November 8, 2000

Am I the only one who thinks that maybe, just maybe, if the "press to cross street" button gets pressed twice, they cancel each other out and nothing happens? Does that button even really do anything? But it's this dual fear that stops me from hitting it when I get to the corner. I can't win. I don't want to be taken for a fool and press a decoy button. And I sure as hell don't want to hit a working button and cancel the good pressing already done by a person who got to the corner before I did.    So... I do nothing.

November 5, 2000

Do you ever see markings on the street left by construction and utility men? A green arrow with the letters "st" next to it in a circle. Or an arrow pointing down to a flat line and some other random letters beside it. Do these symbols mean anything to anyone? Is there some sort of universal handbook issued to construction workers to decipher these asphalt hieroglyphics? "Ahhh, a yellow line with a green arrow. Hey Gus be careful, looks like there's a gas line down there!" I bet it's not that advanced, in fact I think it's just the opposite.

Our streets have become one big forgotten notepad with unrecognizeable thoughts written on them. The kind of thoughts that are so urgent or brilliant or important that you jot them down frantically on a cocktail napkin to ensure that they make it out of your head and into a tangible form before you lose them completely. But then a few weeks later you find that napkin in a pair of old jeans (that you've just run through the wash) and you have no idea what any of it means. You're absolutely puzzled. Did you find the formula for cold fusion, or was this just a note to buy mouth wash? You're tempted to throw the napkin away but you just can't. What if what you wrote down was really really great and it'll come back to you if you just give it some time? So you save it... and years later you find yourself with a drawer bursting with these little napkins. All of them mysteries.   Sounds just like our streets!

October 29, 2000

Friday night at the Pour House:

waitress: hi, what can I get for you?
andy: uhhh... two sam adams and two coronas please.
waitress: any appetizers or something to eat?
andy: actually yeah, can we get the nachos poyo please.
waitress: the nachos polo?
andy: poyo.
waitress: polo.
andy: marco?
waitress: (walks away)

October 16, 2000

I'll be eating lunch and everyone will have finished their lunches and just talking. Then after about 10 minutes I can't hold back any more, I have to clear everyone's garbage away. I collect it all and take it to the garbage to comments like, "oh thank you Andy" and "you're so nice Andy." I give them an appreciative smile but inside I know I'm doing this not out of ettiquette or good manners but because of something sick inside of me. I'm not polite, I have a problem.

I'm at a restaurant. My knife is not very clean but that doesn't phase me a bit. But before the waiter has come back to clear the table, I have consolidated all of the plates and silverware in an orderly pyramid stack so that he/she can take them away easily in one fell swoop.

I'm at a party pouring myself a tanq and tonic. I mix, I taste... and then I collect all the empty cups and beer caps off the table and put them in the trash.

"let's invite Andy to our party"
"you like him?"
"not really, but he'll clean inconspicuously DURING our party."
"sweet!"

I make it home and shower the smoke from my body. Before I step into my bedroom I look at the small picture I bought in NYC last winter. It's a hand painted chinese character which means "Worry Free." I settle into bed.... lay on my back.... close my eyes.... and wonder if the picture was hanging a little crooked.

September 18, 2000

It was 10:15pm and I was walking down Harvard Street to Hollywood Video to return some movies. All of a sudden I felt something hard hit me in the chest. I stopped dead in my tracks. Then I heard a crack on the ground. At my feet lay a broken egg. I was the victim of a drive-by egging!! I turned my head just in time to see the Ford Explorer speed away. I checked my shirt. Nothing. The egg didn't break on me at all, it hit me and broke on the ground. I laughed. Ha! But then I got sad thinking that I wasn't even hard enough to break an egg on.

July 16, 2000

This is a story from a while ago that I am just now ready to share. It's a tad embarassing, but heck, self-degrading humor is what the Dose is all about, right? Last summer an un-named friend (ok, Lars) moved back to his homeland of Sweden. As a parting gift he gave me a hearty handshake, some sound advice "Remember Andy, comfortable shoes," .. and he also have me an "adult video." VHS videos don't work in Europe so it'd be useless for him to take it home with him. I've seen pornos before but I've never actually "owned" one before, and to be honest I say that with pride. But now I had one in my direct posession. After a few weeks of sitting in my drawer (the tape, not me) I finally decided to watch the video one bored night. I put it in. I waited. I heard... whrrrrr, whrrrr. (pause) whrrr WHEEEEEER whir. Silence. Not the sounds I was expecting to hear. I checked the VCR and it won't play, it won't rewind, it won't eject, nothing. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! The funny part of this story is the thought processes that started firing off in my head. I wasn't terribly upset that the tape was obviously eaten and ruined, but I came to the immediate realization that I was now going to have to throw away my VCR! There was no way I was going to go to Radio Shack and be like "Um, hi... Slut University** is stuck in my VCR, can you help me get it out?" HELL NO! I was going to have to wrap the whole thing up in a garbage bag and sneak it out to the curb. DAMNIT! That vcr cost $200!! After twenty minutes of panicked tinkering with a screw-driver, I was finally able to extract the destroyed tape and keep my vcr in working condition. When it was all said and done I just had to laugh out loud at the situation... and then put my clothes back on.

