Update #3

Writing as a hobby is pretty fun.
Writing as something you are experimenting with for two months to see if you can do it more and more as life progresses...Not so much.
Linds sent me a link to an article about first drafts.
Actually, it was about shitty First Drafts. And how they are supposed to be just that.
I have to train myself to stop editing as I go. The article helped a great deal and calmed me down a touch.
Today I switched from Introducing/describing my main character to describing God, who is the other main character.
Actually, I got so far as to describe his 'office/workshop' Haven't hit upon the deity (is that the correct spelling? it look strange.But spellcheck says we're cool)him/herself.
Today was a narcoleptic day wherein I slept too long and too much.
It is almost midnight, and i have been hoping to acquire a regular sleep schedule so I can get more done during the day and have the cover of night to have the adventures.
Alas, this evening I will be sitting on the porch, thinking about stuff I have no control over and wondering what to write next.
This is the Summer of my German Hemmingway, after all.
Torture is normal and acceptable when it is all in your head, right?

I have a birthday coming up. Number 31. I don't know if I should be excited or scared. 30 came and went without much fanfare or excitement. Maybe this one will be just another old fashioned love song. And no. i don't know what that means, it was just running through my head. I wonder if Three Dog night is thinking of me right now. I'm not sure if any of them are still alive, but if they are, I am comforted by the thought of 'AndyBrynildsonAndyBrynildsonAndyBrynildson' running on loop as they scramble to the interweb to find out what it means.
But If I have some psychic connection to Three Dog Night, then I must be turning 61 instead of 31.
I should listen to more Queen.
Anyhow, I may or may not have a birthday party. The festivities that were planned were canceled due to the end of a relationship. So it goes, I guess. It's one of those things I am thinking about while on the porch if you were wondering. It would be nice to see people and celebrate the 10 year anniversary of me being allowed inside a bar.
Oh God. That realization just hit me.

I am sitting on the porch still. Somethings don't change.
Lisa, one third of my gracious hosts, the other ones being James, and their soon to be one year old daughter, Annabeth Irene, AKA Pants) has been exposing me to episodes of buffy The Vampire Slayer and talking to me about life, the universe and everything. I have two buffy episodes swimming in my head and wishing I was a Joss Wheaton fav so i can have a show where I have conventions built around me.
So now that Lisa is asleep and I am waiting for James to come home from his night job as a Fed Ex manly Man, I have this blog to think about.
Sucks to the Athsmar of writing a book about Shaft or God or whatever the hell I think it's about.
I am on the porch in front of the house in perfect sitting at my netbook weather.
And I wanted to talk about something that appeals to everyone, but my finger is on the pulse of pop culture from ten years ago.
Actually, it might be 20 years ago, because I have an INXS song stuck in my head. A slight improvement from Three Dog Night.
What I really wish is for things to be brighter tomorrow with a trip to the Zoo. And maybe some clarity about drama that has been bugging me.
But first: I'm gonna go see dolphins make me smile and see if Indy has any Polar Bears I can relate to for a few hours.
Sleep well & I will talk to you tomorrow.

Stay Awesome.
Andy

Not an update. Just what is on my mind at 2:30am

I once wrote a long time ago that Indianapolis was the city I ran away from.
But I keep coming back. I always come back.
And while I was growing up here, I hated it. That is why I ran away. And it's like I never stopped running.
But the more I think about what this town means to me, the more I realize that I need it in my life. I need the people here. The ones that matter. Parks and lakes and museums and libraries are all the same in the end. It's always about where you feel at home.
I feel the pull of both the cities. Minneapolis, where my Mom lives. My sisters. My oldest niece is only two hours away. She is starting her adult life well, and she is already a dear friend of mine. There are four kids there that I love very much. Annika, parker, Anders & Annalesa. I like being able to watch them grow up. See them succeed and become persons that I would be happy to hang out with and do anything for.
I have regular haunts that I go to on regular occasions. Some not enough, some to often to be healthy.
I love it there. the arts and music. The weather, albeit a harsh bitch of a mistress is great.
And the friends are supportive and good. There is more to say about them, but I know they know I care a great deal for them.

