Category Archives: Tale Of The Three Andrews

A Final Post – The Tale Of The Three Andrews, Part III: Andy

OK, so – it’s been dead around here. Real dead. It turns out that planning a wedding in the final months AND maintaining a blog is a Herculean task (did you guys know Hercules had a wedding blog?), and those of you that are pulling it off, my hat’s off to you. I’m not really sure how you do it.

Our wedding is the day after tomorrow. We’re excited. We’re ready. We’re tired. We feel good. We’re sleeping fitfully. Our car broke the other day and we had to send it to the shop for a couple days, which was annoying, and then it turned out that the back wheel was holding on by a thread. We only just finalized our flowers TODAY. We spend our days running around doing errands, our evenings watching mindless action movies and courtroom dramas while we craft. We’ve done so much crafting that may never craft another craft as long as I live. Except I’m about to become an elementary school teacher. Whoops!

Anyway, to all of you who’ve read this blog, I sincerely thank you. You’re great, you’re loyal, and you say nice things to me. After the wedding I’ll post a final FINAL post, with photos, and then I’m outta here for reals.

Thank you, everyone. Thank you sincerely. Sorry for the lack of posts during the home stretch. I hope you’ll forgive me.

Love,

Bret

PS – I can’t end the blog without finally posting this:


It’s finally here, everybody – so throw your hands in the ayer, and wave ’em like you absolutely cay-er, because you totally do. The most-anticipated installment of a series since The Twilight Saga: The Deathly Hallows hit theaters worldwide, we arrive upon Part III of III of my Tri-Andrewlar Friendship: Andy.

Here is Andy, my Third Groomsman, old college chum, reputed lover, and tree-mocker:

Andy and I have a friendship that is largely defined by competition, jointly-endeavored creative projects, our shared college experience, traveling together, and a blood pact we made late one night in the pit of an active Hawaiian volcano. These five things, more than any other, form the bedrock of our man-love, and are the foundation upon we built the third-most solid of all Andy-Bret Friendships in the Northern Hemisphere. We fully intend to overtake the other two by 2020.

Together we have ventured to Maui, Paris, Mexico (on a cruise), Utah (for skiing), Chicago, Solvang and San Diego (with Josh), and, in an alternate universe, Australia. Andy’s dad worked for years as a pilot, and I was frequent recipient of his coveted “Very Special Guest Passes For Super Cool People Only,” which allowed me to fly standby alongside Andy for very, very cheap, but always with the possibility we wouldn’t make it on the flight. In fact, on our Spring Break trip to Paris, we were told that there was no room on the flight – and we were seconds away from heading over to a flight for Plan B: Australia. But at the very last second, we were called back to the gate and given a couple of tickets to Gay Paree. And what’s Paris if not “The French Australia?”

Andy and I compete, really the old friend I have that I am so often engaged in battle with. It’s awesome. Here are all the things I can think of that we have competed against each other in (minimum one occurrence), though I may be missing a few: Scrabble, racquetball, chess, basketball, checkers, tennis, ghost, superghost, bowling, croquet, shufflepuck, ping pong, caps (a drinking game), beer die (another drinking game), miniature golf, six degrees of separation, Boticelli, and of course, extreme ironing. Special bonus: we’ll often throw down a couple of dollars to make things a little more interesting. When Andy loses, he offers me the chance to double down, and then when I lose, we’re even, and then usually someone cries, and then we go out and get ice cream sodas!

Andy, Josh and I enjoying a nice wine in Solvang, CA

Andy and I met freshman year at Pomona but have slightly divergent accounts of how it all went down. The controversy involved two films, one he’d made earlier in the year on campus and one I’d made while still in high school, both of which were screened at a Pomona film festival. His was a sort of spy/mystery/action thriller (starring Mary of Fishers Island fame), and mine was a film called Chickenbread that was a mock documentary that told the tale of the two clumsy, oafish, but ultimately lovable saps who developed and created Chickenbread. Both films were pretty popular at the festival, but Andy recalls me meeting him and being immediately smug and condescending about the obvious superiority of Chickenbread; the way I remember it, I approached him holding forth an actual olive branch, atop which perched a dove, and immediately suggested we become best friends. I’m sure the truth lies in between the two.

There are lots of great things about Andy and our friendship, and I’ll recount just a choice few for you here.

