Was going to live tweet being socially awkward but 3G is apparently, like the cake, a lie.

Looking back, the night started off with my Uber pool forgetting to pick me up. Wanted to arrive early as I only know two people at the event. Friendly note kids, when Uber decides not to pick you up, take it as a sign and stay in.

Got to the bar later than expected (thank you, Uber) and there’s about a hundred people between me and the two people who, let’s be honest, I only kind of know at this point and they’re likely not looking forward to time with me in particular. 

Thankfully, I’ve ordered a stout.  Something I hadn’t heard of before.  Unfortunately, didn’t get a good look at the bottle to identify it.

Walk around, probably looking like a shark, until I’ve finished the aforementioned stout. Order another stout, this time the ever-reliable Stone Coffee Milk Stout. Only had soup for dinner, so I start to feel the beginnings of feeling the beverage.

Find a table to sit at (alone) and start journaling my night.  (That’s where’s we are here kids.) 

Question: is journaling alone on your phone more antisocial or is desperately hoping for a break in the crowd to attempt conversation with someone you know? Asking for a friend.

Contemplate how long I should stay before bailing. It’s about thirty minutes into the night. Missing my wife and dog, in that order

Downing drink number two accomplished. Visit bathroom. In that brief time, lost the blessed comfort of my table. Decide to go back to the bar for drink number three. And to close out.

Keg kicked halfway through pouring my second Stone Coffee Milk Stout. Bartender comps me this “half drink”. Does he sense my “lost” vibe? Is he reaching out to me on some “I’ve been there” level?  Didn’t close tab though, since it was free and I felt bad, so now what?

Friend who I texted “This was a horrible idea” texts back to my crisis “Ghost that shit”. First smile of the night

Going to make one last attempt at “social”.

And… I got into proximity with someone I knew. He introduced me to the circle of people he was talking with. Just names and handshakes. Wasn’t going to go anywhere conversationally. Only mildly less awkward. But hey, actual human contact… Ish.

Then, a holiday miracle. I was saved by fandom.

You see, I was wearing my Doctor Who Christmas sweater and a couple came up to talk to me about it. Truly blessed people who I will forever hold in high esteem for approaching me.

When that conversation waned, I said hi to the other person I knew since some of the throng had vacated and that person, in turn, introduced me to even more Who fans.

Then, two guys came over who had never seen Doctor Who, but they were keen to know what made my sweater “Doctor Who.”

I honestly think had I not worn this sweater, it would have been an epically horrendous night.

So thank you Who for making the socially awkward bond. And thank you most especially to that first couple who broke the ice with a stranger.

Now, let’s see if any of them friend me on Facebook. (You can out yourselves if you do and you read this.)

So to all my socially awkward friends out there, stay a little bit past your comfort zone and don’t forget to let your geek flag fly.  You never know who will take the time to say “Hey, is that a Doctor Who sweater?” and make your night.

This was my dad. 

Note the always present camera…

…and the dick joke.

The first person I never thought I’d be as cool as was my dad. One of my favorite stories from my grandma was about how she would go see him play football and just worry the whole game. Not that he was going to get hurt, but that he was going to hurt someone else because he played so hard. I was not the sports superstar that that man deserved, but he loved his comic book loving son all the same. I am the nerd you know because he loved and accepted me as I was. He was even my ride to the comic book shop. I remember walking with him around AM&As (job #2 in his daily grind) and people just loved him because he was kind and made them laugh. He gifted me with an appreciation of good comedy (George Carlin) and good music (Paul Simon) that I carry with me to this day. I’m sad so many important people in my life never got the chance to meet him, but if you ever laugh at something I do, say, or write, that’s courtesy of him.

Father’s Day will always be hard just like every day will always be hard. Over a decade gone and I still feel the loss because there’s little that can fill a hole that big.

Miss ya, Dave.

The long road to self-improvement.  Three months in.                                      aka  Proud of the work, but nowhere near the destination.

