So the other day I was watching Caddy Shack with a friend on channel nine Sunday afternoon movie. Yes. There were two things wrong with that sentence: Caddy Shack and the fact that I was actually watching one of those "Sunday afternoon movies". But, in my defense, we weren't so much as watching it as we were talking and just needed that background sound and, really, there is something so comforting to having Bill Murray's low drone voice talking about golf balls and a fake furry golfer trying to sabotages a golf game.

Anyway, during one of the commercials they start playing this local pet shelter/human society deal. Basically the synopsis is they show cute cats and dogs with sad lonely "I need a home" eyes and play this music that will quite literally stab you in the gut then pull out that same knife and stab yourself in each eye and then in the heart and turn the blade aggressively to the left so that you gush all your insides out.

Yeah. Like that.

Everytime, though, I see this commercial. I. SOB. I literally will drench my arm with snot because I'm crying so much .

"What's your DEAL!??!" My friend says to me trying to find the remote to make a quick channel change.

I wipe my eyes with the top of my shoulder. Turning me head and laughing trying not to show my red eyes.

"Dude, everytime I see this commercial... and that music..." I start to choke again and cry some more. At this point a sad puppy dog is panting and the voice over is saying we need to do something fast before we lose this puppy and others.

"You're so lame." He says turning the channel to some cheesy MTV reality show.

And the deal is, I'm kinda lame. I'm a sensitive dude. Can I get a universal "DUH" here from you all? I'm sure that's pretty obvious. But it's funny how the simplest things can make me lose my cool. We all have it. It's that one scene in a movie or part in a favorite song or that place in a book that just shakes you to the core. You literally lose your shit and it never gets old. You can hear or see it a million times and it's all the same: Waterworks.

Because I am a good guy who likes to entertain you all... I have compiled those things, no matter when, that make me sob. Even after the sixty-ish time of seeing it, you will see me wiping my eyes are whimpering much like an old woman that just lost one of her millions of cats... oh my God.... that's so sad too!

Maybe it's because I am a hopeless romantic. Maybe it's because it's because I'm just weak. Or maybe it's because I am the softest guy in the world.

On a scale of "Byron loses his shit" scale, this one is a 5 out of 5:

This one is a 4 out of 5:

This is a 3 out of 5(The song, not the video. Mostly because I imagine it being my wedding song... good GOD I'm giving away all my cards aren't I?).

A 7 out of 5 (Seriously, if you haven't seen this movie you won't even know... but Crash blows my mind everytime I watch it... especially this one scene):

One of my favorite customers came in to my bar the other night... with his tarot cards.

Pause.
Mixed feelings. That's what so many people have about this sort of thing. Right? I have one friend, who while was taking a sip of his red wine at a bar we were drinking at a couple months ago, whipped the glass away from his lips shook his head and choked out: "No. NEVER. I never have those done."

"Why?" I ask taking a sip of my drink and waiting to hear some sort of long winded answer.

"Because it changes the way you see things." He says while shaking his head and placing a cigarette to his thin lips to smoke outside.

I have another good friend who, when she was younger, was told by a card reader she was never going to be able to have kids. Now that she's got a cute baby and knows she can, it's funny. Another friend LIVES by them. Her aunt, a self-proclaimed tarot-card-ologist, reads her cards every birthday and half birthday. This friend will tell me things like: " I don't think I should do that because it would be veering away from my path." Yes, she will say things like that while we are in line to get coffee or if we are trying to pick out a type of bread to eat.

I, well, I'm still up in the air.

"So, shuffle the deck as much as you'd like." My customer says to me in between making drinks and wiping up condensation rings off the bar counter. "Think of questions you may want to ask." He takes a swig of his beer and concentrates on my hand movements with the cards.

I've always been the type to ask questions. I'm a writer. It's what we do. But how much of the certain questions we ask, do we want to know the answers too?

My customer begins to slowly pull each card one by one building a pile of the cards that are supposed to be defining me in certain periods of my life. They are illustrated with details images of men holding swords and woman raising their hands to their foreheads as if they are about to pass out.

"This card signifies who you are as a whole..."