And Indianapolis. I talk shit about it a lot because I'm usually doing it to make friends laugh. The truth is, i like it here too. I talk shit before anyone else has a chance to. Because if they started up, I would tear them down. Visit here for a while and check it out before you start the mockery.
yeah, there are hicks and rednecks and uneducated people. But what place doesn't have that?
Hell, a selling point on Indy is the lack of Passive Aggressiveness. There are few things I despise more than that.
Rednecks can be taught to wear a suit and appreciate Bach. Passive aggressive people are untrainable.
Which leads me to a point.
Tonight I made an offhand comment about Indy. It upset someone I love very much, and I feel I will be making amends for a while to come.
I have a great respect for anyone who can leave home and randomly make a new one in a place where they don't know anyone.
The terror that rises in me at the thought of such a major life change is crippling to even think about.
Indianapolis is my best kept secret.
The people I stay with when down here, are guarded even closer. They are mine. And I let precious few know much about them. let alone meet the people who are my family here.
I told Amanda tonight that I am torn between two cities. It kills me to leave here every time. And having found love here that means so much hurts even more because I am a coward.
I hate that about myself. It burdens me so much to feel I have to choose between the two.
The only thing stopping me is really and truly just me. I am my own worst enemy. literally. I wouldn't know what to do with happiness if it stabbed me in the head and I somehow had all the necessary medical training to fix and to stitch.
I wonder if that made any sense? It is pretty late here, and I am emotionally a mess while i am typing this.
I'm just a mess. I don't remember a time in recent memory when I had my shit together.
I'm certainly not going to figure anything out by blogging about it.
And I'm not going to have it all figured out by a good nights sleep.
In fact, I probably wont ever know what to do next with any degree of certainty.
I just wanted you to know that I like it here. Even if I say I don't.
Tomorrow is going to be another sunny day, and I will be sad about something and I will be happy about something. I will worry, and i will be calm. I'll laugh, and I'll probably regret everything I have ever done. I have ups and downs in any city I live in. I just wish one thing at 11:11pm every night: to wake up somewhere the next day & maybe hold someone's hand as I walk out a door.
Anyway, Indy is alright & so is Minneapolis.
They both help me in different ways.
Stay Awesome.
Andy

Update #2

Sorry about the earlier freak out.
Today is going a little bit better.
I've been sitting on the porch with my little netbook on my lap. trying to come up with new things.
Everything i type is sounding more and more like one of my blogs.
Svetlana says i should embrace it, and that lots of people like reading what I write.
I trust her, and I know that writing about writing is very pretentious. I do apologize for it, and the tone of all these blogs. (read: Woah is me)
I thought I had a solid story in my head, and it isn't happening like I want at all.
I don't even know what I want out of this. Something to be proud of, i suppose.

Irvington is a very peaceful little place amidst a sprawling city.
Indianapolis is much bigger that way than minneapolis. Sprawl. It goes for miles and miles and miles. I like how everyone in the Twin Cities thinks its a small podunk town with a well and one stoplight.
The skyline isn't impressive, but there is a strip mall for every person in the city limits. And more.
I got my Dad's bike the other day, so hopefully i will leave the porch one of these days and try and get some exercise.
Last night was a great bbq with some of the Dorch gang. Lisa was missing. As was Jenny, Hammam & James. Didn't feel complete, but i remembered how much I like looking into a fire. And the people that were there were great.
Today is very relaxed. No one is home right now except the Dog and I.
I had a wild hair and mowed the lawn. I wish I could help more around the house with stuff to make lisa and Jame's life a little less stressful. I'll have to keep asking them if i can do anything until they relent and give me a list of stuff to do.
More writing should be done by me in something that isn't this.

Stay awesome.
Andy

Update #1

This isn't going well.
I came to indianapolis to write the shit out of some stuff, and I have come up with one page.
In three days, I will have been here a week.
My goal was to do Five to Ten pages a day.
My problem is with editing as I go. I read it out loud to myself and pretend that there is someone listening who wants to hear more, but the room is silent.
I have everything I need to make this happen. i have my iced coffee. i have my smokes (that I want to stop smoking, but I am so good at it)
I have the computer, and i have the idea.
But I don't have a way to get to the idea.
Who cares about a guy who is trying to shift the paradigm that society has on God?
I can't have the main guy talk to Odin, because Mr. Gaiman did it already, and I keep coming up with scenarios that seem to come directly out of some notebook that he didn't use for American Gods.
I feel like a hack who is trying to cleverly steal from his favourite author but without the stealing part.
Is everything thought of unoriginal? Has everything been done? Is it all just some spin on the same old song and dance?
What does that mean?
Am I singing?
Am I dancing?
I think i am freaking out, but I'm keeping it all on the inside and putting on a happy face, telling everyone that it's going well and I just need to hit my stride.
Except, i do vent here. There is always this place.
But I want it to work. I do I do.

