He's Reading the Answers off a Card!

Today I reveal the depths of my nerdiness.

I was fixing dinner this evening, when I happened in on my wife watching the tail end of Jeopardy. I walked in on the Final Jeopardy clue, the category of which was "European Place Names," I believe. The clue was saying that this European country's name was formed from the Greek words "one" and "house." Well, being a good (Koine) Greek scholar, I knew that house in Greek is oikos, and one is heis, mia or hen, depending on its gender. (Oikos is masculine, so one would expect heis.) I was racking my brain to try to figure out which country it was, but alas, time ran out. The answer? Monaco. What?

At least all three contestants missed it, too. Alex Trebec mentioned that in Greek, mono was "one," hence Monaco (mono+oikos). Now there's only one problem: Mono- in Greek does not mean "one," it means "only or alone," as in the only one of a certain class (e.g., "only begotten son" in John 3:16 is ho huios ho monogenes). As previously stated, heis refers to the cardinal number. It is true that the mono- prefix in English has come to mean "one" (monocle, monopoly), but I felt that this question was quite misleading and, well, wrong.

I looked on jeopardy.com for some avenue to inform them about their mistake, but of course they don't want to hear from Joe Sixpack about errors in their show, and I don't blame them.* So what's a frustated, overly educated future Jeopardy hopeful to do? That's right, complain to you.

Hey, at least you learned something. Namely, that I am a big nerd.

*Addendum, 5/1/09: I discovered today that Jeopardy does provide a mechanism for reporting errors on the show. I stand corrected.

The Bean - Beatnik Poetry

The bean

The brew

French press

Mr. Coffee

How do I like it?

27 cups a day

Don't eat an orange

Arabica addicted

Organic fair-trade, please

Kitamu kraving

Bananas are okay

Summit tumbler

Cream and sugar

Turkish

Press the French

The brew

The bean

The Feud - Part I

We were on the run.

Bravo had assured me that his plan would go off without a hitch. Given past experience, I had no reason to doubt him. It really was a run-of-the-mill job. We had contracted our services out to an elderly man, an Ecuadorian varón named El Corazón. El Corazón was the patriarch of an ancient and noble Ecuadorian family, a family who had been engaged in a feud with la familia Pudín for seventy-five years. El Corazón was nearing death, and he wanted to take the Pudines with him to the grave. He asked us to do what he could not, and we happily obliged, taking a large amount of his pesos in the process. It was nothing we hadn’t done before.

When we first arrived in Guayaquil, I attempted to befriend Pachoso Pudín, the eldest grandson in the family. He was a young man, close to my own age, and I knew from El Corazón that he frequented a coffee shop on the port. He was a loudmouth, a braggart, and our target. I walked into the shop on a Tuesday morning and nonchalantly sat down near him. I ordered a macchiato and listened.

“No, you are a fool! Do you know nothing about me? Do you think that I could not do such a thing?” Pachoso demanded.

“I did not say you could not do such a thing. I merely stated my belief that you would not do such a thing, señor,” replied the other man.

“I will tell you what I will do or will not do! Get out of my sight, cerdo!” The other man smirked and walked out.

I took the opportunity presented to me. “You seem to have a way with people, señor.”

Pachoso turned and glared at me. “¿Tienes un problema conmigo? Do you have a problem with me?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “I notice that you are a passionate man, a strong man. It seems strange that you are in a coffee shop bickering with whomever enters, when you could be…”

My pregnant pause was the bait. Pachoso was the hungry fish. “Could be what?”

“Could be using your passion and strength to your advantage.”

His mood changed from rage to guarded curiosity. “What is your name, señor?” he asked.

“Rico. My name is Rico Sabor, and we have much to discuss.”

*****

Later that afternoon I returned to the hotel room, where Bravo, as usual, was reading a book. Not lifting his eyes from the page, he gave a brief nod of assent as I walked past. I sat down on my bed and recalled the events of the day.

After piquing Pachoso’s curiosity, I had informed him that I was a businessman with ties to the Peruvian underworld. I had been in Guayaquil for a few months looking for a suitable partner for some under-the-table business transactions. I had learned of him through a mutual acquaintance of his uncle, and I informed him that I thought he had the machismo to handle any unfortunate “tasks” that might have to be performed. I promised him a large salary and a cut of the profits to boot for his services. Although he was already rich with his family’s money, he was greedy. He was also a scared man on the inside, and he sought to prove his own machismo to himself through violence. He readily agreed to the deal without so much as asking a single question. El Corazón had identified his weaknesses perfectly.

By now Bravo had finished his book. He was an adept and skillful reader—devouring five pages per minute and retaining every word with his photographic memory. He could quote Shakespeare at length when pressed, or memorize the blueprints of a building at a single glance.

“He took the bait,” I reported.

“Good. Now we wait,” he replied.

To be continued...

My New Toys

Seagull Mini Jumbo M6 Cutaway QII. I bought this Seagull last week to replace my old S6, which was stolen last month. The MJM6 has a bright sound with a good amount of "pop" to it, compared to the S6's more mellow tones. I don't like its acoustic sound quite as well as my old guitar, but then again the MJM6 looks like it has hardly been played, and my old axe had years of constant action refining its sound. On the other hand, the MJM6 has a better preamp, so I am pretty sure it will sound even better plugged in than the S6. Plus, it looks totally awesome.