– In college, we used to order pizza from Round Table with some regularity. They had these amazingly cheap deals for college students, and, well, we were powerless against them. Our fabulous friend Josh joined us on many of these occasions. We developed a system wherein I would call to place the order, and while I was wrapping up the call, Andy would whisper in my ear a challenge. A few I remember were: To sing I’d like to leave a two dollar tip to the driver; to end the call by saying “I love you;” to tell the operator “You pizza with the best of them!”; when I told Andy that the man had introduced himself as “James,” he had me end the call with “Thank you, Top Jimmy!”

You get the idea. Ah, we were such crazy kids back then. I feel a mixture of college-type pride, fondness, nostalgia, and embarrassment when reflecting upon those memories.

– A few years back, Andy and Josh and I planned a short trip to San Diego around New Year’s – we rented a house, grilled some steaks, played nerdy games, survived a crazy rainstorm that blew a large umbrella off the deck, and slept in rotating beds. Well, the beds themselves did not rotate. But forever in search of the fairest way to go about things, we rotated our way through the two beds and futon, since they were different degrees of comfortable. Two days before the trip, I got a call from Andy’s dad, which was unusual in that I knew him pretty well by that point but he’d never called me before. “Hey Bret,” he said, “Um… when is your tip to San Diego?”
“Not for another two days,” I replied.
“Oh, well,” he answered, “Andy’s on a plane there right now.”
“Oh geez.”
To be fair to Andy, he was already planning on going a day early. But not two. He landed, I called and made fun of him, his faced got super red, and he spent an extra day kicking it solo in San Diego. I suppose there are worse mistakes to make.

– We take lots of photos on our travels. During our Paris trip, we went to the Louvre, and there was a shopping cart in the giant courtyard for some reason, which of course led to the photo “Shopping At The Louvre.” Also, since the Louvre just happened to be closed on the one day we chose to visit it (we’re still pretty sure that someone tipped them off we were coming), we took another photo called “Flipping Off The Louvre.”

We do photo essays, too, like this one from somewhere in Mexico, presenting contrasting reactions to a bunch of 2-dimensional frogs:

– We once did a multimedia art performance together. I performed my original tune (co-written by Groomsman Drew) “The Loneliness of the Semi-Colon” at an open mic while Andy silently showed the audience little drawings he’d done to accompany the lyrics. It was the best music-drawing combination since, well, since ever!

So, that’s just a little slice of Andy. He’s a cool guy. Great, even. Magnificent? You could argue that, but watch out, because Andy loves to argue. But anyway, yeah. Andy. What a guy. He’s one of the very best dudes I know, a great friend, and I’m pleased as punch he’ll be up at the “altar” with me.

Consider The Spork

This post is about the spork. It has no place on a wedding blog, really, but you’re a brave trooper to read it. It has FICTION in it. Or, pseudo-fiction. It’s silly. Very silly. A writing exercise, really.

You all know the spork:

As a word of caution, this post is entirely about sporks. Its one tenuous relationship to weddings is that while composing my as-yet-unpublished post about my friend and groomsman Andy, I stumbled upon a memory we had once of a discussion of utensils. That’s it. Jessica and I are not going to have sporks at our wedding, as far as I know. Or maybe we will, if that’s what my parents want because sporks are a wedding tradition in both their families from generations ago that I didn’t know about.

So: Andy asked me, many moons ago when we were on this weird, beautiful island called “College” (or at least that’s how I remember it going down) – “Bret, if you could choose one utensil and one utensil only to have with you on a desert island, which would you choose?”

After a few minutes of deliberation I said with supreme confidence: “A spork. I would choose a spork.”

And in that moment, the emerged a fundamental, axiological difference between us, a difference that is still healing. A difference that gnaws at my soul when I breathe deeply.

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The Tale Of The Three Andrews, Part II: Drew

[We follow up the critically-acclaimed, controversial Tale Of The Three Andrews, Part I: Andrew with Part II, this time focusing on Drew, the second of my three groomsmen named Andrew. Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion (Part III: Andy), to be aired soon.]

The other day as I was trying out my new bike-and-walk-and-bike-and-walk method of getting to work, covering 4 hilly miles, winding my way up Mount Berkeley, ultimately emerging triumphant out of the summer the fog onto the sun-splashed summit topped by my lovely preschool workplace, I mulled over something in my mind: how do I describe my friendship with Drew?

This is Drew, who I’ve known since the early days of high school:

Drew is my best man, my best friend, and if I weren’t already betrothered to Jessica, I’d probably ask Drew to marry me. I bet he’d say yes. Right Drew?

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