You Silly Old Man

Today is Andy's birthday, an occasion which should probably be celebrated with brandy and cigars and 30s swing records, or at least with the new Morrissey and a properly soul-wrenching session of Call of Cthulhu; but since I don't have hardly any of those things handy, here's hoping a raised lager and a "many happy returns" will do.

I've known Andy for an embarassingly long time now, and I'm happy to say he's one of the best people I know, and someone I've now spent more than half my life admiring. There are a lot of things to like about him, from being the kind of guy who could put Talking Heads, Harry Belafonte and Beethoven on the same side of a mix tape and make it work, to being kind enough to weather the crush I had on him at 17 with grace and gentleness. Mostly, though, he's just an extraordinarily decent human being, and I'm proud and lucky to have him in my life; we don't see each other nearly enough these days, but he's never made me feel like being on different coasts means drifting apart.

And in a little over a month, he's joining the ranks of the blissfully wed (officially, anyway, but I think he's been lucky enough to be more or less married for some time now). I look forward greatly to being there for that, and I even promise I won't wear what I encouraged him to wear at mine.

Anyway, go wish him well, and toast his health as he dives into that fourth decade in earnest. Cheers!