Tooks McBlogovich

Question:

What in the Sam Hill is up with this weather? It's positively fall-like. What, no Indian summer?

(Is that a racist term, btw? Would we say, white-guy summer? Hispanic summer? African-American summer? [We definitely would not say that last one.] We probably should come up with another term for when it's hot and about to become cool. Maybe the "Very-Very-End of Summer, Seriously." I welcome better proposals than this for the renaming of that special time that appears not to be in the lineup this year.)

Don't get me wrong: I don't mind the cool. Fall's my favorite time of year because I'm part Puritan. Cool weather means cold weather, and cold weather means I get to be punished for what I feel guilty about, i.e., everything.

But it's a little odd to miss out on the tail end of the heat. Who knows, though--maybe this climate change thing changed the good old Northeast when I was in Austin, and now fall arrives the third week of August. Or maybe I just forgot how things work up here, and it seems strange that it won't be 100 degrees in October. Whatever the case, it's cool, and I don't quite trust it.

Sleep with one weather eye open, with me,

TR

Tooks McBlogovich

Here's what we learned on the road:

We learned that little kids love little dogs in Bethlehem, PA. Also, abandoned steel mills are sad as hell.

We learned in Secaucus, NJ that although Jimmy Hoffa's whereabouts are still shrouded in mystery (in mystique, even), canoeing in the Hackansack is spectacular fun, especially with our favorite non-Jewish Jews. Also, watching _Rocky_ in New York with a rowdy crowd of hecklers-aficionados constitutes optimum viewing conditions.

And we learned that on-demand cable is the most satisfying invention since the electric blanket. Also, my family is mostly insane but mostly ok, too.

Sorry if we missed you in the PA, NJ and/or MA, but catch you on the next voyage.

Return the books on tape to the library with me,

TR

Check out that badass hound. And that badass 'stache. You got a permit for that thang, son?

Tooks McBlogovich

Please don't be alarmed at this rash of rash blogs. The truth is, I got home late from class, kenlowcellcellcell commented, and I just had to get back in the game in a big way.

Here's the thing: Will Ferrell (sp?) has a new movie out: Talladega (sp?) Nights. And I'm going to see it. In the theater. Now why, you may be asking yourself, gentle reader, why is this notoriously cheap bastard going to drop upwards of $8.50 to see a movie in the theater that is likely to be infantile, crass and regressive? The answer, aside from the obvious (Will Ferrell is a genius), has two names: Sascha (sp?) Baron Cohen. Need I say more? Ok, I might need: his aka is Ali G. Now do you get it? Booyakasha! Aaiight?

Watch the complete first season plus never-before-aired bonus scenes with me,
TR

Tooks McBlogovich

Sometimes people sweat a lot at eight in the morning. These times are called "August."

If you find yourself sweating, and you don't seem to be doing anything to deserve it--like working out or being accused of a crime you didn't commit--just keep that in mind: it's August. People sweat. It's the way God intended it. Air conditioning, as cool and clean and comfortable and beautiful and joyful and sweet as it may be, is not natural. And it's expensive. And it harms our earth. And it drips on people's heads outside your apartment. And it might make you fat, according to some researchers.

So just deal. Sweat a little. It builds character. Stay in the shade. Watch movies about the North Pole. Put ice down your pants. Swim in a local waterway, unless it's too polluted. (In that case, don't.) Discourage people from touching you, unless those people are holding glasses of lemonade to apply to the back of your neck, or damp washcloths to press against your forehead. Sweat, because it's August, and it's probably good for you.

Pop a water plug with me,

TR