For all things Tooks, and some things, er, relating to other people. As well as to other things. You get the picture.

14 August 2005

This is my new dog, . (And that's my new Puma track jacket. Sweet, huh?) He's a two-month-old pure-bred mini dachshund. My ex-boss bought him for me, apparently on a whim, in or near Uvalde, Texas. He was waiting for me when I got back to Austin Friday night. I do not consider this normal. But he's cute as a button and he appears to speak Spanish. So I guess I'll keep him.

Proposed names include Patacon (a kind of Colombian fried plantain slice), Topolino (Italian for "small mouse"), Baxter, Peluche (Spanish for "stuffed animal"), Deuce, Dooker, Dooks 88, Eighty-eight, Brian, Brownie, Johnny Damon, Caramelo, Dulce de Leche, Arequipe, Mojado, Sox, and St. John of the Cross.

We desperately need your help, dear reader, or this diminutive hound might end up with a lame-o name--and we all know how dangerous this can be for a young canine. It could sabotage his house-training, and who knows what kind of havoc it could play with his chances with the ladies? Comment me with names for this dog. I will compose and post a short epic poem in honor of the suggester of the winning name. This is a prize you definitely want to win. Don't delay, faithful Tooks-ers: you oughta see the sadness in his eyes when I have to call him "Hey, you."

Slap a name on this pup with me,

This is my mustache, now history. Well, sort of. Really it's making a secret comeback. But don't tell my sideburns--they'd get jealous. I know, I know--sooner or later I'll have to break it to them. But I just want to let them have their moment in the sun.

Let it not be said that I don't eventually come through with promised pics.

Be a promise-keeper with me,

11 August 2005

(musical cue: Boyz II Men, "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday")

Here's to old friends--the oldest (not in the sense of elderly amigos, but rather historical chums).

And here's to great new ones: Wayback, Morgo--you know who you are.

Here's to nut-sweat hot, no A/C, noodles-on-the-floor third floor dorms.

Here's to pushups and situps at 6:45 a.m. and the human snooze buttton.

Here's to _The Family Guy_ , and _School of Rock_, _Fay of the Dead_, and _Anchorman_, sweet, sweet Anchorman. (You are a delight!)

Here's to Deano, french toast sticks, and my potentially-lethal cholesterol level.

Here's to Koreans, Saudis, Taiwanese, Brazilians, Mexicans, Hong-Kongalese, and Thais--sweet sweet Thais.

Here's to the rebirth of joy buzzers, poison gum, and 8,000-volt staplers.

Here's to Beantown, embittered Haitian cabbies, the Vinyid, and an unknown minstrel tearing out Van Morrison's "Sweet Thing" _literally_ until his fingers bled. (Keep playing, and then you can have a band-aid.)

Here's to Sponge Bob and Strongbad.

Here's to Shin Cups--and no kim chi.

Here's to new loves, random hook-ups, and staying strong.

Here's to family time, whether you like it or not.

Here's to Puma, outlets, and the summer school faculty's unswerving commitment to restarting the Worcester economy, twelve burgundy jumpsuits at a time.

Here's to thousands of beers, and abusing our livers as never before--and maybe never again.

Here's to blessings, the time of our young lives, and perhaps our lovely last gasp--at least until the next big thing (or the Five Year Plan, whichever comes first).

Eat my heart first with me,