** video name made-up to protect both the innocent guilty

June 28th, 2000

I'm so disgusted with myself. I've really let myself go. What happened to me? I used to be in such good shape. But now, there's just no pretty way to say it, I'm fat and I'm weak. So sad. I haven't given up though! Drastic situations call for drastic measures. Last time I felt this gross I went on a fast. I don't think I want to do that again. But I've been doing some thinking and I've come up with a plan....

I'm going to prison. That's right, I've decided to go to prison.... to get BUFF! Have you ever seen a prison scene in a movie? Everyone is totally JACKED! So I figure a four month stint (good behavior considered) should just about do it. Just me and the weights in the prison yard all day. No distractions whatsoever. It'll be a much needed break from work, they'll make me go to sleep early every night, and I'll eat breakfast everyday -- the most important meal of the day which I often skip on the "outside"! I'll come out lean and mean in no time baby! And the best part is that if I'm going to jail, I can pretty much pick my own crime, right? Hmmmmm....

Remember kids, crime doesn't pay..... but it'll get you buff right quick, right?.

March 27, 2000

It was such a beautiful day on Sunday and I walked over to Mostly Posters on Comm Ave to buy a frame for my Copley Square pic that finally came in the mail. After that I started walking towards the city and I saw a sign for Nickerson Field and I suddenly remembered that when I was in high school I went to a week long sports camp at BU one summer and they had us do stuff at Nickerson field. So I decided to walk down there just for old nostalgia's sake. I got to the stadium and a girl's soccer game was going on so I sat in the stands taking in some sun and put my photo in the new frame (yes, I had brought the photo with me) After about 10 minutes I suddenly realized how the scene must've looked to an outsider. A girl's soccer game. A small group of parents grouped behind the team bench. ......and one solitary man up in the stands.... all by himself.... no one near him.... watching the girls.(that would be me) Helloooo? Can you say PERVERT?! I got freaked out and had to leave. I think they wanted me to leave anyway. I was cheering on the home team and every once in a while I'd slip and say, "Yes! Great ass! I mean SHOT, great SHOT!" (just kidding)

On the way back from the stadium I passed some guy having a yard sale on his front lawn. He was selling a stereo, some CDs, a Brita pitcher, a grill, some books and a cooler.

Andy:  How much for the stereo?
Guy:    What?
Andy:  The stereo, how much?
Guy:    It's not for sale.
Andy:  Oh. Ok, how much for the cooler?
Guy:    Dude, this isn't a yard sale. I'm just gettin' some rays, listening to some tunes.
Andy:  Um... ha ha, I know, just joking. uh... C YA!

February 11, 2000

Baby, You Are Like Tightie Whities To Me

You give me support when I need it most.
Baby, you are like tightie whities to me.

When I can't find you I get a little nervous.
Baby, you are like tightie whities to me.

I love you, but I'm embarassed to tell my friends about you.
Baby, you are like tightie whities to me.

You are always on my jock.
Baby, you are like tightie whities to me!

Happy Valentine's Day Weekend!

January 26, 2000

Vacation Snapshot: The first morning in Mexico I wake up and walk over to the pool area to get a towel before I head to the beach. Some guy intercepts me and says cheerily, "Can I offer you some fresh squeezed juice this morning sir?" I avert my eyes and say "no thanks" without breaking my stride as if he was some kind of homeless man I was trying to avoid interacting with. I get my towel and I realize what I've just done. That man was offering me juice, as a service of the resort, but I'm so damn East Coast that my natural instinct was to think that he must have had some motive or that he was going to offer it to me and then charge me $20 or something. I realized my sillyness and drink juice every morning after that.

January 8, 2000

A Classic Andy Moment: I go into the bathroom and take a swig of Listerine. At that same moment I realize I have to take a leak, which I begin to do as I swish the Listerine in my mouth. 5 seconds later, in mid-stream, my mouth is on absolute FIRE! There is no way I can keep this stuff in my mouth any longer. I try to lean over to the sink to spit but it begins to affect my accuracy to an alarming degree. I can't make it. Synapses firing, my brain quickly tries to calculate the pain difference between a mouth full of burning Listerine and shutting off Mini-Andy for a second. Then in a mix of panic, pain and magyver-ish bravado I realize the obvious ....and I spit into the toilet. I survive unscathed but shake my head and laugh wondering if I should be allowed to leave the apartment without supervision.... ever.

