Hello again. Just like Shelly Long.

It sure has been a while since I talked to you last.
Since I was in Union Station in that city thats windy, I have much to tell you.
Prepare thyself.

So I was using my computer in Chicago. You saw me do it, because you read my last post. All was right in the mind of a gangsta and his phat computing machine.
But then tragedy struck.
The screen to my laptop went all dim and lame.
I could still see images, but they were so hard to see, the computer was downgraded to 'Desktop computer'
Which really really sucks because I am super poor and this laptop was the nicest thing I owned.
So now I don't have mobility with my lackluster wit. Ergo: I have not been posting much.
Lindsay was nice enough to loan me a flatscreen monitor, so that is what I am using, as the computer itself works like a dream.
And yes, I have tried everything to make the screen work again.
I think it might be the backlight or something.
It's a sony vaio VGN-SZ120P
Pretty sweet Interweb ride, too. If you have the means, I either want a pony or a new screen for this badboy.

My trip to Indy was great.
Thanksgiving with my friends really made up for the lack of any family style stuff.
They only made me move two small heavy things within a half hour of me arriving.
Two refrigerators. My people are the best people. ;)
While there, I made the Marshmallow fluff that is the best dessert on the market. The black market or even the stock market.
It's good.
You should buy me the ingredients and I will make it for you.

The Megabus ride home sucked my soul out of my body, even though I sold my soul to Steve Hoppe in 10th grade for a diet pepsi.
I was sitting next to a group of people who were very loud and obnoxious.
There was singing. Clapping. Finger snapping. Talking about how Obama is finna clean up this country and all the dumbass motherfucking white people finna deal with that shit.
I was sitting in a seat at Night at the Apollo.
Normally I wouldn't care, but I was trying to sleep, and since I like sleep and hate riding the bus, I was grumpy.

The Monday Night Comedy Show went on without me while I was gone. Zissou hosted, and Lindsey and Roni picked up the slack.
I did call in a few times to make sure all was going well. And I read RoboCop II via speakerphone.

Yeah, so then some other stuff happened and it was great.

John and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary of friendship the other night by going to a huge Chines Buffet and watching JAWS on a projector thing he bought on ebay.
We ended the night with a video game and reminisced about the old days. If you ever get a chance to have a J-Man in your life, I highly suggest picking one up. I have a few friends who have been around longer than John, but I did live with him for years, so our knowledge of each other's secrets make us indispensable. And a kind of liability.

I had another 'I need change' freak out last night and rearranged my room. I was playing room tetris for a while, just stacking things on top of other things. When playing room tetris, the lines don't vanish, so I ended up with lots of piles of stuff and a room that had a path to the bed. That's it. So I cleaned. I like to party on my Friday nights, so I was listening to the Esqiuvel cd I got at Cheapo the other day. I don' think there is a math that can calculate how boring I am.

I rarely remember my dreams, but when I do, I think they are awesome. For example:

Last night I was doing the last Monday Night Comedy Show of the year in what could only be described as a lecture hall with very very steep seating. The house was full, but there was an act onstage that no one was laughing at. The audience was getting restless.
I was getting pissed because it was a comedy show, and people needed to laugh.
But then I did some sort of 'Quantum Leap' and found myself in rehearsal for a new broadway revival of something resembling 'The Fantastiks!' I was doing a song with Matthew Broderick and I was dressed up as an animated triceratops. It was a very well made costume, and I could move easily inside it. Think 'Smoochy' but with less padding.
The Director was a really famous one, but I forget who he was.
But both he and Matthew were pissed. We had been rehearsing for weeks, and I should have known the choreography and lyrics. But I was acting like I had just gotten there.
Which I had.
I apologized, and they decided to call it a day. Matthew Broderick was super nice in my dream. I think we may have been friends.
I was sitting on a stairwell that looked like it should have been in a house in the suburbs that was under construction when a little girl started talking to me.
I knew that she was part of the backstage crew, but she told me that I had just been at the last MNCS of the year by my time clock, but that it had actually been a few months and she was at the show too.
I asked her why I was here, and she said that she didn't know, but then all of a sudden I was walking down a brightly lit city street that was glistening due to the recently fallen rain.
Ahead of me were Fozzie Bear and Scooter from the Muppet show. However, they were invisible save for the fact that they were both wearing black berets. So these two floating black berets were ahead of me, and I didn't think it was odd in any way.
The mission we were going on was to help my old friend Amanda escape from some kidnappers.
I had a gun in my hand, and suddenly I was in the house she was being help captive. One of the kidnappers went to the bathroom, and I snuck in to the master bedroom of the house. Amanda asked why I was there, and I said 'To save your ass' I threw an old '80's style rotary phone and cord to the other kidnapper who was lying in the other queen sized bed. I told him to tie himself up when the other kidnapper came in from the bathroom.
I shot him several times in the chest, but he kept coming after me.
Then I shot him in the foot and he fell like a ton of bricks. The other guy was neatly tied up, but I shot him in the foot anyway.
I somehow knew that Amanda would be safe, but Fozzie and Scooter never showed up again.

Then I woke up.

So that was my dream.

Tonight I am going to The Rollergirls season opener.

Tomorrow I work in the AM.

Tomorrow night, I start making christmas presents. I'm very crafty.

Stay Awesome until next time, when I will remind you again.

Andy

Brief update whilst I linger.

I am currently in The Chicago Union Station.
In a few moments, I will know what McDonald breakfast truly tastes like firsthand.
The trip so far has been mediocre.
I was sitting in front of the most flamboyant party boy I have ever encountered.
He was talking very loudly to his friends who were wrapping up their evening with a lot of ecstasy at some house party after the club.
He had to repeat every mildly witty comment he made about having to 'slap a bitch'
about three times in a row so he could be secure in the fact that they had heard him and his wit was in fact appreciated.
And then things got serious. He had to send a text to let a person know how he really felt about him.
And this text would end the friendship because of how this person reacted to a facebook video and how they put so and so on the top of their myspace friends list.
By the way, I am being serious. These things came out of his word hole.

There is a scheduled pit stop between Minneapolis and Chicago at a truck stop.
And since it was 3 in the morning when we got there, the taco bell and Subway was closed.
I was hungry, since I didnt have any Thanksgiving dinner (Pity me) so I bought some soup.
I nuked it in the microwave they offer to truckers, but by the time I saw that they didnt have any forks or spoons, it was too late. It was one minute and forty five seconds too late.
I drank the soup and burnt my lip on the metal ring.

I thought metal was bad in microwaves. I have never understood that.

I did notice that they sold what looked like Microwave dinners, but boy was I still living in the dark ages.
These meals heated themselves.
By a chemical process known as Magic, I could have a thing of Lasagne in 10 minutes.

If you think I am coming home without some, you would be wrong.
Sadly, they are cost prohibitive at almost $7.00

They also had cups of coffee that heated up using the same process (magic)

Well, my trip is underway. I haven't slept a whole lot, but sleeping is for lazy robots.

What's that, McDonalds? Oh. I'll be right there.

Happy Black Friday. I want Batman Legos for Christmas.

Stay Awesome, weary travelers.

Andy

Tis a gift to be simple, Tis a gift to be free.

And so the season begins.
Today, as it happens is Thanksgiving.
And while I try my best to not follow the rest, I feel it only appropriate to say what I am thankful for.
Because today we tell all. A cornucopia (Corn of plenty?) of things we ought to say everyday, but are too busy telling stories about squirrels in kitchens and who is playing The Monday Night Comedy Show.
I'm thankful.
I am crazy thankful.
I am thank.
I am full. Wait, no I'm not. I am working.
And I will not be enjoying too much food until Saturday night, when I am surrounded by my best friends.
As friends go, I am not one to specify who is 'best' we all know what is best.
Conan says 'To Crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of their women'
True that, homeboy. True that.
But I do refer to my Indiana clan as my best friends. And I won't take it back.
Nor will I take back this:

Batman is the best fictional character ever created.
Therefore, I am thankful for Bob Kane.

Highlander is one of the best franchises known to mankind. Therefore, I am thankful for swords.
Without those, how would anyone know how to fence?
Or behead someone to take their powers and knowledge?

And little things like watching the movie 'Amelie' alone when you are sad, and being thankful for it making you feel better.
And watching 'Love Actually' with someone you really care about. In the end, you are crying, and holding hands a little tighter so as to not ever let go.
I like making forts and sleeping in them. It makes me feel safe when I am far away from the ones I love. And if I had the technical knowhow to make a throne to sit on as I contemplate my kingdom with a furrowed brow, I would be thankful for that too. Both the throne and the ability to make it.
I like my family quite a bit. I think you should be thankful for them everyday. Not just when you eat turkey or are watching a parade.
But that one is too obvious. And they don't fall under the canopy of 'little things'
They are your team, you know? The ones who have got your back in any situation you may find yourself in.
I may not talk to my family as much as I should, but I think about them a lot. Much more than I ever tell them.
And while we have our own unique brand of problems, we would still sit in a living room together and find ways to make each other laugh. That is what families are all about. To me, anyway.
And my family is a very funny one.
I'm thankful for that, too.
Oh, and Christmas eve, sleeping in front of the TV with the fireplace dvd playing.
With christmas music playing in the background.
And kids playing with wrapping paper more than the toys they just got. I think that is hilarious.
Irony. I am thankful for irony.
And Iron for that matter.
Who has figured out the riddle of steel? Thulsa Doom, that's who.
Seriously, watch a movie people. My pop culture only makes you smirk so much until I seem stupid.
I am thankful for my sense of humor.
I like my newest roommate, Dani. She is so much better than the last one. And she is a good baker and lets Chris and I steal tasty goodness.
I am thankful for gadgets. They are fun.
What else? What else?
Coffee. I am thankful for coffee. Oh sweet baby Thor, am I thankful for coffee.
I am thankful that people I went to high school with are still attractive. Even after so many years. Sounds petty, and it is, but I know a lot of good looking people. And when I see what is passed off as 'Hot' in the media these days, I am always comparing those I know to those I see on the telly. And my people always win.
I am thankful that I just typed 'Telly' without thinking about it.
People who tip even though they just bought a can of soda. You guys rule.