As you can see above, I’ve lost nine pounds of fat and replaced it with almost eleven pounds of muscle.  I work out four days a week, waking up an extra hour early to do so.  It’s a team effort, as my trainers push me to places I would never be able to go myself.  The main change in my diet is to approach food with the attitude of “don’t be an asshole,” or, as a trainer put it, “make the right decision 80% of the time.”

I’ll spare you the shirtless pics, though, as we’re not there… yet.

I’m Nick Brandt and I’m a writer.

But let’s backtrack a bit.

Starting in 7th grade, I took college math at University of Buffalo.  I was Valedictorian of my high school class.  I graduated the University of Rochester magna cum laude.

NOTE: This isn’t bragging.  This is setup.  

If I were bragging, I’d tell you how funny I am.  

And reasonably tall by non-NBA standards.

And have an awesome wife – https://twitter.com/jessakeenie

Despite aptitude elsewhere (see totally non-bragging setup), writing is like Red Bull for my soul in that it gives me wings, but with significantly less Taurine.  I’ve been successful at it, by some accounts.  Not mine, but some.  I even get to put my writing skills to work as part of the marketing department for a technology startup.  

But mostly, I make stuff.

I’ve written or co-written three independent films.  I co-wrote a children’s book that was actually published.  I have a graphic novel coming out at this year’s San Diego Comic Con.  I co-wrote a musical and got to meet Stephen Schwartz because of it.  AND that’s just the “produced” stuff.  (Also not bragging… résumé.) I have more finished work looking for homes/venues/vehicles than you can shake a Teddy Roosevelt stick at.  All in, tell a much younger Nick of even just these accomplishments, and he would be psyched.

But I heard this recently…

“…but I thought you’d have your own company or would’ve cured something by now.” - Someone who hasn’t seen me in a while.

Not all friends/family say/think this sort of thing, mind you.  Some are psyched to live vicariously through my pursuit of my dreams, though I’m sure some with an eye on schadenfreude.  I’m reasonably sure both of my parents would be proud if they were still around.  But I get the lack of accomplishment vibe from more than a handful, especially when catching up.  More than a few friends had “higher” expectations for me.  And by higher, I generally think “Almighty Dollar,” but some thought I’d cure or solve something.  I think if I were Nick Brandt multiplex writer with a studio deal, I wouldn’t get much of this at all.  But since I’m currently Nick Brandt, indy creator/please see my flick on Lifetime Movie Network, this still happens.

Of course this doesn’t stop me from writing, but it’s frustrating.  

Am I curing anything?  

Am I solving diminishing resource problems?  

No.  But those people probably need a break from their daily stresses and I hope that’s what creative pursuits supply.  My goal is to take the time you give me and distract you in some entertaining fashion.

When people ask me about potentially pursuing writing, I always say the same thing:

If you could see yourself being happy doing anything else, do that.

If not, welcome to the club and I’m sorry.

I couldn’t be happy doing anything other than writing.

But I could do without the disappointment*.

*(And that’s not even the rejection. That’s another tale entirely.)

Everything below here was appropriated from a previous tumblr.

Revisit.  Enjoy.  New content starts above this line.

_____________________________________________________________________

It’s not like it sneaks up on me…

I know that it’s coming from the ads, from the emails, from seemingly everything thrown at me.

There is a point, and I hope that point starts now, that you start celebrating the life more than commemorating the loss.

If you didn’t get the chance to meet my dad, here’s some things you would’ve liked about him –

He was always ready with a joke, something cute and punny or wildly inappropriate, my dad’s main objective in life seemed to be to make people laugh and smile.

I learned how to swear helping my dad fix beat-up car after beat-up car.  For the longest time, I thought the actual name was the fu##ing wrench.

My dad hipped me to the joy that is Paul Simon, George Carlin, Bill Cosby, Billy Joel and, on top of that, really liked Pearl Jam.

