You probably know him...

I'd like to tell you about my friend, Brian Foss. Brian Foss is one of those 

people who seems to have lived everywhere and done everything. He 

knows absolutely EVERYONE. In fact, while I was in Serbia last summer 

I met people who knew him. It's wierd and a little creepy.
 
Here's a list of a few of the adventures you'll find in the index of The Big 

Book of Brian's Life:
 

Web-designer,
Guitarist,
Missionary,
Wrestler,
Pen-enthusiast,
Alpaca farmer,
Extreme right-wing grafitto  conservationist,
Closet Louis Lamour fanatic,
Blacklisted flamenco dancer,
Two-time East Coast dog-walking champ,
Flippin' good quesadilla chef,
Twentieth-century chimney-sweep,
Fledgling shelf-builder,
Fontaine understudy whenever Les Miserables comes to town,
Fashionista,
Part-time astronaut,
Amateur chair-rail historian...
 
The list goes on. 
 
Actually, the list goes on right here. 
 
Brian has attempted to read Volume One of Democracy In America 

several times. 

He has, in his house, a very rare, yet fully functioning, stationary 

escalator. 

There is reportedly an alligator (or crocodile) living in his garage. 

He decided he couldn't be burdened with the demands of a colon 

and, so, had his removed and was not pleased with the results. 

He has a price on his head of twenty-six dollars. 

He claims to have operated the very first cash-for-gold business in 

San Francisco in 1849. 

As a boy he was nearly fatally attacked by five ladybugs. 

He has been banned from soup.

 
Brian and I met when my mother-in-law's husband, Bob, had a 

heart-attack while cutting down a tree in his backyard. As Bob 

was recuperating several days later, I went over to finish chopping 

up the tree. Brian lived nextdoor and came over to help, too, 'cause 

Brian's cool like that. Also, he had a chainsaw. That's basically my 

criteria for being friends with someone. 
 
Brian, you're a rockin' dude and I don't even mind that you're into 

older chicks. MUCH older chicks. AARP. I mean it's weird, but, hey, 

Cari's cool and with that hip replacement I'm sure she'll be just as 

spry as a 40-year old. Love you, broseph. 

(NOTE: I typed this last night on my iPod and e-mailed it to myself, 

which is why it's all double-spaced and Helvetica-y and weird.)
 
Thank you,
      Matt Beers