Brian Wilson. That is all.

Warm woolen mittens can suck it. Just kidding. I like them, it's just that I don't have any.
Scarves are rad, though.

At any rate, I am not thankful for my short attention span. I would like to write more, and thank all those who keep me in check for the most part, but I think you know who you are.

I brought my sewing kit to work today so I could patch up my bike seat that is in shreds.
I have to get back to that.

I hope you feel thankful all the time.
And I hope you Stay Awesome.
And I hope that you hope I Stay Awesome too, because I would be thankful for that.

Enjoy the day and the night.

Andy

Bored and I am not interesting.

That horrible girl is here at work.

The one who drunkenly told me that she doesn't like me.
I thought I would be free of her until February. That's when I overheard her say when she would be back for a visit.
She is being very cautious so as to not make eye contact with me.
And her husband gave me a knowing nod.
The nod that says, 'Yeah. I know she sucks out loud. But if I divorce her, she will kill me.'

Tonight was a Thanksgiving style deal at The Beat. On Sunday afternoons, The Beat transforms like Optimus Prime into a church. Aptly named: The Church In Uptown.
I am not sure of the denomination, but It irks me when people think I work at 'The Jesus Coffeeshop'
The only thing church related is the sunday afternoon thing. Other than that, it's just a coffeeshop.
Just like Uncommon Grounds, only without the potpourri dim lighting that makes the owner a complete douchebag. I have heard through reliable sources that he makes you take your laptop up to the 2nd floor after a certain time of day.
Screw that noise.
The Beat is one of those good places to hang out because it's quiet and has free wifi.
Not to mention some of the best coffee drinks in the city. A very under appreciated hotspot in Uptown.
This kind of sounds like an ad for The Beat. It isn't meant to be. I'm just horribly bored and need something to do besides dishes.

Tomorrow is The Monday Night Comedy Show.
Lots of good things to laugh at.
We have Spoken word, Improv and Stand Up.
Speaking of, PAPA SMURF is doing a set tomorrow night.
That's right. You are curious. And it is just like the picture in your head, only when you actually see what is going down, your head will explode.

Just trying my humble best to keep things spicy in the soup that is The MNCS.

You can visit the event page on the facebook HERE.

I hope that link works, as I am really excited for the show.

Thursday means Turkey Day, and I'm working. So if you want to come to The Beat and watch the Turkey Day Parade, please stop by. I'll have it up on the big screen. And I might even sell you coffee.
With working on a holiday when people should be with their families, it means bigger tips from the folks who do come in. They feel sorry for you, and that's ok because I'll need all the pity money I can get because later that night (after I eat dinner with my own family...or parts of it..sigh) I hop on the Megabus to go to Indy.

I'm really looking forward to this visit because I won't be lifting heavy things and putting them into trucks.
This time I'm just going for the company. And to sing some karaoke at the Tree lighting ceremony downtown.
Christmas music.
I LOVE CHRISTMAS MUSIC.
There. I said it. I wish I was sorry. I am not.

As it happens, Lindsey and Logan have visited me at work, so now I am not in the mood to write about how bored I am. As now I am not bored.

I will leave you now with the hopes that you will find the time to come to the show tomorrow night.

Have a great night, and sorry that this was not more entertaining.

Stay Awesome,
Andy

Fraketty Frak

In the last blog I wrote, I talked about washing your hands when you go to the bathroom. It was directed at Men.
I should have said that the same goes for women, but I hold ladies in high regard.
At any rate, I was going to start adding my blogs to a site in Indiana where Networking is the name of the game. And since I would like to meet new people in the Indy City, I thought that they could get to know me by reading some of the bits I write.
So after I posted my blog this morning, I added the same one to this networking site.
This site has special groups for Writers, Performers, business owners, and even bloggers themselves.
And then I got feedback.


This one was from the site moderator:

Andy...I'm sure everyone will appreciate the insights you've shared...although from my perspective, your blog would be just as funny and useful without all the F bombs. Yours is the first post I can recal in 11 months that has made such wide use of the term across as many parts of speech...so I'm not sure whether it should be edited, deleted, or left along. It's not like we've got little kids running around here, but we certainly want to maintain some decorum. I'll leave it up for now...and wait for other ---------s* to weigh in on the topic. Gotta go wash my hands now. These keyboards are filthy things.

And one by a user of the site:

Well, I'll weigh in. This is a post that probably does not belong on --------------*. Not to mention such use of the f-bomb is just classless.

I appreciate the first one, as they mentioned that it would have been funny without the word 'Fuck' used so many times.

But the second person just said it was 'Classless'
Which I like to look at it as me not conforming to any form of class. Or not liking classes in general. Perhaps I am above all classes. Maybe I just skipped class and am just too raw like Eddie Murphy was back in the days before suckling on the teat of Disney.

I don't have any problems taking the blog off the site. In fact, I did it moments after the first response from the moderator dude.

I don't get offended at the word 'Fuck'
Do you?
I do get offended at the word 'Nigger'
Which is why I never use it.
Maybe I am just being silly, but I just don't like being asked to edit my stuff.
And this was the first time for me.
Now, if I was writing this blog for some sort of literary prize or a syndicated paper, fine. I would use less colorful language.

I'd like your thoughts, please.

One of my favourite lines from a movie, and one that I use as often as possible is from 'Snatch'

'Sit down and shut up, you big balled Fuck'

Not really on topic, but I want to share with all you fucks...Heh heh.

I wonder if that second guy was so offended because he doesn't like washing his hands after he pees.

*Left out so as to not identify the site.


Staying Awesome,
Andy

A Public Service Announcement.

Hi there.
My name is Andrew Brynildson. I am a 30 year old male living in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
There is nothing really special about me when compared to the millions of other guys living on the planet.
I have the same outlook on life as many.
I care a great deal for my family, though as with most, we have our share of problems.
My friends are extensions of my family, and without them, I am truly lost.
I like kids, because I was once one. I think I did a really good job being a kid, which is why I have a mild form of 'Peter Pan Syndrome'
As of right now, this is the only syndrome I have. Knock on wood. It could be worse, you know?
I'm not terribly mean, nor do I sit back and take the proverbial 'shit' when it is thrown my way. You shouldn't throw anything at people unless it is a game where the point is to catch said thrown thing.
I live by the creedo- Be Excellent To Each Other.
It is a variant of The Golden Rule, and I know it comes from the movie 'Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure'
It isn't my favourite movie, but it certainly isn't my least.
I just try not to fuck anybody over. It's a good way to live, and so far, I can't say that I have too many enemies.
Go me.
I am definitely not living the cleanest life I could live.
I am a smoker, I drink whiskey and Diet Coke and I am out of shape.
However, I am not addicted to Meth or Crack. Nor do I have sex with Prostitutes.
I could exercise more than I do, and that smoking thing has got to go.
But at the end of the day, I have it pretty good.
And I have a voice.
Not many people hear it, and even fewer listen to it, but I'll be damned if I will not use this platform of blog to say something that is in dire need of being put out there. If people listen, far out. And if they don't, I can say I did my part. Please note that I am going to be blunt in a style all my own. If I offend, consider the subject matter.
So this one goes out to all the fellas:

Guys, when you touch your dick, wash your fucking hands.

Please note the bold red letters I used to emphasize how serious I am.

I'm a guy. Just like you.
And as men, we are blessed with the ability to do two things:
1) Pee standing up
2) and that is about it.

Women get to have the kids, so they know what it truly is to create something. And speaking of, but not in order, they get to have sex whenever they want.
Many women will call me out on this as being untrue. But as a man, believe me, in 90% of the cases: We would have sex with you. Most Heterosexual mean I know would never pass up an opportunity. And 90% is really being generous. Note that it doesn't even take 50% of the votes to become president of these United States. And I bet those people (Presidents) have sex all the time with anyone ever. It's like a law or something...
In the end, all Men are is some protein and, let's face it - more often than not, a disappointment. We rarely put the toilet seat back down and not a lot of us are very good with preparing food that doesn't come in plastic wrappers.

We are, as a general rule: rather stupid.
Sometimes, however, we are handy with a screwdriver and a nail gun.
But as someone who has been involved with theatre for several years, the female stage techs are considered some of the most attractive. More so than those pesky actresses.
And they know how to use a makita...

Sadly, I am consumed by thoughts of women backstage wearing black and calling out cues on headsets. I have derailed. Back on topic:

Guys. You know where that thing between your pants has been. And you know what you are going to do. You are going right back to the bowl of free peanuts set in front of your barstool.
Not a peanut fan?
How about giving your buddy a high five?
Oh look! You are being introduced to a really pretty girl who likes all the music you like. Neat. You shake her hand, and she has no idea that you were just peeing in a trough. Just like the ones at the Indianapolis motor speedway.
And you walked right past the sink.

Sinks, my children, are the things you rinse and use soap in to clean your hands.

Now, are there times when I am at home that I forget to wash my hands?
FUCK THAT, NO. I JUST TOUCHED MY WANG!

My parents did my part to instill some semblance of 'Don't be an idiot, wash your hands after you pee'

I understand that you have been peeing since before you can remember, guys. I get the fact that you have precise aim, and that most of us can write our names in the snow (The ONLY excuse for not washing, by the way- Doing it outside. )
We usually don't pee all over our hands.
But usually, you do touch your junk.

I remember a friend of mine in high school who swore up and down that he never touched his penis. Not even to urinate.
He was going through a phase of either devout Christianity, trying to impress some girl of the same ilk, or he had just started jerking off and was horrified that he was the only one on the planet who did this.
We countered with "So how do you get it out of your pants?"
'Jesus pulls it out' he glibly retorted.
Ok. he didn't say that, and that sounded really dirty, but you know what IS REALLY DIRTY?

