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!