Reading strangers' blogs again...

I came across a feller's blog and I think he is sad. I genuinely feel bad about this. I've decided to copy his last post (in italics) to my blog and add my own comments (in non-italics) on how he should be happy. Perhaps, someday, his blog will meet my blog and... no one will ever be sad again.

Until then...


A few things I know about myself.

1) I hate myself more than I hate any other person
More than Pol Pot even? Sure, he's a good dancer and a decent swimmer, but I think one Orlando vacation with ol' Pol "I Always Pick Where We Eat" Pot would set you straight.

2) Lonliness is a thing I hold close to my heart.
I think Plato said it best: "He who mis-spells loneliness is never truly lonely." And that's Dana Plato by the way.

3) My happiness is fleeting, and others will easily sacrifice my happiness to gain their own.
To avoid fleeting, "happiness" should be stored in an air-tight, underground vault - along with "joy" and "love." Smothering may occur.

4) Love is a joke, my love is a joke
And who delivers this joke most frequently? Funny-woman Elayne Boosler.

5) I'm in a constant search for something that I have not found, and will never know if I've found it until it's too late.
Whenever I can't find my shoes, I say to my mom, "Mom, where are my shoes?" And she says, "Well, the last time I wore them..." - as if to say, "I don't wear your shoes, Paul. Figure it out yourself."
Awwww, mom!

6) Late at night I feel worthless.
"Full House" eases the pain.

7) Today was a shitty shitty day.
Aye yes, laddy, but tomorrow... she'll be a beauty!

8) I'm going to have more of number "7"
Let's hope "7" is an ice-cream sundae!

9) I like being intoxicated, a lot, just because... it's an escape
Drinking alcohol is like drinking Gatorade - you don't want to do it too much or you won't have enough to throw on the coach!

10) I will never escape my fate, I will never know lasting happiness.
Not with that kind of attitude you won't, mister!


Cheer up, friends, loved ones, and strangers. Gorgeous days lie ahead.

Late Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning, Rick and I are attending a special midnight screening of "Spiderman 2: Miracle of the White Stallions." We're traveling to a town 45 minutes away to see it. Will it be worth it?

The White Stallions say "Yes!"

I'm super-excited for it. Midnight screenings are fun because eager audiences will applaud anything. "The lights are going down?" APPLAUSE! "The first preview?" APPLAUSE! "R2-D2 uses mini-jets to fly?" NO APPLAUSE!

That's right. In "Attack of the C(l)ones," when R2-D2 does his first-ever on-screen flight, I began clapping and cheering uproariously... and no one joined me! And it was a midnight screening, too. With nerdy "Star Wars" fans filling the audience. Who had drank a lot of Mountain Dew.

Cowards.

But yeah... it's the most-anticipated summer movie for me. Screw having "too high of expectations." I hate that shit. Be excited for something.

Cowards.

What summer movie have I been most excited for in my 23 years, you ask? Batman Returns in 1992, of course. I went on opening night... and I wore a Batman Returns t-shirt my mom had bought me at Wal-Mart earlier that day.

Why aren't any of you wearing Batman Returns t-shirts?

Cowards.

Walt Disney is my new best friend!

While checking his "producer filmography" on the Internet's Database for Movies and More.Com, I got to read all the awesome titles he's been behind. Here are just some of my favorites:

1. It's Tough to Be a Bird
I hope this is a warts-and-all documentary which delves into Larry Bird's grueling experience while filming the "Nuthin', But Net" McDonald's commercials with Michael Jordan.

2. Charlie, the Lonesome Cougar
True story: In sixth grade, a foreign-exchange student from Brazil gave me the nickname "Cougar." However, I was neither lonesome - nor Charlie.

3. Monkeys, Go Home!
Should I sue Walt Disney for making a movie about what I say when my relatives visit? Take that, Uncle Mike!

4. Follow Me, Boys!
Should I sue Walt Disney for making a movie about what I say to high-school basketball teams outisde Godfather's Pizza after they win the big, championship game?

5. Freewayphobia #1
You know, there's another movie title that better describes my fear of highways... it's called "Rush Hour!" Yikes!

