T is for

Dear world, although I don't consume swine, I am formally nominating myself as your sausage man.

Cathy and I got back earlier this week from a fantastic jaunt to Austin to where we ate a ton of food and hung out with awesome friends (in that particular order). Upon our return, Cathy declared the food in DC better than the food in Austin. I believe her reasoning is based primarily on the lack of Asian diversity. Speaking of which, we went to a bar our last night there to pick up some food. While Cathy and I were standing at the bar, shoulder to shoulder (sexy, right?), an older gentleman pointed to her but asked me "Vietnamese or Japanese?" I found that it was very understanding of him to both pick countries that were not China, and to ask the question of me, since you just never know who might be deaf & mute & from Asia. Cathy was not amused.

Our first day there was spent in the Czech-settled region outside of Austin. But first we ate some BBQ!



Then we headed out to the hinter-lands where we stopped in on a few of the amazing painted Catholic churches built by these Czech communities 100 years ago.



The next morning was spent in Molton where we went to a family sausage making. The men stayed outside butchering and grinding freshly slaughtered hogs, drinking beer and listening to Texas-Czech polka music. The woman were inside making amazing strudel. What does it say about me that I felt more at home with the ladies in the kitchen? Although I did not consume any of the swine, Cathy ate for the both of us. (although she ate and drank a ton while in Texas, the following picture is not Cathy)













The rest of the weekend was awesome but less picture friendly. We stayed with our wonderful friends Stuart and Larny who are the most amazing, hospitable people on earth. For some reason we ended up with a ton of pictures of Stuart and only one of Larny. What gives?

This is the closest thing I have to a shot of both Stuart and Larny.

J is for?

Oh no.

Josh S just wrote to me to let me know that technically Joshua IS Jesus in English since both Joshua and Jesus shared the hebrew name Yohoshua.

See Etymology below.

But here is the real issue. Cathy's REAL name in Korean means Jesus (since she as born on Christmas) and my name means Jesus (since I guess secretly my parents wanted a Christmas tree or a kid who could turn water in to Manishewitz for cost savings) I guess am living with myself. Oy.


Etymology

See also: Yeshua

"Jesus" (pronounced /ˈdʒiːzəs/) is a transliteration, occurring in a number of languages and based on the Latin Iesus, of the Greek Ἰησοῦς (Iēsoûs), itself a Hellenisation of the Hebrew יֵשׁוּעַ (Yēšûă‘) or Hebrew-Aramaic יְהוֹשֻׁעַ (Yĕhōšuă‘, Joshua), meaning "Yahweh delivers (or rescues)".^[31] "Christ" (pronounced /ˈkraɪst/) is a title derived from the Greek Χριστός (Christós), meaning the "Anointed One", a translation of the Hebrew מָשִׁיחַ (Messiah).^{[32][33]:274-275} A "Messiah" is a king anointed at God's direction or with God's approval, and Christians identify Jesus as the one foretold by Hebrew prophets."

I got rid of the beard since I am off to a conference in NCY today. Sorry dudes. Here is a picture of it and my hairy shoulders.

Long John Sliver

Yesterday, after a serious spinning class at the LA fitness (where the instructor referred to me as Mr. Scruffy, in reference to my increasingly face-overpowering-beard) and following the realization that the holidays and my travels packed an extra 9 pounds on my ass, I took a shower.

It was a fine shower with shitty LA Fitness dial soap. My post shower routine usually has me drying off, and then putting on my underthings before I head back into the locker room area, so as not to flaunt my covenant with the lord. Yesterday, however, I wore long johns under my jeans, since it is was cold as Cathy's heart outside. Not wanting to drag my long johns into the shower, for obvious reasons, I opted to walk from the shower into the locker area with my mini-towel held over my person-parts. Then, I decided that it might be embarrassing to change right into the long johns in the middle of the locker room, what with them being baggy, and my desire not to look completely like a mountain man lost in the mean city. So, what I attempted to do was slide both the john and the jeans on AT THE SAME TIME. This was a failure. With three Congolese guys laughing at me (I could tell, even if I didn't understand what they were staying) I tried to insert myself, one leg at a time, into my outfit. My first leg got caught in the johns, and I started to hop around, bare assed, nearly knocking one of the laughing men over with my hirsute backside. Then, when the leg started to go in, my big toe got caught on the underwear and ripped a hole right though, causing me to fall forward, cathing myself at the laft moment on a bench. Finally, after a good five minutes of public struggle I was able to assemble myself like an adult. I hate the winter.

The following is shot of people getting down in Colombia, where it was considerably warmer than 20 degrees F.

Up

Cathy and I just finished watching "Away We Go." Until she hit play, I was under the assumption that this was the movie about the fat kid and the flying house. It turns out that is another movie altogether.

The movie was very sweet and romantic, but Cathy spent the entirety of the film loudly complaining about the soundtrack, which was chock-full of low-level Nick Drake-like drivel. I was able to get past the maudlin music and focus the gooey-stuff, but Cathy held onto that rage like bun to a hot dog.