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