Especially lately, I've had a lot of questions I would like answers to. We all do. What kind of person would we be if we didn't ask why we're here or what we should be doing with our lives. Which, at twenty-five, is something that seems to be popping in to my head more and more. With recent things like having my aunt diagnosed with a disease and going through a break-up and trying to figure out exactly what place I belong in when it comes to what I want to accomplish in my life. These questions seem to always stay the same and the answers always seem to change.

"This card will tell you how you should deal with your creativity..."

And it seems to always come back to the break-up. Doesn't it always. Where do you go now? When will it be easier to think about? When you thought you had all the answers something changes: Dates in a calendar, seasons, what makes you happy and what makes you sad. Maybe having someone tell you exactly what to expect will take one worry away. Maybe it's easier just to have all the answers handed to you while you are pouring someone a vodka and soda... instead of having to think of your own ways.

"This card tells you about your future love life..."

Or maybe it's more fun to just let it be. Sometimes knowing all the answers to everything ruins the mystery. Remember finding out about Santa or the Tooth Fairy? Remember when you first realized you weren't a kid anymore? Remember when that one person that you felt every part of you belonged with finally told you that they didn't feel the same?

Sometimes answers, like our future, are just things we should learn on our own... and not cheat to get.

It's funny how we act differently around certain people.

Ok, so, say when I'm with my mom I'm all her son so I'm not going to go around and drop the "F" bomb left and right when I'm telling her story about how wasted I got and bumped in to some jackass that was all "F" bomb this and "F" bomb that. Actually I would never tell my mom that story and if she reads this then this is a joke and I don't ever drink and I don't even know what the "F" in "F" bomb means.

Or when I'm with my friend Josh. I'm usually the peppy/excitable/gets-really-chatty-and-won't-let-Josh-get-his-work-done-able. With my friend Michele I like to talk about weird stuff and laugh insanely at the stupid stuff. With my brother, it's been known that we have our own language and sometimes all I have to do is sigh and he knows exactly what I am feeling or how I am going to react. With my mailman we nod and he says "howdy" with my dry cleaner they just ask for my money and smile with their hands out.

So it's no surprise that when you are hanging with a cool little baby you are going to act differently than you would act with someone else.

Now, I'm not going to give out all my secrets since, um, Caleb and I do have secret handshake and tend to gossip about half the people that might be reading this blog. But I have found that there is one thing that he totally digs me doing... which you may not think he would.

I sing.

I know. I know. I'm feeling your look right now. Most likely you are laughing or rolling your eyes. But, I'm going to tell you a secret. My singing makes this kid smile. It also chills him out. It also puts him to sleep. What's the secret? The song I sing. See, when he wants to giggle I sing him Justin Timberlake "Rock Your Body". He loves when I do the beat at the end: "Punce PUNCE punce. Punce punce punce."

When he's eating I sing him some dining music. I'm too embarrassed to admit what this song is, so use your imagination.

When he's just about to fall asleep I sing him Feist's "1, 2, 3, 4" acoustic version, of course.

Here's also a secret. He doesn't speak English yet. He still speaks baby. So when I don't know the words I change it to whatever I want. Which I think is pretty cute and sneaky and when he's half asleep he thinks that in Feist's song that she sings about diapers, but she doesn't really sing about diapers. We all know that.

Mark your calendars, yo. You've got a busy Byron. Here are my summer shows:

Sunday JUNE 22nd @ 645pm PRIDE READING at ATMOSPHERE BAR.
Everything goes to charity. Why wouldn't you want to be there?
5355 N. Clark St.

Wednesday/Thursday JULY 23 &24 SOLOHOMO
It's true. I've got a "one man" show. Which I use loosely seeing that there are two guys.
(More info to come)

Tuesday JULY 29th 2nd Story at RED KIVA @645pm
It's live music. My parents will be there. Who doesn't want to meet my parents?!?!
1008 W. Randolph Ave.

Thursday AUGUST 7th 2nd STORY at THE SPOT @645pm
Dirty birds will love this story. Trust me.
4437 N. Broadway Ave.

VISIT WWW.STORIESANDWINE.COM for more info!

I still do not have internet.

I am at a coffee place. Not because I'm busy. Not because I need caffeine. Because I have no air conditioning and waking up with your white sheets stuck to your face is like one of the best feelings in the world... if you are a masochist.