6. Miracle of the White Stallions
Here's the backstory on this title...
AMERICAN POPULATION: Hey, Mr. Disney!
WALT DISNEY: ...Yes?
AMERICAN POPULATION: Can we please have a movie title that proves you have never been laid?

7. Aquamania
Aquamania had two sequels: Towel-mania and Hairdryer-mania. Gouche!

8. Donald Duck and His Companions
Everyone at the family reunion knew that Donald's guests were much more than "companions." They were his best friends!


Today, to keep my mind occupied while making shelves look pretty at Wal-Mart, I came up with two parody songs. The original titles are modified, so you know how I deliciously satirized them. They were:

1. Neil Diamond's "They're Coming to America"
became...
Paul Rust's "They're Renting 'Pre-hysteria'"

and

2. The Tornados' "Do the Locomotion with Me"
became...
Paul Rust's "Share the Calamine Lotion with Me"

Eat your heart out, Weird Al!

THREE EASY RULES TO BEING A CRYPT:

1. Wear black no matter what.

2. Hate "The Bloods."

3. Drive around at night (with your headlights off) at all times. If a fellow driver warns you of this by flashing his or her own headlights on and off, then you must hunt them down and kill them.

If you have any interest in being a Crypt, contact my friend Jeff at Cryptkeeper_Jeff@Kevin-Smith-Fan.com.

Also... if you are a Blood, don't even think about applying. Seriously. It's rude and no one thinks it's funny (not even your lame-ass Blood-friends).

The story continues...


WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Hey, Paul.

PAUL: Hello... Well's Blue Bunny.

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: How's it going?

PAUL: Eh. Pretty good. Got a couple new jobs.

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Yeah. I heard that. Good for you. Really... good for you.

PAUL: ... Thanks.

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Y'know, I was thinkin'...

PAUL: Yeah?

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: I was thinkin'...

PAUL: What?

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Maybe I was a little hard on you before.

PAUL: Oh yeah?

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Yeah. Refusing you a job and all that. The whole "How can I trust you when you've quit once before?" thing. I over-reacted.

PAUL: Hm.

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: You were a different person back then. You didn't know. You know what? I...

PAUL: ... Yeah?

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: I forgive you, Paul. I forgive you for quiting four years ago. I forgive you.

PAUL: Well... thanks.

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: I forgive you so much, in fact, that... I'm willing to give you a job. Would you like that? A new job at me: Well's Blue Bunny?

PAUL: Seriously?

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Mr. Rust, I am for real.

PAUL: Wow.

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: So how 'bout it?

PAUL: I guess there's only one thing I can say... kiss my ass!

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Huh?!

PAUL: Kiss my ass!

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Now, you wait a gosh-darn second, mister. I don't think you know what you're doing!

PAUL: I know exactly what I'm doing! I'm saying, "Kiss my ass!"

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Well, I never!

PAUL: You can keep your crummy job! Me and my friends Super Wal-Mart and Ameri-Host are doin' just fine! We've made plans to see "The Bourne Supremacy" together!

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: Really? (pause) Could I... could I come?

PAUL: Sure. Sure, you can come, Well's Blue Bunny. Just go inside, get your jacket, and then we'll go, okay?

WELL'S BLUE BUNNY: I'll be back in a flash!

Well's Blue Bunny runs inside his house. Paul looks around for a moment... then flips the bird, puts up his collar, and high-tails it to Ameri-Host's house to watch the "White Chicks" trailer on the Internet.

Yesterday was "Father's Day."

But did you know that today is "Fathers' Day" - the sacred holiday when Catholics list off their assorted priests and share tidbits about them?

And... go!

1. Father George
TENURE: St. Joseph's (1986-1994)
NICKNAME: Georgey-Boy

It's Fall 1993 and I'm in the sixth grade. Me, my pops, and a group of fellow rock-n-rollers (including kindly Father George) head to St. Louis to catch a few Cardinals' games. The major highlight? Since we're "on vacation" and no one wants to go to boring, old church... Father George holds mass in our hotel room! The 5-minute ceremony consists of a brief opening, an even briefer homily, and a ramshackle communion ritual where we pass around travel-sized wine and hosts (Father George happened to bring them in his luggage).