Not washing your hands when you use dirty as shit bathrooms in bars.
Did you not see that scruffy looking nerf herding NASCAR hat wearing DudeGUy with the dollar bill medallion around his neck(that was not worn to be ironic)?
Wanna know what he did today?
He fucked a goat. Who cares what he did today.
Wanna know what he did ten minutes before he took a bite out of your pizza?
"Do you have a cold?"
STOP ASKING THAT, PEOPLE! Start asking 'Hey, did you wash the dick off of your hands before you grabbed my pizza?'

Scenario:

"Can I have a sip of your drink?"
'Do you have a cold?'
"Nope"
'ok'
(grabs the straw, dips his fingers in the drink and mutters something about it being a 'pee pee' drink)

"Hey, can I have a bite of your pizza?"
'I guess so'
"Cool. Hey, do you like the taste of what I touched in the bathroom?"
'What?'
"Nothing. Damn. This Pizza's good as hell."

So guys, please for the love of all that is holy and good: Wash your hands after the bathroom.

Whenever I mention how many guys don't do this when I am at a bar, women are mortified.
And it lessens the chance that you will get laid.
Which, for guys, is usually at a steady 25% chance. Because you are not really that charming.
Wash your hands. The ones who do are always watching, as it ups our own percentage to 51%
And then we become President.

Yours with soap and water,

Andy*

*Stay Awesome


"Nothing. Damn. This Pizza's good as hell."

In which Andrew goes to see Brian Wilson and comes back feeling alive.

Before I begin, I want to let it known that there are some people who read this on occasion who do not care for the music of Brian Wilson and The Beach Boys.
I know you exist, and no only do I feel sorry for you, but I also want you to go fuck yourself.
I mean that like I mean it when I say "I really like Batman, Highlander and collecting stuff"

Ok. I don't want you to do that, really, but if I may Geek out a little: When it comes to things I like a lot, things that make me think that life is really worth living - Like a Sith Lord, I speak in absolutes.

Last night I went to The Brian Wilson Concert @ The State Theatre in Downtown Minneapolis.
To say that it was a great show would be the same as telling Odin that The Earth and the Cosmos were just 'ok'.
And yes, this blog is going to be a very long one about my undying love for Brian Wilson, among other things. If you don't like passion, sunshine, love and having fun: Please go to the next blog where they talk about which mall they hate the most or which sports team did something that one time.

And away we go:

A few years ago, lets call it ten years ago, as it will be the anniversary of when John Bungert and I became best friends on December 10th(more on that as the day approaches)
J-Man and I were sitting in my apartment on the cusp of the downtown Minneapolis zone talking about music we liked.
John was already an accomplished musician at this time, so his opinion mattered. My own musical tastes had stopped growing three years prior when I graduated from high school.
(Incidentally, I know I am repeating myself from a previous blog, but it is relevant to this one and it's my party)
John spoke of The Beach Boys, and while I considered myself a fan because my Step Mother would only listen to WKLR when driving me around for various things like my summer of Tuberculosis tests, when everyone was convinced I had the consumption but it turned out I was just allergic to the tests. I have fair skin, you see, but I digress.
WKLR was the Oldies station. And growing up, I find I know the words to either too many really good songs that defined and shaped generations, or not enough. Depends on your perspective.
The Beach Boys were always one of my favourites. I knew mostof the words to their standard catalog, but the real heavy stuff was out of my range of knowledge.
He mentioned 'Pet Sounds' and how it was the inspiration for so many albums and bands that I liked.
I said I had not heard of it.
"Let's go" He said without pause.
And we were off to Cheapo to buy a copy. It cost me the last $13 I had to my name, but I got a copy of that album and we listened to it all the way through without speaking when we got back to my place.
When it was done, I needed to hear it again.
And that $13 has been listened to at least a hundred times since then. At least.
There are so many interviews and essays about Pet Sounds that I won't go into detail about how much it meant to me. The lyrics, The Music and the overflow of emotion that that album contains is different for each listener. But I am a firm believer in that album being put on the top of every 'Best of' list.
So my love of The Beach Boys grew and grew since then. So many albums that I wasn't aware of and songs that were better than the last one. And don't get me wrong, there were some crap tracks. Usually when Brian wasn't involved as much as he should have been.
But the vast majority of songs are amazing.
Brian Wilson's use of complex harmonies give them the ability to be 'rediscovered' each time you listen to them. Your brain just doesn't have enough power to grasp everything one of his songs has within it with just one listen. Which is great to me, because I am the type to listen to one song over and over again for an entire week without getting sick of it.
That, and I am a bit dense, so repetition helps things stick. Der Der Der.

Call me a fanboy, call me what you will. I don't give a hoot (to quote Kermit).
Brian Wilson is a genius.
And please don't bring up his depression or the time he spent in self imposed exile from the world.
We all have our off days. Brian just had a lot more than most of us. I feel it adds to his interesting story, and gave him a much deeper well of emotion to draw from with his melodies.
Where was I?
Right. Brian Wilson.
As I write this, I am distracted by shiny things like watching interviews and video of the Man himself. Ergo, this diatribe is taking me forever to write and post.
I own a lot of DVD's that tell his story and has concert footage out the wazoo, but since last night's concert, I am a little BW crazy. I get that way after seeing him or listening to his albums. And since he doesn't tour all that often, I feel fortunate when I get to see him.
J-man has been with me each time, so it has become our thing. Starting with the Pet Sounds Symphonic tour in 2000. Or was it 99? I can't recall exactly, but I do remember audio taping the whole show, sadly hearing nothing but John and I screaming like teenage girls at a boy band concert. Which, incidentally, is all you can hear on the tapes. Us. Screaming about how much we love Brian.
Then we went and saw him open for Paul Simon a few years later. I still feel that Paul Simon should have opened for Brian, but I don't make the rules, I just break them...
I didn't tape that concert, because I just assumed it would be more shrieking.
Then came the SMILE concert. Words can't describe any of these shows, people. And to try and do it is like describing tasting red wine.
I have long thought that asking what wine is like is ridiculous. I worked in a wine shop, and have heard all the descriptions. "Nutty with a vanilla twist and an oak aftertaste bursting with a subtle hint of cherry" It tastes like red wine. Blow me.
My tastes are not cultured, and I will argue till the end that yours are not either. Every person is different. Water tastes like water and feels wet. Snow is cold and Artificial Watermelon tastes like sugary heaven. Do you think differently? Good. You are human.
And just because I like Brian Wilson and you like gangsta rap doesn't mean I'm better than you. It just means I'm happier ;)
I knew that Brian was coming into town with his new album 'That Old Lucky Sun' a couple of months ago. I also knew that I didn't have the money to buy tickets when they went on sale.
I pretty much reserved myself to not seeing Brian this time around.
Life would suck, I'd get over it.
But still, when yesterday came and both John and I felt that Brian needed us in the audience, we decided to try our luck at buying tickets from a scalper.
And keep in mind that our luck has not been the best.
I mean, we don't write dark poetry by streams of black hate in meadows of the damned, but we don't consider ourselves lucky people.
And usually when we want something so bad that food tastes yucky and even kittens don't seem cute, we end up disappointed.
Last night, our luck changed.

A scalper had tickets, and they happened to be in the front row. That's right. The front row. The seats reserved for Kings and radio contest winners. The seats that God herself would have had to pay three times the face value of on ebay for.

In fact, throughout the day, I was looking at craigslist and messaging people who were selling tickets, trying in vain to lowball the insane amount they were asking.
And so, with silly grins, and $60 each paid to the guy in the polar fleece in front of The State Theatre, we watched and listened to Brian Wilson and his Band play some Beach Boy classics and in the second act, listened to the full performance of 'That Old Lucky Sun'.
He ended the entire night with 'Love and Mercy'. One of his best in recent years. Coming a close second to 'Lay Down Burden' that makes me cry everytime I hear it. Written as a tribute to his late brother, Carl, that song really helps my case when I try and convert people from casual listeners to Iron clad fans.


So yeah. I like Brian Wilson.
And after every concert I attend, I like him even more, making a point to thank John for really making me listen that one day. And for making me spend my last $13.

I have always offered to make my friends and family cd's of his music. And the mixes that I make are always available for the asking. Even now. Because if I can get one person to really like his music as much as I do, then I've done my good deed for the day.
Please, ask me for a cd. I'll gladly make you one.

In other news, I am having trouble with a tooth, and it is boring a hole into my brain. I need to go to NIP and have it either pulled, or blasted out of my skull with some C4. It is causing me to lose sleep and crave soup. I never crave soup. I am not usually a soup guy.
Soup. Soup Soup.
And tomorrow is The Monday Night Comedy Show. Lots of good acts, per usual. If you can make it, please come. You can find the facebook event page here:

MNCS!

And if that link doesn't work, you are out of luck, as I am impressed I know what a link is.

I am here at The Beat Coffeehouse in Uptown until 3pm, where you can come and say hi to me and listen to Pet sounds and Die Prinzen mixed with some Elvis and REM. I may be a Brian Wilson fan, but I am also and eccentric billionaire who moonlights as a poor Barista and Blog writer.
Please keep in mind, my opinions are my own, and you should follow them to the letter.
Have a phenomenal day, you Space Aces.


Yours with a bushy bushy blond hairdo*,
Andy





*Which also means Stay Awesome

Short update. Reports of my death greatly exaggerated.

It's been too long, my disciples of funk.
I missed you too, but before we get all weepy, let me tell you about my yesterday:

I did absolutely NOTHING.
It was glorious. But towards the end, I was getting a bit cabin feverish.
What did nothing entail?
Movies. Lots of them.
Here's the list:

Starting with INTERVIEW WITH A VAMPIRE at the silly hour of 8am.

