way, José.”

Obviously, this is meant to be humorous --oh shit, you’re not laughing?-- but it can have some serious implications when it comes to child naming. Angela and I half-joke that we’ve not had any kids yet since we’re not sure of 1) how many last names it would have or 2) what name wouldn’t be difficult to pronounce or sound ridiculous in one of our native languages. This concern came about after meeting a nearby auto mechanic named “Limber.”

If and when we do have kids, we’ve got to get something that can be easily pronounced, or else just pronounced with a different accent without making our kid sound like a tool. Some names we like so far are simple ones like Julia, Isabel, or Benjamin (although the shortened “Ben” sounds like ven, which is a command meaning “come here”). In any case, we’ll have to make sure our team of Naming Scientists are staying abreast of the situation. And like I said, kids aren’t in the works for the imminent future anyhow. But until then, we’ll keep our minds limber (and keep Limber on our minds).

R.I.P., Patrick Swayze

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 21:48:00 +0000

How come nobody told me Patrick Swayze died? What are friends and family for, if not to notify you of events like this?

I'm not sure why, but I liked Patrick Swayze's style. I'm not sure if I've seen any of his movies (except Ghost, which I hated). Even looking at his profile on IMDB, all I could think was, "WTF?" I think the only things there I may have seen are Donnie Darko and Point Break. But still, there was something about him that made him seem like a nice guy, and that counts for a lot.

In any case, it's too bad that he'd gone, but now I realize that at least he's got Kitty to keep him company. And, we can always remember his with the following strange clip from Mystery Science Theater 3000, circa a decade or two ago (what a flashback, eh?).

Enjoy (if that's the right word):

So, Rest In Peace, Patrick Swayze.

Whoops

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 19:47:00 +0000

On the way down the mountain just now, I accidently roadkilled a big lizard. I thought it was a leaf, so I tried to drive directly over it (there are both big leaves and big lizards on the road down to Palmares, and if they don't move, they look remarkably similar). Suddenly, it moved and ran right under my car tires. Yech, gross. Sorry there, lizard.

The weirdest thing about it all: Literally two seconds before hitting the lizard, I changed songs on the ipod. I didn't want to hear Danzig's "Bringer of Death," so I skipped it, only to ironically land on Def Leppard's "Bringin' on the Heartbreak." So, I'm sorry for the heartbreak I brought to his little lizard family.

Costa Rican Cookin': Chorreadas de Elote

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 22:01:00 +0000

Hello everyone! I've got a tasty bit of Costa Rican cuisine for you today. If you remember, I recently wrote about recipes involving flor de itabo and guineos; however, if you don't happen to have a itabo plant or a mini banana tree in your yard --and many of you don't-- then the recipes are more like armchair cooking than anything that can be pratical in your kitchen. For today's recipe, though, most people back in the states can play along... all you need are some fresh ears of corn, a pinch of salt, a hot pan, and a dream (dream optional).

Chorreadas de elote means, more or less, "poured corn" (elote is the local word for fresh, sweet corn as opposed to maíz, which I believe is usually dried corn). To start off with, you just need a couple of ears of fresh corn:

Here is my mother-in-law Cecilia with the corn.

Cecilia looks on as Angela cuts the corn from the cob. Gotta make sure she's not slacking. By the way, Angela's St. Regis basketball sweater reflects her passion for and commitment to both St. Regis and the sport of basketball. I once asked her why in the world she had that sweater, and she told me she got it at a second-hand store, and that she didn't like basketball at all. I thought that was interesting, since I also have a basketball T-shirt (Boulder Valley YMCA) that I got at a second-hand store, and I hate basketball. Just another reason our love was meant to be!

Pretty easy: just scrape the corn off the cob. Don't worry about the little corn hairs; they supposedly make the finished product taste better.

Next you've got to grind it. This is the hard part if you live in the U.S. and you're not into things where you need grinders and old kitchen supplies, like casing homemade sausages or making your own shotgun ammo. However, you can always use a blender or food processor, but you may have to drain a bit of the liquid a few steps from now.

Work it! As you see to the left, there's a little trickle of "corn milk" coming from where the base of the handle meets the grinder. That's being collected below the wood block, and will be added in a step or two.

I even got in on the fun.

Here's where you add the "corn milk": that's what was being collected separately below the grinder. If you do the grinding in a blender or food processor, you may actually have to drain some of the milk off, as opposed to adding it in. It just depends on how the grinder works.

Then, you gotta mix it to the consistency of a tapioca or a thick pancake batter. At this point, the rest of the process is basically like making pancakes:

Spoon some of the mixture out and spread it around. Let it cook in either an oiled or a non-stick pan for about 2 minutes, or until it can leave the bottom of the pan and be flipped.