I know this:
It is a adventure.
It is a story about a guy who talks with god, but god might just be a figment of his imagination, ala Calvin & Hobbes.
Or maybe a Snuffelupagus/Big Bird thing.
But people see Snuffy now. Before, the Big Bird was just crazy.
I am crazy.
I am a bird?
I don't like birds, really. I think they are cool, and former dinosaurs, but Dr. Grant told me that, and he doesn't exist because Michael Crighton is dead now.
Have I passed the point of no return?

I want it to be funny, but what is funny about anything but everything?
Why did that last sentence make total sense to me?

I thought there were rules to these daunting projects, but i am making up new ones as I go. Like I have to blog in order to psych myself up to type just one small paragraph in a thing that maybe no one will read.

yes. I am a Bird. And a Dinosaur. i wish i hadn't left that dino claw that linds bought me in Minneapolis. I should type with it to get into the mind of a dinosaur bird who writes about God.
why am i not capitalizing the 'I's'? Sometimes I am. just then i did. but not just then.
Oh my God, i am not good at any of this and i want a snacky pie. Cherry. A cherry hostess snacky pie.
No. A mountain dew slushie.
yes.

I have to make the internet stop for a while.

I want people to write me letters. Via post.
Please, if you read this, send a letter to me at this address:

5318 Julian Avenue
Indianapolis, IN
46219

Tomorrow will be better. Everybody writes about God on Sunday.
But not the way i do, because I dont write anything. I am not a writer. This is ridiculous and I want to punch Neil Gaiman in the face for inspiring me to want to do something different.

Ok. i never want to do that. I just wish he was here so I could find out what to do next.

More soon.
Stay Awesome.
Snacky Pies are terrible for you. I promise not to eat one, but to always want one.

Andy (or the shell of)

On Beginning an Adventure.

Aside from the points in the trip where a water buffalo or The Loch Ness Monster crosses the tracks, making us have to slow down to a mere five miles an hour, the trip has been…Something.
The first leg of the journey was spent sleeping, as I opted out the night before because of a dire need to pack. I was transported to St. Paul Midway station by a very bleary eyed Big Strong Mike. Many thanks again for helping me out with the ride. I was placed in the very last car on the 10+ car train. It seemed to stretch for a mile. I was able to hunker down next to a not old enough to get a discounted coffee, but not young enough to put off thinking about AARP Lady. I am sure she is getting pamphlets. I can tell she wants to talk to me. But the joke is on her. I'm going to sleep on her shoulder and make her tell me it's all going to be ok. And then we will talk about girls we like and what movies we want to go see. She's gonna hate me by trips end.*
As it turned out, on the MSP to Chicago ride on Amtrak’s EMPIRE BUILDER, there are a few ‘smoke stops’ The first was in Winona, and the train was just a bit longer than the , what do you call them? Tarmack? Sidewalk? Razor Awesome Wallaby Chill Spot? We were told to go back up the stairs (as our train was a fancy train with two levels and free Kleenex tissues. Seriously. I could have stolen fifteen boxes and Amtrak would still have enough to give the planet a box or two. There seems to be piles of them everywhere. I think Amtrak is having an affair with Costco. When I got out of the train for a smoke, I noticed that three train cars (Including my own) were stopped well before the street we were blocking. The line of cars kept getting longer. The glares we got from the drivers more menacing. What were we to do? I suppose I could have asked the Engineer to scootch the train up the track about 400 feet, but would he or she even listen? And anyway, where do people from Winona need to get to so fast on a Tuesday Morning? The liquor store. That is where. They could wait five minutes.
I did call my niece to tell her that the last five minutes she just experienced were wasted on not meeting me on some street in Winona. Instead, I am sure she was on her way to a liquor store like the postman and the 50 minivans filled with screaming kids who wanted to go to the pool. And the liquor store to buy blunts and some peach Schnapps.
The next break was in Milwaukee (I missed a few due to napping) When we got on the train in Minneapolis, the nice Man who I decided I wanted to like despite my aversion to people with personalities so early in the AM, told us to stick close by the train during smoke breaks. Seemed like a reasonable request. It was nice enough of them to allow for a deplorable habit shared by only a few to even be recognized during a trip. Well, in Milwaukee, a woman decided to take a walk during the smoke break. A very very long walk. In fact, her walk was so long, I think a few of us thought she worked for the Train Guild and was going to go work on some switches or other train related business.
The ‘All Aboard!” was screamed out into a very hot and Humid Milwaukee train depot sky. Wayward Pigeons flew out, startled, from rusted beams overhead. However, the lady on her walkabout did not hear. She was off in the distance, almost half the length of the train away.
All the people were back on the train by now. Isaac, the likeable fellow mentioned earlier (‘Just like the love boat, only it’s a LoveTtrain!’ His words.) He finally noticed her, and said: ‘Oh Hell. I’m just gonna leave that Bitch’ I laughed, because I am prone to do that when funny stuff is muttered.
But he was too nice, and by now, she was wobbling back to the train doing something that looked like an impersonation of a runner done by someone who has never seen it done, and was told about it by a three year old blind kid.
Long story short, too late, because this woman decided to have a vision quest during a smoke break in Milwaukee, she set off the following events that inconvenienced me:
1) The train, being held up for a mere 10 minutes because of lady gaga’s stroll, missed the opportunity to pass over a bridge that was about a hundred yards from the train platform (THAT’S the word. Platform…) It was one of those open uppy/cantilever bridges to let big boats pass through. Well, there were about 50 or so boats that needed to pass, so we waited for them.
2) The bridge operator, bless his heart, was a five year old little boy who didn’t remember how to put the bridge back in one piece so Mr. Big Fuck Off train could pass over it. That part took an hour and a half.
3) When we finally got underway, it was threatened that those going to Indianapolis would have to take a bus to catch up with the connecting train that we would most assuredly miss due to a bridge that didn’t want to do its fucking job.