March 26, 1999

I went into a toy store the other day to buy a gift for a 2 year old and I noticed a trend with the toys. Over 50% of the toys were geared towards teaching children the noises animals make. A cow says "moo." A cat says "meow." A dog says "woof woof!" There is so much emphasis on this that you would think that recognizing animal noises is an incredibly vital piece of information that kids must be taught early on. I don't think I get it. Why do they need to know this information so badly? What future life situation would come up where they wouldn't be properly prepared if they didn't know that a bird goes "tweet, tweet". I think it would become obvious to them pretty quickly. I mean, you think a child is going to get hurt trying to milk cat because he or she didn't understand the difference between a meow and a moo. C'mon now.

They say that what children learn during their formative years has a profound effect on how they develop. Well then forget the animal noises! I think we should be teaching our children REAL LIFE things early on. There should be toys out there that teach things that will prepare youngsters for the the real world ahead of them. Things like:

• "Loosen the lug nuts before you jack the car up to change the tire."
• "Never put a lime in a Jack and Coke."
• "If she touches your arm during dinner, this is a good sign."
• "Don't push the q-tip too far into your ear."
• "Find the cheapest wine on the list, then pick the one above that one."
• "Pretending to hold the elevator is just as good as really trying."
• "It's safe to drive 8 mph over the posted speed limit without getting a ticket."

I could go on and on...

January 26, 1999

The Great Walk-Off

I've made mention in the past to the fact that I am a fast walker.   It's true.   I mean, I don't walk that way all the time mind you.   I enjoy ambling as much as the next person and I've even been known to strut every now and again.   Very few people have seen me saunter... but trust me, those lucky few have never been the same since.

Last night, as I walked home from the T to my apartment I sensed someone behind me and it wasn't before long that I saw a shadow approaching closer to closer to me.   Whoever this was... he was gaining.   I was impressed.   Eventually I found myself walking next to a young man in military uniform; shiny black shoes, olive green pants, jacket and a large raised hat.   Military uniforms, coupled with a military buzz-cut, have the odd effect of making even the goofiest person look dignified.   Well, one look at this man and I understood why he had joined the military, because the military garb was barely hiding his inherent goofiness.  Regardless, this goof was starting to pull away from me.  He gait was strict, fast and clean; he swung his arm in a stiff full movement with each stride.   Not to be beaten by this man (in my own hood no less) I picked up my pace and we were neck and neck.   Our gazes were locked forward as we pounded down the street in unison.   Up ahead in front of the laundromat I spotted an old lady pulling on one of those old lady carts.   You know the ones I'm talking about.   In a bold move I took the outside track and side stepped around a small tree and a parking meter, putting myself in front of the old lady.   Close call.   Yeah, they didn't teach you moves like that in Recon Platoon did they punk?!!   My victory was brief as the military walker was once again on my side again.   This silent war came to an an abrupt end as we reached the corner of my block and I stopped.   My new friend continued on, but not before turning his head in my direction and shooting me a quick salute accompanied by what I think was an attempt at a smile.   As he walked off I yelled after him, "God Bless America Son! God Bless America!"

December 5, 1998

I'm not proud to admit this, and I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow I found myself watching a few minutes of a fishing show this weekend. I watched the skilled anglers do their thing and began to think.... to a fish, being caught and then released by a fisherman must be tantamount to an alien abduction.

The fish is minding his own business, chomping into what he thinks is a snack and before he knows it he's ABOVE water being examined by these large creatures. He gets orally probed the way humans report being anally probed by aliens. (people complain about this?) His body gets examined. He's talked about. And then as quickly as he was caught, he is thrown back into the water.

I picture the fish returning to the water and making a bee-line to his school to tell them about this unbelievable "Out of Water" experience he's just had. They all roll their eyes and even the blowfish calls him crazy. Eventually, the fish finds other fish who claim to have had this same experience. Amazingly they can all provide the same description of their captors: large pot-bellies, red hats (usually with the letters NASCAR on them), silver cans (Coors), etc, etc. And a lot of the abductions seem to happen in certain areas of the ocean which they decide to call "Kansas".

Interest in the possibility of life above water grows quickly and in the fall a new tv show climbs to first place in the Herring Ratings. It's a story about two government fish (a bluefish and an angel fish) determined to prove that the reports of non-aquatic life is for real. It's called The Hook Files.....The Truth is Up There.