Seagull S12+. I have been wanting a twelve-string guitar almost as long as I have been playing. Finally, I got one yesterday. It replaces the other three guitars I used to have, which were stolen along with the S6. This guitar has the same great sound that my S6 used to have, except twice as many strings to produce even more of it. Plus, now I can play Life By the Drop just like SRV! Well, like SRV without the talent, anyway.

Whatever You Like

Tuesday, October 7, 2008, was among the most important days of the new millennium.  Why, you ask?  I'll tell you why.  This is why: "Weird Al" Yankovic, one of my favorite musicians of all time, released his latest single, "Whatever You Like", on iTunes.  It is the eponymous parody of T.I.'s hit song.  

As usual, Weird Al has taken a hit song, improved the lyrical content and performed it better than the original.  (Seriously, am I the only one that cringes at the horrible thought of T.I. singing?  Stick to rap, T.)  So, for your auditory pleasure, here is the better version of "Whatever You Like".  You should still buy it on iTunes, though.  C'mon, it's only 99 cents!  

For Emilio

"You need an alias," said Bravo one evening, in his usual nonplussed way, over a cup of coffee in Tallinn.

"You've never even asked me what my actual name is. Now I need an alias?" I responded.

"Yes."

"For the next job, right?"

"No. From now on. Here." He slid a passport across the table. The name under the picture (how did he even get my picture?) was Rico Sabor. "Now let's go."

He stood and left the building. I hurried along behind him, clutching my new identity tightly. I could feel my heart begin to pound against the inside of my chest, just like it always did when it was time. (The ancient Greeks had a word for this--kairos, the appointed time. I knew exactly what they meant.) My heart's rhythm matched precisely the beating against the outside of my chest made by the .357 in my shoulder holster. I hated the gun, hated using it, hating everything about it, but it had saved my life many times. It was a lucky burden.

We were heading to the warehouse district. It was a 10-minute brisk walk from the coffee shop, but Bravo's efficient gate forced us there in eight. We walked along the steel facades until we reached the door of one of them. Upon it was painted the number 27. The door was slightly ajar, and we slid into the darkness.

After my eyes adjusted, I knew why we were here. Before us was a lone helicopter. It was one I had seen before. It belonged to a Colombian drug lord, and no friend of Bravo's. The man had, in fact, "disposed of" the only family Bravo had ever had, a half-brother named Emilio. The drug lord had disappeared a number of months ago and was presumed dead. Bravo was furious at the news (although only a skilled observer could tell this--it was the split-second look in his eyes), but apparently he had learnt otherwise.

"Stand watch," Bravo ordered. I thought I had seen that look again, for the briefest moment. Nevertheless, I drew my weapon and stood by the helicopter as Bravo entered the cockpit. Five minutes later, he exited. "Let's go."

Exactly nine days later, we were in Gdansk. I was watching the BBC news, when I saw footage of a lone helicopter. A tourist had captured it on tape. The helicopter was flying erratically, like a drunken bumblebee, although there was no sign of any mechanical malfunctions. The pilot could be seen waving his arms wildly, as if vehemently refusing an order of rancid steak. Then, without warning, he stopped, crossed himself, and jumped out of the cockpit to the city streets below. If he had a parachute, he did not deploy it.

"That was for Emilio," said Bravo, looking up momentarily from his book. For a split second, I thought I saw a look of joy mixed with sorrow.

Random Thoughts.

• Jessica and I went to Bicentennial Park yesterday to play a round of miniature golf. We ended up playing behind a couple of guys in their early 20s (if that old). Contra the posted rules, they were sucking down a couple of Coors Lights while playing. They were also cursing profusely. Oh, yeah, there were a bunch of little kids playing in front of them, too. The sad part was, I couldn't tell if they were drunk or just stupid--or both. Thankfully they left, but their negative example was a good reminder of a few things: 1) There is a reason why the Bible instructs us not to get drunk. 2) Having a vocabulary composed exclusively of monosyllabic vulgarities makes you look like a complete idiot.


• I'm sitting here watching the Olympics on NBC. They're showing women's volleyball (US vs. Japan). It's strange that normally I would never watch volleyball, but since it's the Olympics, not only am I watching, I am rooting for the US. In fact, it seems like no matter what the event is--even if I have never heard of it--when it's Olympic time, then, by God, the US had better win! I'm even considering watching the US men's basketball team. (Hey, I just said considering.)


• I get the chance to preach through the book of Ruth at church this month, starting tonight. When you haven't preached in a while, you forget the weight of the task. I will be up in front of God and everyone with the "definitive" word on Ruth. Who am I? Just some guy with a degree in biblical studies--almost. I feel pretty confident that I'm in the ballpark with my exegesis. Hopefully I can tailor the message sufficiently to keep the congregation interested. At least I'm in front of a very forgiving crowd!


• Always remember: Jesus can walk on water, but Chuck Norris can swim on land.