I should note that I spent the hour and a half sitting in the Observation car, trying to read the Anthony Bourdain book I brought with me. To no avail. I was busy observing a convention of Mennonites (Amish-lite) I was thinking about those Captain Ahab beards and listening to them speak English/Dutch. I also wondered if they thought their wives looked plain as well. Then I remembered I was pissed about the lady who walked our way into Amtrak hate. By the time the train started rolling again, I noticed one of the little Mennonite kids was holding my book. His father, who had hunted the white whale that took his mannish wife’s good looks away years ago ripped it out of his hands and apologized to me. I took it in stride and told him that I now owned his farm, and he had to make me a bedroom set and a kitchen table. Delivery is set for later in this post…
We did, however, get to Chicago, and yes, it was tense. And yes, there were very few Amtrak employees who seemed to know what a Train was, let alone where I was supposed to find the one that by the time I had reached Chicago, was leaving in fifteen minutes ago…
As luck would have it, and because Karma like to pee in places you like to swim(metaphorically, of course) I caught the train and was on my way. It just so happened, that this train(the one I am typing this on now) is cursed. It’s an old Gypsy curse you probably were threatened with when you wouldn’t eat your vegetables: “eat you Veggies, or the Summer heat will make the Train Rails warp and make a derailment. And the souls of a thousand pissed off travelers will be on your head.”
Sadly, they didn’t tell us this. They let us sit and wonder why we weren’t moving for TWO HOURS.
It was some intrepid older guy who can pull off a moustache like Tom Selleck in his prime who found out the why’s of our delay. All we needed was a couple updates or something. It wasn’t too much to ask. I may have said something out loud when the train conductor, Sir toppum Hat, said: “Does anyone need anything? That something I said might have sounded like ‘Maybe an idea as to where we are, why the Mennonite’s women are plain, and why there is so much Kleenex in Amtrak trains’

Now, I am speeding along the Indiana darkness. By rail of all the possible modes. I look out to see nothing by my reflection in the harsh overhead light so I can find the keyboard. Every once in a while, I turn off the light to contemplate why I am on this train. When I do that, I see the intermittent sparks of fireflies in fields that are as big as 1000 of the trains that I am on. These little pinpoints of faerie light that remind me I am back home again in Indiana.
At least for two months…
And all I need to make it complete is some John Mellencamp telling me that it’s just another day.
Holy crap, the train is slowing down again. Im gonna kill somebody.
Note: the train ended up being over three hours late. James met me downtown and I am sitting in the living room while he plays his World Of Warcraft, the Baby is awake and crying because she doesn’t want to miss what exciting things happen when Uncle Andy comes to town and I am about to pass out and start something epic tomorrow.
Stay Awesome, I’m about to.
Andy

*I just ended up sleeping most of the way. I think she was relieved.