Let's get this straight. I'm not complaining. It is summer. And every single time I think of how hot and sticky and dumb it is in my apartment, I think about the frostbite I got this year. Yeah. On the tip of my ear. And then I think about all the times I shivered while walking to get to the same place I am sitting in right now, only this very second I am with shorts and a t-shirt and sunglasses and a smile that I don't have to worry about frostbite.

But air conditioning, like so many things in the city, is a commodity you have to take care of yourself. My friends back in Wisconsin or who live in suburbs don't really get this: "Wait, you don't have central air?" And when you shake your head and mention that you still have to have ceiling fans and little unsightly window air conditioner those people who do have central air give you a look much like the look people give you when they hear you lost a toe or your got an infected paper cut or that you had to watch Oprah twice in one day(kidding Oprah, KIDDING!)-- you know, that look of grief that also says: "I'm so glad that isn't me."

But here's the thing. I do have an air conditioner.

This is how that works. So I'm not a, well, mechanical guy. I can put batteries inside things to make them work. I can screw a screw in something that already has hole to put to the screw in to. But I'll complain about it. I'm just not good with my hands. I don't have the "building" brain. If you don't believe this, ask Josh. The guy has been my faux husband in the sense that he has put together half of my apartment. Shelves, check. Curtain rods, check. A shelf in the bathroom that I adore, check. Helping me through the "sans-boyfriend for a long time and needs to learn how to do put an air conditioner in to his own window that needs to be sized to his window because the window is too big for his air conditioner" situation, check.

He's been busy and good God I need to give the guy a break because he also deals with half of my emotional shit. Poor guy. Really. Medal for him. Gold all the way.

So there my air conditioner sits.

I'm still getting used to this. The heat, yes. The new apartment that warms up faster than any place I ever lived in. Having to ask friends to help me when I used to have someone else that I lived with to help me-- to put curtain rods up and use power tools or to do things that help keep me calm, comfortable, to keep me happy. To help me keep my cool.

Because it's so much cooler when you figure out how to keep your cool on your own.

So blogging is hard when, um, you don't have internet. Which is exactly what happens when you, um, borrow someones internet in the neighborhood and they most likely discover that it's being borrowed and then suddenly block it while you are enjoying a streaming episode of Brothers and Sisters on ABC.com. And then, just when they gay couple is going to kiss at their wedding on the streaming video and you are giggling and hugging a pillow and excited to see it happen, it goes "Putt" "Putt" and poof... your free ride is gone.

This now involves me waiting for my new service to start... in a week. A WEEK!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!
!!!
!

That's a long time.
But here's the thing. It's actually fun. See, for me, the internet is like filling up on salsa and chips before your giant burrito comes... then you can't even eat the burrito. Basically, it distracts me and I get nothing else done that I've been meaning to get done for months. Like, OK, get this. I folded all my socks in the same way so they are really pretty on my shelf in the closet. I hung my collared shirts all facing in the same direction. My t-shirts currently look like they should be folded for display at Barney's. I took a toothpick to my bathroom counter. I've read magazines that have been sitting in perfect piles because I've now got time to make perfect piles of things. My dishes are all washed. My fridge has been cleaned out and I know now all the words to Duffy's "Warwick Avenue" because, well, I haven't been able to download any new music and pretty much sing my woes of no internet to the tune of "Warwick Avenue". Which, if you're ever bored, I can send you those lyrics.

But most importantly, due to not having internet and having to work at coffee places more often, I met a man that insisted I looked like, and I quote: "That new kid. That kid on that new Indiana Jones... what's that kids name? SHOW BUFF or something?"

"Um, Shia LeBouf?"
"Yeah. That guy. Anyone ever tell you you look like him?"
"No."
"Never?"
"No. But someone once said I acted like Ryan Seacrest."
"SHIT! I hate that guy."
"Yeah. Most do."
"Well, once I got told I looked like John Ritter."
"Really? Huh."

The man did not look anything close to John Ritter... ever. He actually looked closer to Mr. Furley. But he went on to tell me his story about how this woman insisted he was better looking than John Ritter and how this woman was the love of his life and how this woman doesn't talk to him and more...

I miss my internet.