Ight Height

Long time visitors may have noticed that I've oh-so-subtly changed the little word box underneath the title of this blog. As you can tell, I've pushed it in a slightly more aggressive direction.

But if you enjoy these words that I write then you should feel free to share them with others.

You could just post a status like: MY FRIEND ANDY HAS THOUGHTS ABOUT SWIMMING POOLS AND BABIES WITH FOOD CANNONS FOR ARMS!

Or if you wanted to be more subtle you could post something like: My friend Andy is nice and for the past six years has kept a log of thoughts and (for a brief period of time) pictures of food with faces drawn on them.

Or just be like: Do you need another thing to compulsively check on the Internet? Try Andy's blog.

Or you could get extra honest and be like: Look, the stuff you're going to find on this blog has no coherent structure from one post to the next. It's like a ferris wheel made of pretzel sticks that can't tie its own shoes and Andy is like the sickly innkeeper that tends to it at night while also stealing from its inheritance money. But that's just a metaphor.

But yeah, I'm not trying to hide this thing anymore. It's got my real name on it and everything.

_____________________________________________________________________________

I bought rugs for the apartment I'm about to move into this weekend. I'm really excited because I've never owned rugs before. I've never had my own special rugs. I've punched a completely nude man in the face in a public swimming pool bathroom to save a young child but I've never owned a rug.

And I know what you're thinking, "Andy, that sounds like a way more exciting story than whatever the crap you're going to tell me about your rug."

To which I say, "Calm down. I lied. But now I've shown you how far I'm willing to go to hold your attention."

These next parts are true:

My First Special Rugs are special to me because they remind me of rice and I can imagine myself in the future sprawling out on them and feeling like I'm in an ocean of rice. But I realize at the same time that that's probably something that is only pleasing to me.

So I want to appeal to you, the reader (who is also likely me a few days after I write this), by telling you the story of how I found my Rice Rug.

One day I was out in my bell-making workshop finishing up a grand memorial bell for the opening of a building where Babies could be put dangerously close to tigers. The logic behind the enterprise was as follows: Take a baby. Put it dangerously close to a tiger sitting behind a thin sheet of tempered glass. Have a good time.

It'd probably be a good place for dangerous, rebellious single parents to meet other irresponsible single parents with attitude. You could go, drop your kid off next to the tiger pit, and then head over to the bar and there'd be a girl and you could be like, "Sup? You're not letting your kid put a damper on your thrills either? That's hot. We should go out to the trunk of my car and eat some corndogs I've wrapped in tin foil."

So anyway, a little bit later I get a deep deep
deep

deep

hankering for some bran muffins.

So I go to Target and as I'm walking to the back of the store to grab my familiar box of low-fat, high-fiber, good-time-having bran muffins I see these rugs they've got in a big cardboard box. All huddled together for warmth.

And when I see My Special Rug, I immediately fall deep deep
deep

deep

deeply in love with it. And I run to the rug and I'm like, "I'm gonna put you in a house made of dream-rainbows and Alabama-brand blue jeans!

But uh, it turns out Alabama-brand blue jeans aren't an actual thing.

So I'm just gonna sit here stroking my rug trying to figure out what I'm gonna do with the rest of my life.