A milestone and other things.

The Monday Night Comedy Show celebrated its 100th show a couple days ago.
We had 75 audience members and 11 performers & staff in the big room that night.
It was our largest show to date.
The acts were great, and the audience had a fantastic time. It was standing room only at The Beat Coffeehouse, and I couldn't have been happier.
Minutes before the house opened, Joel gave me the go ahead to tell everyone we would be returning to The Beat in September. The uproarious applause was wonderful.
I know what The MNCS means to me personally, but I often forget what it means to other people.
I don't think about the fact that so many relationships that make people very happy were given the opportunity to happen as a result of a comedy show in a coffeehouse in Uptown on a night reserved for doing nothing but decompressing after the first workday of the week.
Jen and Bill got to know each other more and ended up falling in love
Nick and Kate are drunk off of each other because I kept bugging him to come to the show.
Matt and Aislinn are pretty much missing in action these days because they met through a slight suggestion from me. "Matt likes you. I think you two should date"

I went through the performance waivers and running orders for the show earlier on Monday. I wanted to see how many people have performed at the show.

215 individuals so far. And my numbers might be inaccurate. But that says a lot about how many performers live in this town, and how many are prone to being funny.
If you think about it, there are lots of others who do comedy who have never bothered with, or been able to perform the show.
I'm sure they will come around, though. We are kind of an institution now.

So this is a kind of 'I'm Gloating' post. I'm proud of my little show. I am happy I have gotten to know so many of the best performers in the Twin Cities. And I am thankful at the same time. If the performers sucked, the audience would stop coming, and if the audience sucked, the performers would stop coming.
It's a catch 22 that makes me happy.

So the show will be back in early September. Before that, however, I am due for some serious writing time. I might even practice not using so many run on sentences...
People keep asking me what I am writing when I am down in Indianapolis. Honestly, I don't know.
I would like to write a big long story and have it be read by lots of people.
That would be wonderful.
But I know myself, and really what this is going to be is a test of my follow through and endurance.
I want to see if I believe in myself enough to not care what people think i should be doing or writing about. I want to write about something I want. In a style and voice all my own.

But don't worry, I won't be going all radio silence this Summer.
I still have a show that I need to book acts for, and not to mention promote in a more aggressive way.
And then there is life stuff.
I need to find a job when i get back that will allow me to live on my own without roommates for the first time in a long while.
It will be a studio, i am sure.
Just enough room for my cat and I.
At present, i am not really looking forward to that. I am a social person who has had a fair share of alone time in my life.
But, I do like to walk around naked and figure out tv theme songs on accordion...
In the Fall, i also have a lot of projects to look forward to besides the MNCS.
John and i are going to write more songs together and try to perform them somewhere.
Gus Lynch, host of Laugh Rock Repeat showed interest on Monday after we did our 'Robot Love' and 'The British Prison Colony Song'
I am sure we have more funny in us that is yet untapped.
And then there is the hope of re-mounting JAWS The Musical!
John and I have to write more dialogue, and a few new songs to make that happen.
There is more, but I have stuff I need to accomplish today.
Oh, i forgot to mention that I read some stuff at Kierans Irish Pub last night for WonderDave's 'Juvenalia' show. You were to read things you wrote as a kid. Most were sweet and cute, but mine was from High School and in regards to my first official Girlfriend. Very dark and Emo. But in hindsight, hilarious.
I was talking to WD and i think I want to try to do slam poetry come the Fall.
So many plans, we'll see where I end up.

I hope you have a great Wednesday. Talk to you soon.

Stay Awesome.

Andy

ps- I do have several MNCS tee shirts still available, so if you want to help me recoup my money, please tell me you want one. They are $12 and it would help me out on my trip quite a bit. Thanks.

pps- Having an impromtu going away for a two months thing at The Green mill Uptown on Friday night at 9:30pm. Feel free to bring birthday presents for me, as I will be gone... ;)
-A-

Lost my Chi. Will dance for Chi.

A little update for those who ponder my whereabouts for the moment:

So here I am in South Minneapolis.
I am living the cliche dream: In my Mother's basement, turning 31 in less than a month. Eating hot dos and other various gas station food to survive(because I refuse to be more of a burden on my mum than I already am. And selling all my stuff to finance a vacation I most certainly do not deserve, in a yard sale that is in itself based on run on sentences and comma splices.