Here's a flipped chorreada.

Cecilia's a good sport letting me photograph her, so thanks again to her for putting up with my questions and the constant flash bulb!

Dinner --or, more often, coffee-- is served! One person can usually eat about two or three of these things for coffee time, or as a sequel to dinner. The traditional Costa Rican way of serving chorreadas is with a fresh cup of coffee and some natilla, which is like a heavy sour cream. That's surely the most difficult part of this recipe for the people in the U.S. to acquire, but you could use American-style sour cream, or possibly crème fraiche or even yogurt. And, I've been known to sneak one of these beauties topped with butter and maple syrup, which makes it like a pancake-y type of cornbread... just don't tell the Costa Ricans!

And finally, how you eat it is just as important: you have to use your hands, since utensils are only for panty-waists!
Oh, and this is the lovely Angela with her newly-painted fingernails. She's really getting into painting nails, and if we ever go to the U.S., she's trying to get a client list ready (we told her that some people pay upwards for 40 bucks to get finger or toenails painted!). Also, I included this picture because she is clearly wearing her wedding ring on her right hand, like I do, so I wanted to prove I'm not the only weirdo!

Anyhow, thanks for tuning in, and if you happen to try making the recipe, please chime in with any comments, tips, or any other comments!

Buen provecho!

R.I.P., Kitty

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 20:55:00 +0000

Last Friday our little cat—the tiny black and white one we called “Kitty”—died suddenly. The circumstances of her death were sad and strange.

As you may remember, we had taken her to the vet to get spayed about a month ago, only to find that she was already pregnant. She was also quite sick, and with the medicine and other vaccinations, her litter of kittens didn’t survive. She was mopey and seemed depressed for a bit, but a month after she lost the kittens, we once again took her to the vet to get her spayed once and for all.

Apparently, during the surgery, she had a sort of heart attack or seizure, or else her body just stopped working. The vet was alarmed, so she performed an autopsy, only to find that Kitty barely had had any lungs (apparently they were about the size of a dime), and that she also had no diaphragm. The vet said she’d never seen anything like it in her years of practice and surgery, and that the fact that Kitty had even been alive in the first place was a sort of little miracle. In fact, the vet said Kitty didn’t even have the necessary organs to be alive. So, it also explained why the cat always had such trouble breathing, and why she remained stationary most of the time. In any case, the vet was very considerate and compassionate, and explained the surgery and autopsy photos to Angela, who had gone to pick up Kitty and was somewhat in shock.

So, we were a bit down this past weekend. It’s surprising that despite the fact we had had Kitty for a very short time, we had grown to care for her very much. She was an incredibly sweet little thing, and she only seemed interested in giving and receiving a bit of love here and there. If you sat on the steps, she’d come and collapse into your lap, and just stay there till you made her get off. She also had a penchant for trying to fight with our other cat Cucho (see picture above), which, given her medical condition, age, size, and gender, seemed quite strange, but we didn’t mind since Cucho’s haughtiness probably could have done with an occasional ass-kicking by a sick, little girl cat.

Kitty’s life was quite intense, now that I think of it. She seemed to have been sent to us in order to “live fast, love hard, die young, and leave a beautiful memory,” in the words of the Faron Young song. Angela and I are certainly sad that she’s gone, but we also now consider her stay here to have been a sort of test. Maybe we’re given chances in life to see how we treat the most feeble, weak, and desperate creatures, to understand what our moral fiber is made of. Perhaps Kitty knew she was not meant to be on this world for more than a few months, and maybe she was sent to us or came to us instinctively, hoping to find someone nice to take care of her in a sea of hostility, in a mean world. We also hope that we passed that test.

So, Kitty, hopefully you’re in cat heaven with my old cat Pussypie, playing together with a catnip mouse, or maybe just casually kicking his ass a little bit.

Either way, we’ll miss you.

Colorado Pictures + Running Commentary!

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 22:40:00 +0000

I've finally got a bit of extra time to put up some pictures from our Colorado visit, complete with captions and smart-ass remarks. I'll also put up some more pictures from Costa Rica ASAP so that you can see what we've been up to here, but in the meantime, enjoy these!

Angela at a liquor store with a big gold (-colored) statue. Looks like the old perv is trying to steal my woman.

Everything that makes America great: BBQ, root beer, regular beer, flip-flops, Michael Jackson, and Dustin Colburn! (You can find the various elements in the picture, just like Where's Waldo?)

My mom and Angela with some huge flower planters.