Slept for a bit, and then popped in LOVE ACTUALLY. I might have cried at the end. I can't remember.

Then came ELECTRA. Oh red corsets, you never stop making sense. And neither do comic book movies. No matter how silly. And that one guy from Precsilla Queen of the Desert was in it as a blind master of using pool cues as weapons. I kept asking the TV "Oh Felicia, where the fuck are we?" whenever he appeared.

I was then in need of some British fare, so I had Danny( the new roommate) put in ABOUT A BOY because I was too lazy to get up from the couch.

As if I hadn't seen enough Hugh Grant, I immediately had to watch MUSIC & LYRICS to see if Whats-her-face had gotten all that orange shit off her face from all the make up ads she has been doing. Drew Barrymore. That's the one.

After I had wondered why I watched that movie, I wanted to see OFFICE SPACE since I hadn't seen it in a while.

I ended the day with THE STEPFORD WIVES. Why? I like robot women and Ferris Buehler.
And Christopher Walken. These are things I like.

Then I slept the sleep of the just and true. Only to wake up and almost be late for work at 7am because my bike lock was frozen. Dick move, Mother Nature.

What did you do yesterday? I don't care.

In other recent news, I went to Indianapolis a couple weeks ago to help the Dorch Gang move into their new digs in Irvington. A much better neighborhood than 38th & Pennsylvania, where shootings were every 20 minutes or something.
I helped Lindsay move out of the 3rd floor.
Svet, Jen & Lisa/James/Pants out of the 2nd.
Jenny & Hammam hired pro movers, so they are dead to me as I earned no brownie points from them.
Thankfully, they are only living about three or so blocks away, so the big family stays together.
The heavy lifting, I could have done without, but seeing them all so excited to be in a nice new place that is much safer and has huge potential as being the best place ever makes me happy.

I took The MegaBus there again.
I had a so so time with that, so I will give them another try at the end of the Month when I go for 'Orphan Thanksgiving'

I may get all decadent and try to fly in to Chicago via Southwest and the $69 one way thing they have. But then Megabus it from there to Indy. I would need some help navigating the trains I would need to use from my chicagoan peeps.


I have been kept busy for the last 7 hours with "people" wanting 'Coffee Drinks"
I thought I would have more to tell you, but I thought wrong.
We are getting Interweb at the Mansion today, so if I have more to say, I will do it on crispy new interweb alpha rays.

Your Mom Stays Awesome.

Andy

High Adventure that's beyond compare.

I am a mighty hunter.

You will now be graced with one of my many powerful sagas. Viking style.

Today I awoke to the sounds of MPR and talk of Sarah Palin's whoo whoo being unfit for bla bla bla.
The snooze button and I are close friends, even though sometimes I ignore the alarm altogether.
Today was my day off. So I tried to stay in bed.
But not for long. For today, I was destined to fight a beast of terror.
A demon from the pits of hell itself. Sent by the dark lord to avenge all of the times I have been nice to kids or listened to the stories of the elderly with patience and even interest.
The Devil, just this morning was looking through his day planner at the one event he had been counting down to for what to him/her must have seemed like eternity.
Today was 'Fuck with Andy Day'
He even used an orange highlighter(my own personal favourite, just to be ironic), circling the event that was to take place in my home.
He could have sent a three headed dog or zombie versions of relatives long since passed.
Instead, the clever Devil sent the equivalent to a hallmark card of the animal kingdom.

A baby squirrel.

I was minding my own business, heating up some 'easyMac' in the magic electro-radiation oven.
I would go into my love of pre-packaged food where all that is needed of you is to add water and wait three and a half minutes, but that is for another blog. I am a hunter. And you need to hear my tale.

I hopped back into the living room to see when the actual date of the end of the world was according to Nostradamus. I was watching the History channel. They were stalling, because the show was supposed to be like two hours.
I could wait. For I am a mighty hunter.
So I head back into the kitchen, but before I even left the living room, I saw him. Or her. It could have been a girl.
The Squirrel.
It was running into the kitchen.
My cat, Selina Kyle-Freedom Cat-Brynildson was watching it with fear. She is an inside cat. Therefore, useless.

'Oh Fuck me! There is a Squirrel in the house!"

I run to Chris's door and tell him the news. I want to say he started crying, but I think he was on the phone.
I run to my room, which is between the kitchen(squirrel) and myself(hunter)
I grab my favourite sword and head into battle.
The squirrel is trying desperately to get the hell out of there, knowing that I am not scared at all.
It was behind the radiator. Next to the wine rack. Under the Jaws clock.
Chris shows up with a hockey stick. His tears were dried now, and he was ready for battle.

"We need a net" Said Chris.

"We need a gun" I replied. "Wait, I have an idea!"
I ran into my room and produced a roll of gauze type fabric that was a remnant of an art project I never finished.
"Let's use this as a net."
"Good plan. I'll drive it out from behind the radiator."
The hockey stick, when used by one who actually knows how to use it on the ice, can be a formidable weapon. However, when it is being used to drive a little squirrel from behind a place where there normally are not squirrels, by a guy who is just a bit on edge because there is a fucking Squirrel in the house, not so useful.
The beast climbed up the cord for the clock, and into the wine rack.
I had done a few dishes earlier, while waiting for my easy mac to heat up. So there were clean glasses drying in top of the rack.

"That fucker is inside the wine rack. It's gonna break some glasses!" I told Chris.
" Not on my watch!" Chris heroically said back. "I'll tap the rack until he comes out"

He did this, and in doing so, made the already scared Squirrel even more scared. It jumped out onto the counter, leaped over the sink and landed on the floor into the laundry room.
"Ahhh!"
"Ahhh!"

I forgot to tell you that I had grabbed both of my laundry baskets that were full of clean clothes I have been meaning to fold and put into the dresser for some time now. I dumped out the clothes onto the bed and was thinking of using them as a cage to imprison the Hellish abomination of fuzzy-tailed baby-Squirrel.
So I did that earlier.

The Squirrel was climbing up a laundry bag and trying to get a hold of anything that would make it have the higher ground.
But in the end, it just gave up and hid behind a pipe leading to the upstairs apartment.
But we could see it. It wasn't moving.
"Maybe we should spray it with water to get it out?" asked/suggested Chris (who was sitting on top of the washing machine with his hockey stick)
"But then it might get cold when we get it outside."
"Who the fuck cares?! You were going to stab it with the sword"
While the thought did originally cross my mind, I soon realized that I was not going to be able to live with myself if I stabbed a baby Squirrel with a sword.

"I was not! I just wanted to maintain dominance over it."
"Maybe it wants to be our new roommate? Do we have a spray bottle?"
I looked for one, but all I found were spray bottles with stuff inside them.
"Only ones with Chemicals still inside them. They might kill it."
Chris looked at a bottle of Orange scented cleaner and read the label.
"Chris, are you looking for the warning about spraying woodland creatures? I don't think it has one."
"ok. Get me a glass of water"
I get the glass and he starts flicking water at the scared little thing. It sinks deep into the corner and is making a lot of pissed off sounds.
"It's making a lot of pissed off sounds, Dude." I say, not wanting it to have a heart attack.
Then Chris spills the water all over the top of the washer and his pants.
"God damned Squirrel. You shouldn't be in here. Ok. I'll try to get him out with the stick"
Chris poked and prodded the little guy for what seemed like an hour, but it wouldn't move.
I took the gauze-type stuff and threw it over the Squirrel as best I could.
"Good!" said Chris. "You got it over him! Now I will try and get him caught in it."

Chris didn't really do much to get him caught in the fabric, but instead stayed on the washer and poked the Squirrel some more with the hockey stick.
"You really should stop making him make those sounds, Chris. It's freaking me out."
"Now! Put the laundry basket over it!"
I did it, and somehow, the Squirrel was trapped. But it was a little guy, so it was sticking way too much of it's head and feet/hands out of the holes in the basket.
"It's gonna get out! what the fuck do we do?!" I might have shown a little fear in my voice just then...
" Dude. I don't know! this is my first squirrel. lets just pull it outside."
"If we do that, it will get out the bottom and then it will get out and run into your room and eat you in the night"
"Fuck that."
"We need something flat to slide underneath it, then get it outside"
I went to the kitchen and found nothing useful. Then I had a bit of inspiration.
"Use the gauze type stuff to make a bottom to the cage!"
" It keeps making that noise. I think it hates us."
I grab the extra fabric and make it so the laundry basket is contained and that the Squirrel can't get through. All without being bitten by it and becoming a Squirrel myself at night. Because that is what happens.
We take the basket/fabric/Squirrel out the back door and Chris gives me the whole thing after I assure him I have it all secure. The Squirrel is gripping the fabric that is taught over the opening of the basket. Chris looks at him: "He isn't very big."

"You wanted to kill him."
"No I didn't. you did."
"Well, I am glad it didn't come to that. I was just protecting you. He's safe now. We all are.
I'll let him go."

I throw the basket into some lowlying bushes and the Squirrel quickly climbs a fence and stares at us.

"Please don't come back in our house." I tell him.

All this seemed like it took all day long, but when we got back inside, the easyMac was still hot.
And they still hadn't figured out when Nostradamus said the world was going to end.

Maybe they never will. Not with Mighty Hunters like Chris and I on the job.

Stay Awesome.

Andy

Here's to you, my Mrs. Robinsons...

I warn you, this will be a very short blog.
For those of you who are used to my usual long winded, where the hell is the point blog, I assure you: this is going to be lack-luster at best.