One of my favorite stories to tell about my dad –

He worked out of town which left me at the house by myself.  In high school, this meant that I was the party house.  No ragers, mind you, just a good dozen peeps coming together in a mellow, fun vibe.  One weekend, I got to the door and there was my dad.

                                            DAVID BRANDT
So…. there’s about forty empty cases of beer stacked against the wall in the kitchen.

                                            NICHOLAS BRANDT

Yeah.  About that.  I ran out of money for food and my friends brought over all their empties so I could go to the store, turn them in and buy some.

UNNAMED FRIEND BEHIND ME SNICKERS

                                            DAVID BRANDT

Is anybody driving?

                                            NICHOLAS BRANDT

No.  No one’s driving.

And he let me slide.  

Because he trusted me to be responsible.

And he loved me.

And I still love him.

I can’t escape Mother’s Day.  I’ve tried since my mom died in January of 2005.  There’s the commercials.  There’s the emails (which, by the way, Victoria’s Secret, even when my mom was alive “Ew” and “Double Ew”).  And I’m not trying to forget my mom.  I couldn’t if I wanted to and I don’t want to.  I’m trying to not be reminded of her absence any more than I already am.  I don’t want to remember the cancer that robbed us of her.  I don’t want to relive that 24 hours between getting my sister’s “wake up, we need you in WNY immediately” call, to crying at the LAX airport counter, to her last words, to her last rites, to watching them put my mom into a black plastic bag.

But I do want to remember –

*Playing countless games of You Don’t Know Jack against my mom and how happy she’d get when she’d win.

*How generous my mom was with her baking – it would take a small army to carry the plates of cookies she’d make for family members and friends weddings.

*Dancing with my mom – until I was too big to do so, I’d actually dance with my toes on her feet.

Mom’s are a precious resource and they should get more than a day’s worth of appreciation.  Tell your mom you love her and, if you still have the chance, have a dance with your mom.  (And maybe throw a periodic win her way.)

Hard to believe, but I’m actually less snarky now as an “adult” than I was in the 10th Grade.  Despite a razor-sharp wit, I flew under the radar.  People mainly didn’t notice due to me being typecast as a brainiac and generally disregarding everything that came out of my mouth.  The typecasting also prevented me from getting a lot of playing time at football, but I digress.

Two of my favorite snarks, in reflection:

Though I was taking college level math classes at the University of Buffalo from grades 9-12, I also took math classes at Tonawanda Senior High because, to be honest, math came super easy to me.  (Don’t worry, I’m already shouting “nerd” at myself).

One day, a Senior jocky/class clown sort, decided to call out our missing teacher by preaching aloud to the class, and the substitute, that he was “Going to give Mrs. L a piece of his mind.”

I coughed out a “Can you spare it?” and was only spared a beatdown because another Senior, and star of the wrestling team, laughed and jumped in to my defense.

The other incident, also involving a sub, happened in Spanish class.  I was feeling particularly cheeky and when the sub said, “One more peep out of you and you can have detention.”  To which I responded, “Do you know who I am?”

My name was called over the PA for detention that afternoon.  My younger sister probably got the biggest kick out of that.  I showed up and the Vice Principal said, “Nick?  What are you doing here?  Go home.”  She shooed me away.

Like I said, the sub didn’t know who I was, but the VP did.

Wish I could still get away with things like that…

The perfect blend of upbeat and mellow, courtesy of my morning meal at “Smiths” of Smithfield.

• Army of Two - Olly Murs
  
• Live It Up - Colbie Caillat
  
• White Houses - Vanessa Carlton
  
• Put Your Hearts Up - Ariana Grande
  
• Don’t Leave Me - Regina Spektor
  
• Happy As The Sun - Tyrone Wells
  
• Back to The Earth - Jason Mraz
  
• Alright - Supergrass
  
• Oh My Love - The Score
  
• I Want You Back - Straight No Chaser Feat. Sara Bareilles
  
• Dancing Through Life - Wicked Soundtrack