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If you haven't already, pick up a copy of the latest Sangamon Star, or check it out on their website. It features a Shorty by yours truly.

The Way Of The Andy - Episode One

As most of you know I have been co-hosting a podcast under various names for close to five years. It's an enjoyable hobby, and I can't see myself stopping anytime soon. In fact, I enjoy it so much I have decided to take on hosting my own "solo" podcast. I use the quotation marks because I will have a variety of co-hosts joining me on each episode so I guess it's not technically a solo effort.

The format for the new show (I haven't settled on a name) is going to be a little bit different from The Ironic Divide. First, I plan on keeping this one relatively short - somewhere in the five to ten minute range. Second, there will only be one subject per show. Angie joins me to discuss recent comments made by Pope Benedict for this one.

Feedback, suggestions, and constructive criticism are always welcome.

Download the episode or subscribe to the RSS Feed.

Grave Memorial

Today I took advantage of the nice weather to do something I haven't done in almost ten years. I went to Oak Ridge Cemetery to visit my friend, Michael, who passed away in 1998 after being struck by a car.

As I stood by his gravestone I noticed how well kept it appeared in comparison to the others nearby. I know Mike has several siblings and both his parents are still alive to maintain his resting place. I guess whoever survived these others have either passed themselves, or moved away or just moved on.

This was when I noticed the other graves seemed to be closer together than I remembered. Does Oak Ridge exhume its residents and move them into ossuaries or catacombs? Do all cemeteries do this? Did this mean I was actually standing over empty ground, and not my friend's remains? If so, than it's more important than I realized to maintain your loved one's headstones. I'd always thought of them as a kind of place marker, and taking care of them a form of therapy for the grieving, but when you understand they can be the last tangible link to a loved one they invoke much more pain and significance. A life reduced to remembrance in the form of an engraved stone, and as I saw with some of Mike's neglected neighbors the world moves on and eventually forgets.

Gorgeous day today.

And now, because I like to keep things light, please enjoy this:

An Open Letter

The following is an open letter to the weirdo church group I got stuck behind at lunch yesterday:

Dear Christians,

I use to be content to let you be. I use to think it was fine to let you go on believing the things you read in the bible, even though it would be like me thinking all those Dragonlance books I read in high school and college were real. After all, it's a free country. Right? We have the right to embrace religion, a religion, or no religion. But yesterday you crossed a line. No, not just A line THE line. You came recklessly close to ruining my lunch hour, and that is not something I can easily forgive.

Let's examine your wanton behavior. The first few minutes I was in line you were immersed in a competition to see who could name the books of the New Testament in order the fastest. First off, who gives a shit? Do you make it into Super Heaven if you have the stupid books memorized? Does Jesus say, "Sure you may have had premarital sex, lied through your teeth, and been an all around hypocrite all your life like most of my followers, BUT you sure know the names of the books in the New Testament so here's the keys to the executive bathroom. Oh, and FYI, you might wanna let it air out for about five minutes after Moses has been in there." Now normally I don't care if you are engaged in this type of tomfoolery. You're young. Enjoy it. But here's the thing: NONE OF YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WANTED TO ORDER. You could have been studying the menu while we waited in line instead of fucking around!!! That's what I was trying to do, but I couldn't concentrate for all your inane chatter. You got any fucking idea about, hey, it's fucking distracting having somebody reciting bible lessons in the middle of my fucking lunch hour? Give me a fucking answer! What don't you get about it? So by the time you got up to the front of the line I had to listen to "Umm....what comes on the BMT?...Can I get that as a meal for under six dollars? I only have six dollars....What about a turkey sub?" And that might have been okay if just one of you did it, but it was all seven of you!

I noticed that two of you ordered a six inch chicken teriyaki. I noticed because I had decided on a footlong chicken teriyaki, but when I ordered they only had enough teriyaki chicken for a six inch. I had to get half chicken teriyaki, half roasted chicken breast fillet. It's not the same! Then when my sub came out of the toaster I had to wait even longer because you were off looking at chips instead of telling the Sandwich Artists what you wanted on your subs. Seriously? It's the second time that you didn't give a shit about what is going on in front of you, all right? I'm trying to fucking order a meal here, and I am going "Why the fuck are those christians walking there? What are they doing there?" Do you understand my mind is not on lunch if you're doing that?

Christians, I'm fucking serious. You're nice people. You're nice people, but that don't fucking cut it when you're bullshitting and fucking around at lunch like that. Seriously, you and me, we're fucking done professionally.

Fast Results

So it's been a week since I experimented with the seventy-two hour juice fast, and I am sure you are all flaming...with curiosity about the results. I'll keep this short. I lasted forty-nine hours, which is about five times longer than I expected. I felt fatigued and fog-brained, had a horrible headache, and my blood sugar actually increased. Overall, I think I would prefer to keep the toxins in my system.

That is all. Now let us never speak of this again.

Keeping Myself Occupied

In a mostly futile attempt to keep my mind off food I've undertaken a few projects over the last few hours. In order:

- A forty minute nap. I didn't see this one coming. It just kinda happened.

- Read the first few stories in fragile things. Neil Gaiman is the most rewarding author during the reread there is.

- Scrubbed the kitchen floor. On hands and knees and everything.

- Took the remaining sugar cubes out of the box and counted them. Thirty-seven. Get this, though, when I put them back in the count only came out to thirty-five.


As I approach hour nineteen I feel a little bit better, but, man, is my mind muddled.

In Which I Feel Hungry And Sorry For Myself

When Angie was sixteen a nearly fatal combination of gull stones and pancreatitis landed her in the hospital for nearly four months. For three of these months she was fed intravenously and was allowed only occasional sips of ice water to moisten her throat. She tells me the hunger never truly departs, but it does subside to a dull roar. I asked her how long before she reached a point where she was able to ignore the hunger for maybe a few hours at a time. The answer was about three weeks.

I am a little over fourteen hours into my fast, and am experiencing my first true hunger pangs. Until now I have done a decent job ignoring my stomachs pleas for food. Sure, I was tempted while I watched The Other Andy attempt to eat those four giant pancakes (above) at Charlie Parker's, but the hunger wasn't as strong then. Now my stomach is no longer making polite requests, it is issuing demands. Its incessant nagging is interfering with my thought process.

And there is more. I have a horrible headache, and feel fatigued. Literature I have read online assures me these are symptoms of my body ridding itself of al those pesky toxins. Great. Not only are my internal organs harassing me with their cries for food; I also have to go through some type withdraw?

Oh well, only fifty-eight hours to go....