I am finding myself dropped in many situations where my wit and charm just isn't enough to get by.
I surround myself with people who consistently make me laugh and smile. Who make me realize that I am so very fortunate to know as many talented individuals as I do. There are those few select that never make me feel that I need to be funnier than the majority. Or that I need to prove myself more worthy of a simple laugh.
I type as I think, so maybe this will not come out as clearly as I want it to, but I really want all those who just think of me as 'Andy' and not some 'comma-splice using ass-hat' to know that I value everything you bring into my life.
The day I forget that will be a dark and emo day indeed.
And so I bid you a good night. I wish that all your dreams are intermixed with Tim Burton imagery and the bold colours of a Gauguin. Maybe even a Mondrian. (I'm not sure if I spelled that right. I meant the guy who did all the art with the lines and boxy colours. Linds knows who I mean. Ask her.)
Never ever think that I do not value what you bring to my table.
Now stop stealing my hat unless you look better in it than I do. Or I put it on your head.

And now I go dream that I am immortal. Or Finnish. Those are crazy dreams. I own a fish shop and at night I fight demons. Odin(god) I wish you could be in my head...


Good show tonight, everyone.


Stay Awesome.

Andy

Easy like Monday Morning.

This is what is running through my head:
Two households. Both alike in dignity. In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.
From ancient grudge, break to new mutiny.
Where civil blood, makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their lives.
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows,
Do with their death, bury their parent's strife.

Now, stop me if you've heard this one, but I think it a little bit strange that I chose to repeat this classic opener over and over. Outloud. With an accent once again. I think you can catch me at my oddest (is that a word?) when I am alone in the early AM.
I could at least be singing 'Mambo #5'
Or re-write the words to 'Story Book Story', the love song by Mark Knopfler(spell?) from the soundtrack to 'The Princess Bride'
Speaking of, I think that movie was the only one ever made that makes any sense to me.
Call me obtuse(great vocab word from 5th grade) but I think every movie should contain at least one visit to Miracle Max and Andre The Giant should be in the background rhyming everything you say.

Have you ever listened to that song? The melody is really pretty, and widely known as the background music to the kiss that put all the rest to shame. But the lyrics are lacking in the way Sarah Palin lacks the ability to even spell the word 'Maverick' (oooh. Scathing political commentary)

Also, if I hear the word 'Maverick' come out of Sarah Palin's poor excuse for a Tina Fey mouth just one more time, I will do something rash.
Like start exercising my inner demons or start being nice to kids at the Lego store at the Mall of America when they tell me that their car they built is the 'Champion' or 'The most unbeatable' Do you know what IS beatable, little Champion? You are. It takes 70 pounds of pressure to break the average human bone, kid. I learned that from Batman.
Fucking Mavericks.


And on that most random of notes, I really liked the Kenneth Branaugh version of Hamlet, but HATED the Mel Gibson version. What does that say about me as a person?
Leave your thoughts in the comment section.

This morning, on a whim, I bought a ham and cheese Hot Pocket.
You may not think that this is a very big deal, but for me, it was a proactive move.
I may be hungry later.

And so starts my day.

I closed the shop last night, and was here bright and early this morning.

Not only am I surrounded by coffee, but I am the proud owner of a Hot Pocket.
A big one, too.

Today shall be a good day.

In other news,
Tonight brings another Monday Night Comedy Show into the world. And at 8lbs 7 ounces, tonight's show will bring joy and sleepless nights to all those who enter our operating theatre.
And admission is only $3.
Even my broke ass can afford it if I wan't working so hard to make you like me. Therefore, I get in for free.
Speaking of 'Free' or rather, 'Freedom' We will be having the official:

PRESIDENT OF COMEDY ELECTIONS
The last two weeks of October will bring us to the first week in November, which just happens to be the night before Election day. The real one. The big one.
The one that matters.
I will be running against at least four other people, so if you want to make sure I don't win, become mad with power, allow a 700 million dollar bail out for small Comedy Theatres and then inadvertently choose a mass murderer's Jam in a county fair/prison system 'get to know your roadside help' mixer/ Jam competition. Thus ruining my political clout, forcing me to kill again.

You should vote for me, though, because I'm your buddy.

More on the election as the debates draw near. Just mark your calendars for the last two weeks of October and the first week of November.

Columbia House keeps emailing me. I think they actually think I am going to pay for the dvd's I ordered from them while I was a bit tipsy a few years ago.
What they don't know is that I was stealing from them.
Vote for me.

Ok. Have a good day. Hope to see you at the show tonight. If you don't come, I will know that it is because you are busy writing me a letter. Via Post. Old School.

Stay Awesome or I'll do the last bit too. Oh fuck it:
A glooming peace this Morning with it brings. The sun, for sorrow, will not show it's face.
Go. Have talk to these sad things. For never was there a tale of more woe, than this of Juliet. And her Romeo.

Andy

ps- The Hot Pocket was so choice. If you have the means, I highly suggest picking one up.

Your Mom writes a blog.

Under Pressure is one of the best songs ever written.
I just had to get that out there. We were all thinking it.

Last night at the Green Mill, I was having some cocktails with Amanda, Zissou and The Dez. When we walked in, I was passing a table where a couple of regulars were having their own cocktails with a girl who used to work at the beat and who, if I am still up to date on her life, doesn't live here anymore, but still picks up the occasional shift when visiting her family. I already know too much about her based on what I just wrote.
As I passed, i said hello to the regulars and kept walking to our table.
And the other girl said "I don't like him" (She meant me)
What was I to do?
Doesn't everybody like me?
I mean, aside from the owner of a local comedy theatre because I constantly talk about him in my blog. All the time. I just can't stop...
I am such a likable person!
More or less.
I think it sent me spiraling down to a private Hell of self doubt.
Yep. That's what happened.
She and I have never really spoken much. In fact, I don't know her last name. I barely remember her first name. But here she is all 'not liking me' and stuff, and I can't figure it out.
She is one of those people who has a lot of piercings who looks like she shouldn't have a lot of piercings.
The kind of person who is edgy to a point, but when she goes on a job interview or to church with her family, she takes out all the piercings and places them in a little bowl that has a Hummel figurine in it who is dressed up as a hobo. She is only proud to be a unique individual when others are not looking or offering her eternal life or a job with a 401K.
I suppose that there are just some people you don't click with.
I often think about my Lisa and how she was really not clickable when I first met her. She was loud and opinionated and kinda mean to people who were mean to her. And I think that when i realized she wasn't the type to just doll out friendship like they were nilla wafers in a preschool, that is when I knew I wanted to earn her friendship. Because if I had it, I would have it for life.
And even if I tried to leave her circle, I would have to put up one hell of a fight. Or go batshit crazy and become racist and kick puppies across streets with razor blade cars screaming by.
(They exist in my head, those Razor blade cars. And i always come up with new models every year. This year they have 3 more cup holders and optional spoilers. Very nice. Eat shit, General Motors)
Maybe I just think that since I have climbed the mountain and made nice with Lisa and Jenny, I can really win over just about anyone.
Now, don't misconstrue this rant I am on as Jenny and Lisa being impenetrable blocks of icy fear monsters. No way. They rule, and are very kind when the situation warrants with strangers and the occasional child in a restaurant.
Though, everyone knows you shouldn't bring a kid into a restaurant until they are at least 10.
And don't get me started on everyone in The Dorchester Gang. Those guys are the best.
I love how 99% of the people who read this blog haven't the foggiest of what I am talking about.
I digress.
I am thinking that I am using my two closest friends as a model for everyone else in my life. And it isn't fair. But I'm a lucky guy and I feel sorry for those who don't have people like that in their lives.
Not many can live up to people who will gladly circle wagons at 4 in the morning when they have a test the next day at 7:30am when you are sad about a commercial you just saw about orphans eating Pannini sandwiches at a Cracker Barrel.
Did that make any sense? I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and I don't like to proof read.
Pannini sandwiches are grilled on both sides in a special grill thing.
Orphans are kids without parents and who shout out headlines from newspapers they sell on street corners.
Cracker Barrel is a place you eat by the side of the highway.
Again, I digress.
So this chick doesn't like me. We never had a fight, nor have I told her that I don't like football.
Assuming she really likes football, and hates everyone who just decided that theatre was 'their thing'
And I was kind of pissed when I heard her say it outloud. In a very passive aggressive way, which is the norm for Minnesotan people.
I'm sure I am just as passive aggressive as the next guy who relies on his blog to really make a statement, but at least I don't do it at a bar, when I have been itching to get into a proper bar fight for as long as I have been allowed to drink legally.
But I want to get into a bar fight for a good reason. Like if a guy is punching a lady in the boob or a girl scout is outnumbered five to one and they all have knives.
Then the world will see a different side of me, i am sure.
Amanda kept me calm, because all I wanted to do was punch that chick in the boob, put on my kelly green beret and beat some ass.
Because truth be told, i don't like her much either, but my double standards are far more powerful than my logic and reasoning skills.
Point in fact, I am a mean little bastard.
But Amanda saved the life of a woman who had too much to drink, and she saved me from myself.
Didn't that sound like a Doogie Howser ending?
Your Mom's a Doogie Howser ending...

In other news:
I got Amanda to the Bus stop this morning, and am feeling a little blue.
But the light at the end of the tunnel is that I will be be in Indy for Halloween.
Looking forward to it is an understatement. Our time in the last three days has been great, and I hope when she comes next time she brings the rest of the Dorch with her. (edited in because I am unobservant)

I might go watch the VP debate tonight at the Riverview Theatre with Chris and Aimee.
Or I might come back to the beat and see the open mic festivus that is going on.
Or i might clean my bathroom floor.
All of these things sound better than politics. Except for the open mic.

In closing, I hope that if you get anything from this blog, you will try to be nice to everybody, and try to become really good friends with a select few who will get your back in any situation.
And if you inadvertently piss off some former co-worker and see her at a bar, don't punch her in the boob.
Don't punch anyone in the boob.
But if your co-worker person is dressed as a Girl Scout and she has a knife, take her out using a very scathing blog the next day.

And remember that Vicki from The Beat is a raging Bitch.

Damn I'm funny.

And everybody likes me. Whoo Boy.