We got to visit Dustin as well as his wife Samantha in the respective schools where they teach. It was quite a different experience for Angela, who'd only seen Costa Rican schools, and even for me it was a bit of an eye-opener. I guess I had forgotten what it was like to go to school in Colorado. Here's Dustin teaching a math class. Look at the kids: they're being polite, paying attention, participating, and none is just walking around the room aimlessly. Weird.

Samantha, my mom, and Angela at a Japanese restaurant. Every time we go to Colorado I make sure we hit up all the ethnic joints that we don't have in Costa Rica. At first Angela was sort of annoyed by it all, but then she learned to use chopsticks.

Speaking of ethnic food, here are some delicious Mexican nachos and a tamal. You can tell it's Mexican and not Costa Rican 'cause the tamal has sauce that's vaguely spicy and the nachos feature neither ketchup NOR mayonnaise, which are part of Standard Operating Procedure when it comes to Tico Nachos.

Speaking of Costa Rica, we saw this vehicle in Estes Park. I think it was the result of thousands and thousands of prayers from the people of Berlín, Costa Rica: An enormous, mid-80s, 14-passenger Land Cruiser! Unfortunately, God sent it to Colorado instead of here.

On the day we arrived to Colorado, we visited my grandma who's in hip rehab. (That sounds strange, but "rehabilitation center" sounds pretty druggy.) In any case, she had a hip replacement replaced, so she was staying there to get physical therapy. The ladies in this picture are wearing aprons that Angela sewed for them: My aunt Kathy, my cousin Kiersten, Angela, my grandma, my mom, and my cousin Katie.

We also visited my other aunt, Kris (left). My mom's looks like she's in a Ghostbusters tribute band because she's wearing a beekeeping uniform (Kris has a ton of bees).

Angela in the beekeeping jacket. She sort of looks like a fencer with a swollen head. And as for why she decided to tuck her pants into her socks... well, I got nothin'.

Kris with a honeycomb.

Kris, mom, and Angela checking out bees.

A family portrait, and also a preview of this year's Christmas card (which will arrive to your mailbox around January 12th, 2010): my dad, Angela, sister Di, mom, brother Paul, Paul's dog Iris, and me.

Speaking of Paul's dog, here she is with Angela and me. We are on the way to Estes Park, in the Colorado mountains just outside of Rocky Mountain National Park.

We're one of those families who tends to have tons of dog pictures.

Angela (the scared one in red) and I on a gondola.

A chubby-cheeked chipmunk. This is the part of the show where it's like Kill Bill, and things suddenly go black and white for a bit.

Nice tree.

Di, Iris, and Paul.

"One with just the kids." Paul looks like he's got one of those fauxhawks in this picture but don't worry, he doesn't. He has in fact rolled up his pant legs, though, and I'm not sure what's going on with that Tom Sawyer shit. Also, we decided that Angela's hat makes her look like Blossom, but she didn't know who Blossom is/was. And as for a sarcastic comment directed at myself, well, it's hardly worth the effort. I'm a tool and we all know it.

Anyhow, thanks for looking, and hopefully there was something interesting. Stay tuned, since I've got some good --and tasty!-- material coming up!

Scary Saturday Night Video

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 22:26:00 +0000

Quite possibly, this is the freakiest thing I've ever seen:

Enjoy, if that's possible.

Preview: Colorado Pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 21:54:00 +0000

Well, it's been a pretty busy time since we got back from Colorado last Friday (Season 8 of Smallville doesn't just watch itself, you know!), so I've not been to the internet café till now. I've been working on getting some photos and blog material together but in the meantime, if you're bored, you can check out my and Angela's Colorado pictures on my flickr account (just click on any of the links in this sentence).

I had almost forgotten that I had a flickr account, but I recently have been getting back into the swing of updating it. I'll try to give notice if there's ever something interesting there. Don't worry, though, I'll also put the "highlights" of those pictures up on this blog within the next few days, complete with the smart-ass commentary you've come to know and expect from Sitzblog.

Till then, happy viewing!

My Stamp Collection

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 23:27:00 +0000

Today I had to take a Bureaucracy Day. When you live in Latin America—or Germany—you occasionally have to set aside these days to do tedious paperwork and run around town trying to obtain documents, signatures, and various stamps of the rubber, postage, and embossed varieties.

Today’s Bureaucracy Day was related to my birth certificate. In my naturalization process, I need to have this document up to Costa Rica’s strict bureaucratic standards, and a simple document issued in 1980 by Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins with Baby Sitzman’s footprints just won’t cut it; neither will the fact that IF I am here now, talking to you and attempting to be naturalized, then it mean that I must have been born… so why all the fuss about the who’s, where’s, when’s, why’s, and how’s?