November 28, 1998

Every week I come very close to killing several old women.  Now before you get all bent out of shape let me explain.  It has nothing to do with snail-paced driving in the left-hand lane or waiting for one of our elder citizens to count out 87 cents (in pennies) in the express lane of the supermarket.  It all has to do with my walking speed.

You see I am a very fast walker, especially when I put my mind to it.  Here is the innocent yet hazardous scenario that I often find myself involved in.  I'm at a corner waiting to cross the street on a red light.  I see a break in the traffic big enough for me to get safely across if I walk quickly.  So I say "Go Go Andy Legs" and I begin to walk at a relatively fast clip.  Old women on the other side of the street notice me crossing and just assume that if I'm crossing the street, then they must have a green light and it must be safe to cross, ...and that's just what they begin to do.  They don't bother to really check, they just act on the cues of those around them.(me)  So I end up on the other side of the street safe-and-sound, and the old women find themselves in the middle of the street wih traffic barrelling down at them fast, about to become granny road kill!  So far no ones ever been hit but brakes screach, canes fly ... it's gotten pretty ugly.

I don't want to hurt anyone, really I don't, but I simply can't let my walking pace be infringed upon by the senility of others.  I will continue to walk fast.  I will continue to cross the street against the light when I see the opportunity.

October 22, 1998

Things are going rather smoothly so far considering it's our first time meeting. She's terribly cute and I don't think I've ever met a more polite girl in all my life. She must be enjoying herself because she hasn't stop smiling once yet. We're not talking right now but it's not an awkward silence; I'm looking at the menu.. she's recommended her favorites to me. Maybe it's the Tanqueray playing tricks with my head but I swear she's laughed at every one of my jokes so far and she even touched my arm once. And she seems so concerned about me which is such a pleasant change from the norm. She's asked me if "everything was ok" about 3 times tonight and even asked me if I "had everything I needed". Needless to say I'm very happy.

Well, it's getting to the end of the night and I know it's almost that time. The "Moment" has arrived. I hate this part. This is always so awkward but I know I have to do this. I look deep into her eyes and I lose myself for a brief second, and then I do it...... I go for it....... I lean in.. and I say to her, "Can I get the check please when you get a chance."

October 8, 1998

I walked into a CVS the other day looking for a card and I saw something that struck me as kind of odd. You know how you can buy cards in packs of 12 or more, usually holiday cards and such? Well I saw a pack of condolence cards. Now think about this. Who has a need to buy these kinds of cards in bulk? I have some ideas on what these might be for...

The Nursing Home Pack: You're very elderly and all of your friends are dropping like flies. Rather than go to the card store twice a week and risk a "Depends Moment", why not just buy condolence cards by the pack. You'll save yourself time, energy and possible embarrassment.

The Repentant Serial Killer Pack: You kill, you feel guilty, you send card. You kill, you feel guilty, you send card. If you become too regular a customer at the card store, the cashier might be able to ID you in a police line-up, so let's buy the condolence card pack instead just to be safe. Note to self: kill cashier, feel guilty, send card.

July 31, 1998

I'll Pay You to Stay Home

I need to vent about this. About what? About the masses of people who take to the streets of Boston every single weekend. (It seems like like every weekend at least.) They all walk together. A never ending sea of slowly walking people. They wave at you. Some hold signs. Some wear matching shirts. They clog up the streets so you can't drive anywhere. You'll literally sit in your car for hours trying to cross one street. They fill up the T when they're done so I can't get on. (They can't walk home?) And their walk requires significant police manpower, taking our men in blue away from keeping the peace and protecting our children.

Who are these people? They are the Walkers. You know what I'm talking about. The Walk for Hunger. The Walk for Lukemia. The Walk for Aids. The Walk for Breast Cancer. The Walk for Homelesness. The Walk for Life. ENOUGH!!

What really gets me is this: these same people who create such disruption every weekend have the nerve to approach me at work or on the street and ask me to pay them to do this!! Are you on crack?! Now I am not an unsensitive brute. I fully support the causes. But why do you have to walk?? You want me to pay you to walk 6 miles through the city and screw every thing up?? Look buddy, I'll pay you to stay home. Here you go. Here's $20 for the Aids Walk. Now come Sunday, sit in your living room or on your porch or where ever you want. Just NO walking. The charity gets the money and you don't cause me any grief. What's that you say? You don't feel like you've earned the money if you haven't walked? LOOK, you want to do something worth while? Build houses for the homeless, help out at a soup kitchen, clean up a park, volunteer at a senior center, dress up as a clown and entertain sick kids. And oh my god, how about writing a check to your charity. Brilliant! Most importantly get a friggin' life and quit walking all the damn time! At least walk six miles near your own house instead of all converging at once in a frightening mass ... oh I don't know.