Stay Awesome.
Andy

I found my glasses and other tales

I had a yard sale yesterday.
It's ok if you didn't come, It just means you weren't really invited.
Just a private affair for my neighbors and the one lady who was a yard sale professional.
The sale didn't start until 9am. She was there at 8:30am
That is a half of an hour before for those who are not down with start times.
Which she was not.
But I have things to tell you about before the lady. We will revisit her later.

The night before the sale, I was closing The Beat. Our Coffeehouse closes at 11pm, and at about 9-ish, I finally got a hold of my landlord about having the sale in his front yard.
He was very casual about it and made it seem like it wasn't a big deal. I have been tiptoeing around him since the Twin Cities Improv Festival afterbar party in June when over 50 people came to the mansion at 2 in the morning and wanted to prove how much funnier they were than each other by being loud. When I was scolding Lisa Burton about screaming how good her burrito was (telling her that my landlord was sleeping just above her head) I turned around to be face to face with the landlord himself. He was in a bad humour. And threatened eviction.
At any rate, he was his casual self (being a Canadian) and the sale was 'Thunderbirds Go!'

I got home an pulled tables out front, set to making signs and then found stuff to sell.
The sale itself went pretty well. Getting back to the Lady from before briefly:
She came when I was running on an hour and a half of sleep.
And she had been to the sale I had last year, but was wondering if there was a girl involved this time around.
I told her yes, but the girl was still asleep and had been throwing up the night before from a 'Powerade' bender. That's what she claimed made her puke. All over the toilet. Which i cleaned up because my gag reflex is that of a 30 year old man with a nasty habit of wanting to puke when he even thinks of puke.
I don't even like the word 'puke'.
So she claimed powerade was the enemy and not the gin or whiskey or the 40's of Heinekin that have been strewn about the Mansion as of late.
'The girl is sleeping' I told the yard sale Vet.
'She might be up in a while. And also, the sale starts in a half hour. It isn't time yet. Try back later in the morning.

She came back at 9.

The girl roommate was still asleep. (and didn't even put anything out in the sale. not even the golf clubs that have been in the hallway since May. Which she said she wanted to sell in May. Just sayin')

I told the Pro Lady 'I don't think this is the right sale for you this year'

And then she put a gypsy curse on me, because no one bought even ONE of my mint in package Batman action figures. Not one.
And so, I have resigned myself to owning all of them. I will be putting them up on the wall in my bedroom later today.

So ends the Yard Sale Story. You have been a good listener. And now we have snacks.

Today I am going home and prepping for the Arrival of Amanda. She gets in via Magabus in the early AM. And my house is a wreck. This will not do.
So instead of finishing the adventure play about my hat and the criminals who end up dying in a fire, I will wish you a great day and I hope you come to tomorrow night's Monday Night Comedy Show, where I will be performing with MIME RIFLE and looking forward to seeing you.
And don't worry, I might finish the play tomorrow or something.

Promises, Promises....

Stay Awesome and all that elven trickery.

Andy

It's what pops into my head when nothing pops into my head.

I do apologize for last night's blog and how heavy it was. Sometimes I just get a little bothered by bullshit. Much like you. We aren't so different, you and I.

In much happier news, my fedora has been found!
Metro Transit told me when i called them today that it was in the lost and found over in their offices in the warehouse district.
When I lost it yesterday it had a Monday Night Comedy Show pin and a viking head pin. Not the kind that supports my local football team, but rather the kind that raped and pillaged back in the day and really discovered North America. I used it as a 'Producer' Pin for the show. Very few people have similar pins. Mine was gold-looking-type-product plated and probably cost a little under a quarter to make. I wear it as a symbol of how much work I put into the Monday Night Comedy show and how much Raping and Pillaging goes into each weekly show.
Just kidding about the Raping, I feel I should follow that with some clever joke, but really: Rape is wrong. Stop doing it, Frat Boys.
So I used the pins on the hat to prove that it was mine, even though the lady on the phone said that they didn't get many fedoras in the Lost and Found. I suppose Twin City residents are either not classy enough to pull of the Indiana Jones look, or they just don't leave shit like that on the bus.
Well I do. And I wasn't even holding a gold bust of an Aztec God when i was escaping the bus. Really, i was just talking on the cellular telephone device and trying to get my bike off the rack before the angry bus riders shot poison tipped arrows at me because I was delaying their trip to Downtown St. Paul to see if any RNC folks dropped any quarters. Or they wanted to look into the Ark and have their faced melted off by demons or Angels or Nazi-Demon Angels. What the hell was that stuff that killed the bad guys in Raiders?
I feel my Indiana Jones reference has been lost in the ether that is this blog.

Anyhow, the MNCS pin was still on it, but the gold-like Viking pin was taken by a thief who doesn't understand the concept of decorative jewelry. On hats. Hats that no one really wears anymore unless they play Christian folk pop or they are trying to look like a childhood hero for the rest of their lives.
I hope the person who has the pin now was trying to sell it to a pawn broker. Which gives me an idea for another little play:

Criminal: My God! It is the finest pin I have ever laid eyes on in my long career as a bus riding misanthrope!
Henchman: But boss, how we gonna fence that? It's attached to a fedora hat. The kind the feds wear!
Criminal: Quiet, Patsy, I'm thinking. Perhaps I will take it off the hat. No one will be the wiser.
In fact, i will even give the hat to the driver for him to put into the Metro Transit lost and found!
Henchman: That's why your the Boss, Boss!
Criminal: You misspelled 'You're' Patsy. There is an apostrophe in there.
Henchman: Sorry.
Criminal: No time! This caper is going to make me rich. And we are fast approaching Rice Street.
Henchman: Are we still going to Sears for new pants?
Criminal: AND we will have to pick up rubbermaid totes out the wazoo to haul out all the money this little gold viking pin will earn at the local pawn shoppe!
Henchman: Yarr!
Criminal: Mister Driver, someone has left this fedora hat. You shall put it into the lost and found.
Please notice that nothing is missing from the hat. And I would like to stop at Rice Street.
Driver: Okay, but we can't go below 55 miles per hour or we will blow up.
Criminal/Henchman: WHAT?!
Driver: Just kidding. Lets all go to Sears!

I might finish this small play later tonight. It's just that I am hungry and want to go buy food at the store.

ok.

Bye.

Stay Awesome or I'll scream.

Andy

I'm not even drunk, but I will rant the night away.

There are some nights where I end up angry. Or Annoyed. Or Something.
not at anyone in particular, but rather a group of people that represent a large percentage of a whole. Or a whole that has a large percent inside it. Much like a fruity filling inside one of my beloved snacky pies.
Of which I had none of, as I am trying to watch my girlish figure.
When I speak of groups or individuals or you or me,
I speak in vague terms so as to not point fingers and have to play a boisterous game of 'I was just kidding'
I want to live in a world where people can walk out into the courtyard of their respective community and actually enjoy the company of those around them. The ones that do not care if I am the most witty or the one with the best long flowing locks of hair that is the colour of the sun.
And by 'Sun' I mean the one that used to illuminate the lost city of Aztec gold. I want to feel a part of something bigger and more important than the one. I want to be as important as the many. Does that make sense? Think of it in terms of Star Trek when Kirk needs to risk the futures of everyone to save just little old Spock. Now, If I was an admiral in starfleet, and my best friend might be alive, but my job said I couldn't go get him because of some bullshit, I would punch my commanding officer with some brass knuckles and never say never again.
See, I want all of my friends to think that about me. Or be willing to be that for me.
I want them to be the Kirk to my Spock.
The Yin to my overly sensitive "man of Deep feeling" Yang.
And I want them to know that they are my Spocks as well. I would blow up a starship for any one of you guys. And if you still don't get the reference, just know that sometime the good of the one outweighs the good of the many. Illogical, I know, but sometimes you just gotta watch Star Trek 4 to have things make any sense.
I want my friends to not have to feel they should perform and not feel the need to be funnier than they were the night before last. If I think you are funny, I tell you. And I keep coming back for more.
I don't care about where you are going tomorrow or how early you have to be somewhere, so you have to cut this conversation short. A brief hug or a limp handshake does not make me crave your company.
I want you to look me in the eye just enough to keep me comfortable. Do I fear that you are challenging me? If so, you stare into my baby blues with hints of gray and green too much. We are not Baboons. I do not wish to fight you. I get that you need to make your dominance known to all. But back off, Man. I'm a scientist.
Basically, I want to be somewhere that I am not deemed as a bitter asshole who got slighted once and has never forgiven. I am not out to 'get you'. I am not going to fuck you over if you fucked me over once. No matter what the papers may say. I will still want to drink with you tomorrow and the next day, and if I move away, i will still look at your facebook or myspace profile every once and a while to make sure you are ok. Or to see if your birthday is coming up because I suck with dates.
And if I look at you without a real expression on my face, it isn't because I am mad, It's because I am all out of give a shits. But tomorrow may be different, and that is why you keep me around. At arms length.
And I'm fine, because I know an Archaeologist and countless others who thinks I am rad. Even on off days.

And today was a kind of an off day*. I lost my fedora on a city bus. Drag, huh?

At any rate, just be your fucking self from now on and don't care what people talk about in their blogs or in the lobby or at the bar or in any place where the population is carbon based. There are only three judges in American Idol, and not one of them are the people you hang out with. So stop performing. Your friends won't make you a star. They will however make you better.
It make sense to me, anyway.

And if Star Trek 4 references weren't enough, see if you can dig this one:

'Be Excellent to each other'

As always, Stay Awesome.

Andy

* But I did have a really good phone conversation.

These truths are self evident.