If you ever try to get either Permanent Resident or Citizen status in this country, you need to get all your documents—anywhere from 4 to 12 documents, depending on the circumstances--certified. A few times, by a few different people. Here’s an example, detailing how to do get your birth certificate up to bureaucratic speed:

First, you’ll need an official birth certificate. To do that, you may need to sign a lot of Power of Attorney documents so that your mom can request a copy of the birth certificate (Thanks, Ma!). Then, either you (or your mom) will have to send or take that birth certificate to the Secretary of State of the Great State of Colorado (if you were born in Colorado, like me). There, the secretary of state (or a machine that can copy his signature) will fill out a piece of paper stating that the signature on your birth certificate (that of one “Ronald S. Hyman”) was authentic and that Mr. Hyman was the duly appointed State Registrar of the State of Colorado at the time he signed the document. They’ll also put on a nice embossed stamp with the Great Seal of the State of Colorado. Then, you (or, again, your mom…thanks, Ma!) will have to get the birth certificate and the certification sent to the Consulate of Costa Rica in Houston, Texas. There, Consul Dania L Garcia Diaz will partially fill out another form stating that Bernie Buescher was actually the Secretary of State of Colorado, and that his certification of your birth certificate was authentic. Wait, did I say “partially fill out”? Yes, I did. Because then after that document gets sent back to you (or your mom), you (or your mom) has to get that document to Costa Rica. That honor fell to our dear friends Dustin and Sam when they visited us, schlepped document in hand. The next step is pretty simple. That partially filled out form from the Consulate in Houston needs to be taken to the Foreign Relations Ministry Consular Services Department in San José to be authenticated. There, Eduardo Cubero Barrantes will testify that “the preceding signature, the one of the Consul of Costa Rica in Houston, is authentic.” Yep, Señor Barrantes will authenticate the authentication of a certification of a certificate of my birth. Notice the usage of the future tense, with “will” in that last sentence. Because first you have to go to the Banco de Costa Rica and deposit 625 colones (approximately $1.10) for the legal “timbres,” which were basically like little postage stamps, but which have since been eliminated due to corruption and overcharging by people who would hoard stamps when the authorities would run out. So now, the deposit is just a 45-minute wait in line at the bank away.

At this point, you may be thinking, "Can't we just trust each other, and maybe use the honor system?" How charmingly silly of you. If we used the honor system, then how would the Republic of Costa Rica know that you weren't associated with Al Qaeda or --even worse!-- Nicaragua? Why are you complaining about this process, if you've got nothing to hide? You're not some sort of criminal or terrorist or foreigner, are you??

So when you get the receipt from the bank, take that and the little packet of authentications back to the Foreign Relations Whatever Place. They’ll glue the bank receipt to the back of the authentication, and put three nice stamps on it (also, make sure the bank teller puts a stamp on the receipt, or else it will not be accepted). Finally, you’re ready, and all that’s left for you to do is get the document translated into Spanish by a translator who’s certified by that Foreign Relations place. They have a list of a couple hundred of translators, but with addresses in Costa Rica being relatively vague or nonexistent, you may want to ask the lady at the information desk for advice. She’ll tell you that 200 meters south of the Parque España (which itself is 100 meters south of the Foreign Relations building), there’s a guy who can do the translation. This is true, but when you go 200 meters south of the park, there’ll be no sign of this translator's office, nor of the “Edificio Borges,” which is the name of the building where his office supposedly is. You’ll have to ask a pair of police officers loitering on the corner, and they’ll point you another 100 meters (one block) to the south. There you’ll have to ask a crazy old lady looking out the bars of her window, a guy in a staircase, and another guy in the furniture store, and they’ll all have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, an Edificio Borges? So, you’ll have to double back 100 meters, try not to make eye contact with the cops who gave you bad directions, and then call the office. Obviously, it’s about noon and there’s approximately 1,200 buses in that intersection, so you’ll have to slip into a church to try to make the call, but there’s no reception there. The secretary at the translator’s office will complain that she can’t hear you and then pass you to another guy, who’ll say he’s looking out the window at two police officers; do you see them? Sure, you’ll say, and then you’ll have to go wait near the cops and the guy will come meet you there (and a guy on a yellow moped will eat shit when he ditches his bike, after running a red light and nearly plowing into a girl, Thank God she’s OK, what a freakin' dickhead on his yellow moped anyhow, am I right?). Finally, the guy from the office will find you, take you up to the office, and then the translator will translate your document for a relatively low fee of $20 (plus another 15 colones for three more timbres…what??...is that about 6 cents, or is my math off?). Signed, sealed, delivered! Or, more accurately, “signed, sealed, sealed, stamped, stamped, stamped, stapled, and delivered”! You’re set!

