I am right handed. But here is a left handed portrait I did of myself using only three colors… Blue, Brown and ORANGE!!! Why would I do such a stupid thing, you ask? Good question. Why would I? Well, it started like this… the other day I was screwing around, doing some spontaneous ‘artwork’, experimenting with pencil, gouache on canvas (gouache apparently doesn’t like canvas), some acrylic paint and black india ink. I came up with a few quick little things…

Okay, now, in full disclosure, I hate the last two. I’m not even sure why. But regardless, I did them. It didn’t take long and I had some fun. It was a study for me. I was not looking for masterpieces. Just study. I even began experimenting with my signature. So, I went to a friend of mine who really annoys me to ask for his thoughts. HE BLASTED ME. He HATED them. HATED!!! He told me some bull about me relying on the same way I have always painted and bla bla bla. So, he said I need to take three colors… orange, brown and blue and paint something. He told me to paint three things. I have only had time to do one. (Top) And look at it? WTF?? I can’t show this to anyone. So I thought I’d put it somewhere safe… a place where no one would ever see it. And that’s how it ended up here on my website.

Now, I tried to talk to this dumb friend of mine about this but he doesn’t even return my phone calls. What kind of friend of Andy is he? Doesn’t like my stuff (Doesn’t sound like an Andyfriend to me), doesn’t return my phone calls (again, not Andyfriend behavior) and steers me in a direction that gives me… THAT! (See above painting)

What the hell is happening??

But for some reason I can’t seem to upload photos. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO EVEN MOTIVATE MYSELF LATELY??? And when I eek out enough energy to actually do something I can’t. I am prevented because of some BS computer issue. I HATE COMPUTERS!! I want to blow them up. I have things to say! OWLS are effing everywhere and I can’t even complain about it.

And where the F is Andyfan? Abandoned me!!! WTF??? I know this is his fault. I sure as hell know it isn’t mine!!

If you imagine something, you believe it to be. You can then go off and make it so, or just continue to believe, in your own world, happy and content. What exactly does it take to reimagine something. How effing lazy and apathetic are you that you couldn’t hold onto the thought, whether membered or remembered, and know that hey, you or someone else with a better brain than you had that thought already. Maybe it was good the first time. Maybe even better. Maybe you should just leave it the eff alone. Maybe, just maybe, if you got your head out of your arse for just a few effing minutes you might realize that if you have to imagine a few new words that make no sense just so that you have something to talk about what you have just “reimagined” to death, then maybe, just maybe, you might realize where your head is, that that genius idea you had wasn’t quite so much, since you really didn’t have it, someone else did a long long time ago, and they are pissed right now because what was once great, or at the very least compelling, has stink written all over it now. Seriously, where is the undo when you need it? On second thought, hold the explanations. I have already reimagined that you don’t exist. Never did in fact.

It was not that long ago that I went to a burlesque show with a friend and complained about the guy hosting it. It’s not that he was bad but we had heard the same jokes from this guy over and over and over again. (Apparently we went to burlesque shows a lot). Finally, the gal who runs the show (www.dollhouseproductions.com) said to us, well then, why don’t you two your smart asses (she has a filthy mouth) just do it yourselves? 

Pfff. Sure. How hard can it be?

So for the past two days in all our spare time when we should’ve been working or stalking ex girlfriends, we’ve been writing comedy bits in the tradition of old Vaudeville acts.

Now, for you writers out there… have you ever tried anything like this? It’s so bizarre. I have been in this mode of bad punch lining since we began. I’m asking every question at work like I’m Bud Abbott and throwing out bad jokes and punch lines in the most inappropriate situations. Waiters, kids, my mother… everything that someone says to me is responded to with some kind of smart allecky remark. (Although one of my co-workers say I’ve been in that mode since I’ve met him)

Anyway, we have come up with a number routines that I have NO IDEA how they are gonna come off. We’re not performers. We’ve never done a live show. We have twenty minutes of material we need to perfect and memorize by next Wednesday night.

So if you wanna see what we’ve come up with check us out at the Aura Nightclub, 12215 Ventura Blvd. in Studio City (California) Wednesday Night December 16th 9:00pm.

We’re inviting our porn star friend Charley Chase (story to come) and even wrote her into our act, so if you don’t wanna see us, at least come to see her. Oh, and the dancers. I hear they’re gonna have dancers between our bits.

(And oh yeah, my partner’s name is Schwartzy)

Andy: Who?

AndyFan: What’s his name.

Andy: Who!!?

AndyFan: Uhh, Tiger Woods.

Andy: Oh, yeah! I guess he was.

About 10 years ago I saw Clint Eastwood grocery shopping somewhere in Westwood I think. He looked like walking death. A skeleton with grey skin pushing an empty shopping cart and looking so pissed off that it was clear to me that the only reason he was still walking around was that the Grim Reaper was too afraid to go pick him up.

I asked him if he knew where the peanut butter was as if he were just any other shopper and he said “It’s around here somewhere” and left it at that. I kinda watched him for a bit as I am fascinated by people and I can be kind of a “people watcher” (or “creepy voyeur”  depending on what time of day it is and where I am) and then I left, without peanut butter (thanks for nothing, Clint)

So any time I saw him in the movies or on TV since I could never figure out why he looked so strong and… well, alive. The magic of the movies I guess. They made Bogart look tall and Travolta look straight so I guess they an do anything.

And then, as it so often happens in my life, I find myself the other night where I have no business being and ended up smack dab in the middle of a the Invictus Premiere and after party…

…where Clint and I meet again.

(Come back for more of this pointless story)