My Banana has a donald duck sticker on it.
I don't know why.
I have started to call Hostess Fruit Pies 'Snacky Pies'
Again, I don't know why except for the fact that they have never disappointed me. Not once. And so, they get a special name. Unique to me.
The pastries were not ready upon pickup today. I only tell you this because they just arrived.
And when the girl came in with the boxes, she scared the everloving shit out of me. I might have been a little embarrassed since just before she came in, I was trying to recite the preamble to the Declaration of Independence... Outloud. In a British Accent, because a lot of people don't think that the first Americans used to be British.
That doesn't mean it's not strange that I was trying to remember something I was forced to memorize in 5th Grade. Again, outloud. In an Accent. In a coffeehouse. Alone.
It just means I'm crazy. Crazy smart!
The scary lady from the Mortgage place across the street just came in and asked for Sugar Free Carmel syrup. I'll get back to the Syrup, but when I say 'Scary' I mean really sad and frazzled. All the time. She is always stressed, and never says she is having a good day. It's always something with her.
For example:
Me: Hi there. Hows it going?
Lady: I'm about to murder everyone in my office. Unless I get coffee. A big assed Venti one.
Me: You speak in terms of Starbucks, a language I do not speak. However, i do understand what 'Big Assed' means. So do need room for cream?
Lady: You are new here.
Me: I have worked here since December.
Lady: I don't see you.
Me: I am a shadow.
Lady: I don't talk to people all weekend. My Ex husband was a musician.
Me: Do you see me now? Who are you talking to?
Lady: Coconuts are natures laxative.
Me: The coffee comes to $2.13 after tax. If I could fly, I would only do it at night so the government wouldn't get me.
Lady: What?
Me: I thought we were playing the 'Say random shit' game. I feel we both won.
Lady: I'm almost 40.
Me: I am terrified of whales.
Lady: Most days I feel I am swirling in a vortex of nothingness, trying in vain to see the beauty of a butterfly.
Me: I call Hostess fruit pies 'snacky pies'.
Lady: Here is your blood money, Doctor. Keep the change.
Me: The change is 13 cents.
Lady: And your welcome for it.
(She then leaves, and I think about looking up the actual Preamble to the Declaration of Independence. But I don't.)

So today she asks for the sugar free Carmel syrup and I tell her we don't have any. Just Sugar Free Vanilla.
She has a mild fit, and tells me that half of us do, half of us don't.
I don't understand for a moment, and I pause, looking at her like a confused German Shepherd.
Then I process what she said and try to make her happy. Which I do, but remember, she is miserable all the time.
I forget where I was going with this story, but at least I wrote a little play.

Snacky Pie!

Ok, seriously, people: Carry cash with you. Like ten dollars at a time. That way, you don't have to use your ATM card for a can of coke. That is all.

In case you are interested:
When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

I love it when you read a blog and you end up learning. However, I did cut and paste this earlier in the blog for you to read later. This is what I was saying outloud before the pastry girl from Isle Bun & Coffee came by:

Andy: (In a British Accent)- In the course of Human history, it is important for people to stop the Political Bands that make them totally cool with each other, and assume that the powers that be, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of God entitle them, a pretty good respect to the opinions of guys like you and I Something something. Meow meow. Terribly important bits about things and such.
We hold these truths to be self evident that everybody is awesome in their own way and they should stop being dicks to each other because we are all the same, and we all deserve to live, be free and chase down happiness and have a good time. America.

ok then. Come to The Monday Night Comedy Show tonight. It should be good. Apparently it is a robot themed show. I'm not sure what that means, but I hope it brings people in.
Doors open at 7:30pm for an 8:00pm show.
$3 for Stand up and Improv.
If you want to read the RoboCop II page, please message me and show up at 7:30pm First come, first served.

Stay Awesome or I'll recite what I remember from a monologue I memorized in 1995. And it isn't pretty. I'm old.
Have a day.
Andy

ps- start commenting on this stuff. I need to feel read.

Sold to the idiot wearing the fedora...

Greetings and Salutations, my darlings of the Interweb.
I hope this finds you well.

I am suffering from some serious allergic reactions to the Planet Earth today.
It seems I cannot go for about 15 minutes without having a fit of the sneezes. And in those fits, i enjoy at least 15 sneezes each. That is one sneeze for every minute I wait for them to come.
Not to be confused with Sneetches, which I would rather write about. They may or may not have stars on their bellies. But my sneezes have no stars upon thars. Only 'Jesus Christ, these fucking hurt, please kill me' Written in big bold red letters. That glow in the dark. And are made of pain and evil. And Also, I hate sneezing.
But meanwhile, in the Hall of Justice, where Batman and Green Lantern are Playing a rousing game of Apples to Apples...

I went to a Police Auction yesterday.
I had never been to an auction before, and I thought I could bid on some confiscated laptops or old murder weapons.
While there were many knives and other tools of mayhem, I saw no laptops. It was so strange, i really suggest you go to one of the auctions if you are bored and want to people watch.
There were the occasional first generation ipods with no cords or software and there were digital cameras that were lacking the same. But there were also brand new toddler clothes and shirts that had random company logos on them. And golf club bags with only half the needed clubs to complete 18 holes. I assume they have 18 holes. All I know about golf I learned from 'Tin Cup' and 'Happy Gilmore' At any rate, the guy who bought the incomplete golf clubs paid almost $400 dollars for them.
And he also won the toddler clothes... I'm not kidding.
There were some exciting moments in the bidding where some people were trying to win a big tupperware box full of random crap. However, once the Axe and Hatchet Lot came up for bidding, I knew this was my chance to bid on something ridiculous. The Bidding started at $25 and then dropped down to $10. Still no takers.
But when it went to $5, I got what I call 'The Auction Fever'
I raised my number card high into the air, making the people I went with(John, Chris, Aimee, Lindsey and Mike) laugh at me.
What did I need with an Axe and a Hatchet?
I didn't. But I did have $5 to spend on them, and I wasn't going to leave an auction without something I could hold high above my head and yell 'VICTORY!!!!'
Then the bidding war to end all wars began.
Some douchebag wanted my Axe and Hatchet. The bidding went up $2.
That Motherfucker was not going to win.
$7 now? Fine, I went up to $9.
How bad do you want something when some asshat challenges you?
He countered another $2
The auctioneer guy was dividing his attention between us. The room was freaking out with all the electricity.
Did the Axe kill a family of five?
Was the Hatchet used to break a window in some warehouse during an industrial espionage raid?
All I knew was that I needed to own those two items that were duct taped together and didnt even come with a sharpening stone or sheaths.
I raised my card up high when it go to $13.
And If it were possible to shoot some sort of ball of tangible energy at the guy who thought he could beat me, I would have sent him flying into an abyss and lightning and thunder would be the orchestral soundtrack to my Auction Victory!
$13 and some sales tax later, I am the proud owner of 'Battle' and 'Molly'
Some may think that I will be starting that log cabin up North soon with my tools of the Northwoods. Or that I am going to begin a relentless killing spree that will send the Axe and Hatchet back to the evidence locker, only to be auctioned off again after the blood has been washed off.
Those scenarios are half true.
I will be going to the Northwoods. But I will be killing Bears with them.
So goodbye, Minneapolis. I am now a Bear hunter. I bid you good day.

Seriously, though. I have an Axe and a Hatchet. My empire will know no bounds.

Lindsey and Chris were the only others who bid on anything.
Chris got a couple boxes of comic books, and Linds got a Palm Pilot that may not work.
I feel that I really won the day.
I will post a picture up of my prizes later.

Today, Chris and I drove around the lakes and found ourselves at a garage sale.
I didnt have any cash on me, as Chris locked the front door when i was sitting on the porch and said "Come on. Let's go." Where are we going? "Around the lakes in search of adventure!"
How could I say no?
I did borrow two bucks from him and bought a disco ball for all those sexy dance parties I have in my room. I did almost set the disco ball down and grab a book about The Tower of London, but I have three of those already, and sexy dances are better Winter entertainment.

What did you do today? Or rather, what are you doing tonight? I hope you can see me dancing in my room, swinging my Axe and Hatchet wildly around my head, hoping that a Bear has the bad luck to try and interrupt me.

I will leave you with that visual.

Stay Awesome or I will 'forget' to wear 'Pants' during my sexy dance party...
Andy

Really? You waited to go to sleep for THIS?!

I am miles and miles away from being where I need to be, but tonight I am giving my team of scientists the night off from their work on the teleportation machine. they have been doing 12 hours shifts, 52 weeks out of the year. They are no closer to developing the needed technology now than they were in 1998 when I set them the task. However, they are hard workers and need to see their families.

There is no concept of weekends anymore! (Props to whoever gets that reference. Hint: Spalding Gray)

And so I lament the fact I am here. In my room at four in the AM. Eating re-heated spaghetti and wondering what I am doing with my life.
And I am also wondering what disc of Highlander: The Series I should watch. I know, I know. You think I should watch all of them. Even the ones with Ritchie. I tell you no. Not a chance. Even the most die hard fan worth his or her salt would skip over those and prefer to watch old episodes of 'Friends'. Sadly, I don't have any of those. just a complete series of a show about immortal swordsman.
It isn't a bad life, I lead, but it is a life without teleportation.
If I had my choice, I would be in the rainy and drizzle (snoop dogg!) infested Eastern Michigan area dreaming about future conquests and names for as yet born twins with jedi powers and the ability to throw knives at moving targets.

But this spaghetti is so delicious. Though I just burnt the roof of my mouth and am cursing science for not creating a safe way to enjoy it direct from the microwave without 'letting it sit' for two minutes.
And I am reveling in my use of the run on sentence. Go me.