All I need is some hot pockets and some Xena tapes.

To say the least, I do not think highly of myself these days.

I am surrounded by thoughts of people who think my ugly red shorts are the one thing that define me. (incidentally, no one will buy them)

And thoughts of the same red shorts that I wore in a hot spring bath in Iceland.
(partially happy though. I liked Iceland. they had a Popeye's chicken in the mall in Reykjavik.)
Basically, I am immersed in deep thoughts about things that happened years ago.
And to tell the truth, I am sick to death of them.

finding myself at a loss of what to do tonight, as I spent the better part of the day shlepping my stuff to neighborhood yard/garage sale professionals, I wanted an out. I needed to get out and get away into that proverbial sunshine Day. the Brady Bunch would be so proud.
So I went to Uptown. My old neighborhood. I went to Liquour Lyles.
And there, I found two-fers and walley nuggets or some such shit served with fries. Pomm Frites for the uninitiated.
From there, I went to the place where things go to doe and be reborn as something more evil than the thing they were trying to escape in the first place: Williams Pub.
The Headquarters of Frat boys and women who buy their clothes at American Apparel.
I'll break it down and beg like James: I played pool and drank a tankard of beer.
These things are out of the ordinary for your normal neighborhood Andrew.
It isn't that I wanted to go, it's just that I wanted to be something of a wingman for a friend who was nice enough to rescue me from my isolation in South Minneapolis. (THE WORST wingman in recorded history. At least since 'Top Gun' came out)
And I was in Williams Pub.
I will need some industrial strength hot showers to wash the goo off of me.
the kind of showers where they use steam to kill the bacteria.
So many folks I didnt want to talk to that there was line to go to the Men's restroom. (That only happens at the Indy 500 as far as I know. See, they serve LITERS of beer there. that is a unit of measurement reserved for things you bring to parties when you want to be nice and not be the douche who brings chips.

And this mysterious shadowy figure (Me) does not drink beer unless forced by something pointy and stick-like with a gun and a knife attached at the end by nothing less than a bomb (or duct tape) threatening a family of bunny-puppy-tiny hedgehog-kittens.
I drank beer, my friends.
I drank beer to forget.
And the shit part is, I remember everything.
What was I talking about?
Oh yes, I was gonna tell you about my mood.
Meh.
I am grey and gray and blah and meh.
The sale is doing really well, but that is because I have nice stuff and don't like haggling about prices.
The first customer today came at 9AM.
The sale started at 10am. (please note that I don't like early birds)
I was in the garage grabbing some shelving that I was planning on selling, when I was placing the shelves to put in said shelving on a table, she said: 'Don't put anything on there, I am buying it!!' (the two exclamation marks denote her seriousness about owning the thing she decided she owned now.)
Ok. So I might have lost my shit at her...
However, there are several things to consider when you know me.
1) I HATE having yard/garage sales.
2) I HATE people who come early to aforementioned sales.
3) I am NOT a morning person.
4) MY STUFF. I did not receive any money from her, and I told her: "Guess what? This is still my stuff. I decide who walks away with it. I do not know you, stranger Danger, and I will put things where I want. We are not open for another hour. I hate your ass face, and I blame you for making racism a thing."
(I might have paraphrased myself a bit there)
And she replies(and I swear this is to the letter): "Well I'm a Bitch and a Witch, so which one do you want to deal with first?"

Let that sink in.

Got it?

I am a Bitch and a Witch. Which one do you want to deal with first?

I. Dislike. Yard Sales. A. Lot.

So I killed her. That's right. I murdered a woman at my yard sale.
my reply was, when i stuck her through with a blade that was forged with every fiber of my hatred and lack of a cup of coffee: 'I want to meet both, firewhore. But I will wait until Valhalla to see you again.'

Did I mention I went to Williams tonight?


I'd say more, but I have a yard sale to attend to in the morning. Won't you come visit me if you are able?
5715 Wentworth Avenue South
Minneapolis, MN 55419

I'll be the one who is all out of Give-A-Shits.

Stay Awesome.

Andy

ps- I hope my father had a really nice Birthday today. he lives across the street from Doogie Howser, you know. And he hosted the Tonys. Doogie, not my Dad. Duh.

10Am To 4Pm. Be there.