Now, be on your way, young man! Your birth certificate has been deemed appropriate by just about everyone except the taxi driver who’ll take you to the bus station or the drunk homeless guy who’ll try to open your door at the curb to “earn a tip.” Your birth certificate has been baptized in stamp ink and sponge water used for moistening stamps; it’s been converted from a mere document to a sort of booklet, una novela de autenticacion, if you will. You can now go home and rest assured that you are successful, and that you’ve got one document gathered, and only about five more to go.

Coming To America

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 18:50:00 +0000

Just a quick note to let you all know that Angela and I will be going to Colorado this next week. We'll get in on Saturday the 22nd at noon and leave on the following Thursday evening. We're already pretty booked up on the weekend, but if you have a bit of free time during the week and want to try to meet up, send me an email or give us a call at my folks' house.
Hope to see some of you soon!

Mother's Day, Costa Rican Style

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 00:09:00 +0000

Yesterday was Mother's Day here in Costa Rica. It's always August 15th, which probably does wonders for having children remember it, as opposed to having it on a random Sunday in May or so (and the fact that it's a national holiday probably helps, as well). So, last night we went to Angela's parents' house to celebrate. Here's her mother, Cecilia:

Last weekend, Angela and I took her mother and her sister / godmother Antonieta to the Termales del Bosque hot springs, one of our favorite tourist spots. I wish I had remembered to bring some pictures of that excursion with me to the internet café today, but I didn't so I'll have to put them up another day. Needless to say, it was a fun time, and they seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.

The Man Table on Mother's Day. Quite similar to the Man Table on Father's Day, actually, only perhaps with a few people sitting in different chairs. For these holidays, the guys tend to congregate around a case of beer and some jaibols, which is just the Spanish spelling of "highball"... the Costa Rican version is whiskey with Ginger Ale.
In the meantime, the women sit in the kitchen and talk, while the assorted kids and grandkids roam the house, free-range style. It's a pretty fun and noisy enterprise!

Finally, we took a lot of family pictures near the end of the evening when the guys were all nice and buzzed. I won't put up all the families 'cause I've been at this internet café for five hours and NEED to get outta here, but here's the "family picture" of me and Angela, with a computer simulation of what our adorable children may look like in the future.

So, to all you mothers out there, including people who'd be called la pura madre, Happy Mother's Day!

Why Can't We Just Be A Normal Country?

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 00:05:00 +0000

So it turns out that our Costa Rican president, Oscar Arias, has come down with swine flu (AH1N1).

Seriously; I'm not making this stuff up.

Hm, this is weird. He's also an old guy with asthma. We'll have to see what happens with this.

KYRY (No, It's Not A Radio Station)

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 22:00:00 +0000

Well, last Friday we took in Cucho and our other cat, The Other Cat, to get fixed. Cucho's operation went off without a hitch, except for the fact that we can no longer call him Coochie-Balls. Aside from an afternoon of slamming his head into a window (there was a bird outside, and he was still high on anaesthesia) he's recuperated fine, and doesn't seem to have noticed that anything's missing.

The Other Cat, on the other hand, is another story. First of all, we got caught totally off-guard when the vet assistant asked us the cat's name, since the cat didn't actually have a name. We usually called her "The Other Cat," so we stammered for a moment or two until Angela or I finally just said "Kitty," which is what we call her when we say things like, "Kitty, get your ass outside!" So apparently we have a second cat named either The Other Cat or Kitty (although the vet's assistant spelled "Kitty" as K-Y-R-Y, which, although it may seem incredibly dense of her, if you know about Spanish phonetics and pronunciation, the spelling actually makes sense).

So, we wanted to get Kitty fixed, too, since she, being female and all, was a lot more likely than Cucho to give birth to a bunch of other cats that we didn't really want. We were worried she may not be able to get the operation, though, since she was obviously sick with some sort of mucus and breathing problems. And, as it turns out, pregnancy. Dammit!

In any case, if the little cat gets through the antibiotics and whatever other medicines the vet gave her, then she may or may not give birth to 2 to 8 little bundles of mewing joy. And now we sort of feel more sorry for her, so we're trying to be extra nice to her. I'll keep you updated, but just in case, does anyone want a free cat??

(Picture by Dustin Colburn)

Return of The Dude!

noreply@blogger.com (Sitzman) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 20:58:00 +0000

It's been quite some time since we've seen our favorite Jeff Bridges character in film, but he's coming back soon! Check out this link to see the trailer!
Finally, a movie that speaks to MY lifestyle!