Speaking of knife throwing, I picked up a couple of batarangs a few months ago and was going to add them to my ever growing collection of things that are made of metal and stick into slabs of wood. I say 'was' because I ended up just sitting them on a shelf and forgot about them until tonight when i was talking to Amanda and trying desperately hard to impress the fact that I have many qualities, and not just speaking in a fast paced mode not unlike The Gilmore Girls.
I failed in my eyes, but maybe I could win in the long run. More on that in another blog.
So I have two metal objects that are in the shape of a bat symbol. Very sharp on the two ends and most agreeable to the eye. If your eye was keen on the shape of a bat. And by 'bat' I mean The symbol on the chest of the Man himself. And by 'The Man himself' I mean, well, you know what I mean...
Which these are.
And I was trying to be cool with no one but my cat in the room, and I was twirling them around my fingers as best I could with these strange meathooks I call hands. I might have said: 'Well, Well, Riddler. It seems I have bested you once again.' (note that i also might have said it in a British accent, and I know Batman doesn't speak like that. Accent or no. I might have been invoking The Blue Raja from 'Mystery Men' But I was using Batarangs, so all is forgiven.

The short version is: I dropped one on my floor. And it stuck. Deep into the hardwood.
And though I was alone in my room, save for my cat, who is not a stranger to irony or my strange behavior, I looked at the batarang and said: "Don't fuck with the Lords of Hell"
I paused, smirking in the cleverness that only those who are very eccentric an/or alone can relish, And then I dropped the other Batarang on the floor (it stuck as well) and then I said (also out loud): "Don't fuck with the babysitter"
And I know that isn't how it all went down in the movie, but I am my own person, and am allowed some creative license. No matter how odd.
I also realized several things about myself:

1) I don't care if I lose the security deposit on the apartment. My landlord is a dick, and I can say that those Batarang marks were on the floor when I moved in.
2) Being able to say: 'Those Batarang marks were on the floor when I moved in' is priceless.
3) I need to stop trying to entertain my cat.
4) I own not one, but SEVERAL pairs of batarangs.
5) I like to party. Adventures in Babysitting style. You guys get that that was from Adventures in Babysitting, right? If not, you shouldn't be reading my blog.
6) I am not going to get my security deposit back.


So I bid you goodnight, or good morning as the case may be. Remember that tomorrow is another day you might just get that revenge on the system that pissed you off.
And also, I own motherfucking BATARANGS, and I will let you see them if you ask.

Sometimes being Andy Brynildson is funner than say: Anything ever in all the world. And all the other times it's just like being you, only with great hair* and Batarangs.

Stay Awesome, because you know I will.

Andy


Ps- I visited my Mom today, and she saw my new tattoo. Amy, my sister, thought it was cool and took a picture of it with her phone. My Mom rolled her eyes and said that at least I didn't have my ears pierced. (note that I have had my left ear pierced since 1997 when i went with Mark Adams to Calires boutique and had it done in some sort of male bonding ritual. A fact that my Mom has known and has wondered if I am gay ever since.

PPS- I am not gay, but I do own Batarangs and speak in British accents in the audience of my cat.

PPSx2- Why do you read this blog anyway?

*It is the only thing I have going for me. Please understand that.

My gift is my song. And this one's for you.

Since I don't like lying to you, gentle reader, i am going to be upfront and honest to you.
Starting with this sentence:

I am super duper affected by the magical powers of whiskey and Diet Coke.
The Gypsy curse that the two have upon me are a most potent and cruel mistress that I will never again underestimate. I suggest you feel the same way.

On side note, while I am very inebriated and unable to operate heavy machinery, I am overly conscious of my spelling and Grammar. Hence, I am using the spell-check more than three times per sentence. However, it does not prevent the occasional- Der Der Der. I typed that giggling loudly, hoping that it would wake up my neighbors and I would be given the opportunity to shout: 'If it's too loud, you're too old!'

Sadly, I did not wake up the neighbors in the style of Brian Adams. But if I do anything, I do it for you. Never forget this, dear Blog reader. I have such a thing for you that I just don't know how to express it. (this was me flirting with you)

So tonight I went to a thing called LOL. I would usually poo poo this title because I think Text message or Instant message 'Slang' should be left to the dead or dying of society.
This evening will be the exception.
birthed from the womb of the brain of Greg 'The Dez' Hernandez, LOL is a Stand up comedy Show of epic proportions.
Not to be misunderstood, LOL asks you to jump, and your first reaction is ' How high?'
It is a good show, and a welcome face to the senior photos that is Minneapolis Comedy Shows.
And if you asked nicely, I am sure LOL would stand next to a Bale of hay or a wagon wheel.
Just like your senior photo.
Not mine, though. Mine was classy and made of awesome. Just ask my friends and family.
Speaking of Friends, check this hot shit out:

I am to become an uncle once more!I was told by a Sexy little bird named Amanda that Jenny will be giving birth to the official 'Andrew Jr.'
My official response was ' Oh Hell yes! An Arranged marriage!!!'
Referring to Annabeth Irene West's birth from July.
I don't know any guy who doesn't like an older woman, so My man Andrew Jr. will be knee deep in Annie-Pants by the time he is 13. By 'Knee deep' I mean that he will be respectful and kind to Annie and will buy her flowers on his own accord and never ever have to have me prompt him into being a good man to my lovely niece. Seriously. I will fuck his shit up if he is ever less than a gentleman.

Wow. I just found myself being mad at some future version of a nephew who isn't even born yet being mean to the future version of my niece who isn't even two months old. And I assumed that that they would end up being married.
And I assume that he/she will be a boy.
And I hope I will not have to re-write this blog.

I fear for the mental stability of any child I have.
But they really don't have any business being married to anyone but each other.
There I go again.
Fuck it. My word is law.

Please picture, if you will, that i am listening to the 'Moulin Rouge' Soundtrack while writing this.
very loudly. Ergo, my 'word' is not only 'law', but the most pretty of 'law'. wearing the most beautiful frock that ever was bartered from a ren-fest wench. I'm talking sequins out the wazoo, and strappy things that make your prom dress look like a burlap sack.

I think that I am going to cut this short so I can finish a letter that I need to send out to post tomorrow at the very latest.
If you take anything out of this, please let it be that I hope for nothing but the best for both my niece Annie and my nephew 'Andrew Junior' And that I like to support fledgling comedy shows. even if they are stand up shows. Even if...
(I kid because I love)

So I hope for nothing more than for a million babies to be made merely minutes after reading this blog. And that they are all named after me. Remember that Andrew means 'Strong and Manly'
And if I have anything to do with it, 'Awesome' as well.

Just a moment for shameless plugging:
The Monday Night Comedy Show will soon be a platform for the 'President of Comedy' elections. Please mark your calendars for the next two months of Monday nights, as you will be a part of history.
Your vote affects the outcome.
And if you come to the show on November 3rd, you choose your leader. No matter who protests. It was my idea first.

I'll keep you posted, don't worry.

With that, I bid you a very tipsy adieu.

Stay Awesome, or the dice will roll a plus four. And that means the high priestess Elven Sorcerer will defeat your lowly human metallurgist. How embarrassing.

Andy.

Meaningless drivel.

I feel like I should get back to writing happier little posts in this blog.
The IndyFringe took a lot of steam out of my engine that runs on steam.
Having an engine that runs on steam means that I either need massive amounts of coal or a lot of firewood. I have not ascertained if my steam engine runs on one or the other. i think it changes with my mood for the day.
Today it runs on wood.
Tomorrow may be a coal day.
I think I should avoid metaphors from now on. I tend to ramble and make little sense.

So yeah. I feel a bit out of sorts.
I feel old and without direction.
Well, not so old as to start collecting Social Security, but I'm not 17 anymore.
I was asked recently how much it would take for me to go back to being a 17 year old.
My response was: "I would rob a bank and pay you if you had that power, wizard"
I wasn't talking to a wizard. In fact, I am so old, i forget which friend was talking to me.
But I digress.
I loved being 17. It worked for me a lot.
I was baby faced and didn't hide my double chin under a goatee*.
I was almost 70 pounds lighter and I think I wore the latest fashions. I actually still wear the kinds of clothes I wore way back in the 90's. a tee shirt and a long sleeved button down.
It isn't that I am grotesquely overweight. It's just that I really should stop relying on dollar menus at fast food places.
Taco bell, you have ruined me.
And what the hell is up with the 7 layer burrito being almost $2 now?! You guys suck.
I ride my bike as a commuter vehicle. i should be skinny and hot and desirable.
Again, Taco Bell, you are a cruel bitch of a mistress.
My 17th year was great. The whole world ahead of me and I could run a mile in 10 minutes. That isn't true. I don't run. Not even when a bear is chasing me.

But if a Bear chased me into a Taco Bell, I would feel that not getting a few dollar menu burrito's would be a slam against the fates.

At any rate, I want to be 17 again. I had it made then. And I got laid all the time.
Also, not true. Not even if a Bear was chasing me.
I don't know what that means. But I was younger...

I'm trying to figure stuff out. Future stuff. And who knows, maybe I will be asking folks to move to Alaska and become fishermen or fishers of men or fisher kings or Fisher Stevens. isn't he the guy from Short Circuit and Hackers? Fuck it, let's just go bowling.
I need a better hobby than blogging. You must think me strange.
Well same to you.

Tonight at the Beat, an open mic is happening.
Spoken word, Acoustic variety and more.
I'd say that you should come, but it has taken me five hours just to post this blog with no meaning. And the open mic is almost closed now.
That means it might be happy hour soon. Somewhere...

I suppose that if you take anything away from today's post, it should be this:

Even though you can't go back to being 17, doesn't mean you can't openly hate open mic nights.
And also, Bears are cool. I like Polar bears, personally. Don't take that as me knowing them personally. i have never met a polar bear. I assume they are nice. Maybe they are all like the ones from that Compass movie. Wearing armor and talking in Olde English.
Or they kill you as you are on your way to Taco Bell.

Have a good night. I'll be back on the airwaves tomorrow. And by Airwaves, I mean the wireless interweb that makes these blogs so damned tasty.

And with no trans fat.

Stay Awesome.

Andy


* I don't have a double chin. I don't think I do, anyhow. It is hidden under the goatee, so it's anyones guess. I should exercise more. Maybe after Taco Bell...