2. Father Cosgrove

TENURE: St. Joseph's (1994-1999)
NICKNAME: Cozzey-Coz (pronounced Cahzee-Cahz)

Spring 1998 and I'm a sophomore at Gehlen Catholic. My friends and I are chillin' on some benches after lunch (it's not recess, okay?! it's, like, a recess... for grown-ups!) and we're talkin' to Father Cosgrove (who lived in the rectory which was a stone's throw - or casted stone? ha - away from the school).

COSGROVE: How're you guys spending your summer?
US: We're acting in a production of "Jesus Christ Superstar!"
COSGROVE: That'll be nice.
US: You gonna' come?!
COSGROVE: No. (beat) I've read the book.

Bam!


3. Father Mark
TENURE: ???? (1988-????)
NICKNAME: Father Mark

Father Mark wasn't a priest at my church, St. Joseph's. He was in one of the, you know, "far-away rural churches." Consequently, you didn't see him every Sunday at mass and double-consequently, you didn't get to know very well (i.e. he was kind of weird). The only times you did see him is when they needed extra priests at the large all-school reconcilliation assemblies or... when he came into your classroom during the first grade to play the host of his own religious "TV game show."

OFFICIAL GAME RULES: Father Mark stands at the front of the room and you and a fellow classmate face-off before him - battling to see who can be the first to answer a Catholicism-related question. Questions included: "What are stained-glass windows?" or "Who is your pope?" or "Why on earth does Father Mark subject us to this?" He was great though. He'd get into the game like a genuine TV game-show host - like if kids got too loud, he'd say, "Quiet on the set, everybody. Quiet on the set." What?!

ANYWAY: In case you didn't know, the reason your parents had more kids than you is so brothers and sisters can exchange school-yard gossip and class-time doo-dah. In this case, my older sister Anne and her class would also be blessed with Father Mark's game-show presence. Apparently, two of her classmates grew tired of this game and let it be known. Anne joyously related this story to me:

(FATHER MARK is conducting a game when suddenly BOY #1 stands up from his desk, flipping it over)
BOY #1: This game sucks!
(BOY #2 also stands up, flipping over his own desk)
BOY #2: No shit!

This story tantalized me to no end.


HAPPY FATHERS' DAY!

Did your dad ever want to play video-games with you?

During video-games of head-to-head combat, did you let your dad win?

If your dad did poorly at a video-game, did you let him restart over and over (despite the fact that you would never grant such allowances to your peers)?

My dad was good at NBA Jam, but he wasn't that good.

Yes, the fabled ".Com Crash" may have solidified the fact that I am part of that unprecedented generation "that-can't-be-more-successful-than-their-parents," but...

We can beat you at Paperboy any day of the week.

Yesterday, I bought 2 pairs of "scrubs."

No, I am not a doctor. And no, I am not acting in a hilarious tele-play. I got a second job as housekeeper at the Ameri-Host Inn.

Next week, my friend Rick will join me as a housekeeper, too. That's right. Gehlen Catholic's two Class of 2000 co-valedictorians will spend their summer wiping pubes off toilet seats. This is where "studying hard" gets you.

Whatever. I like housekeeping. Hotels are cool and you get to spend your time in them. Yes.

Anyway, I work with this guy at the hotel. He's a nice feller - somebody who I had always seen at church and would occassionally hold mini-chats with. But how I remember him the most is... he was the uncle of Jamie, this kid in my class.

One time, back in third grade, I'm over at Jamie's house and there's a picture of his uncle on the bedroom dresser. And I ask who it is and Jamie just goes on and on about this uncle - how cool he is, how friendly, how fun. Then I ask, "What's he do for a living?" And Jamie says, "Well... he - people say he's retarded, but he's not. He's smart."

(This, of course, meant that his uncle had a mental disability and didn't hold a job. In any case, Jamie still really revered his uncle.)

As time went on and as things go, Jamie (as a teenager) fell back in his studies, eventually dropped out of Gehlen, and went to the public school. There, I started hearing strange stuff about him: he had gotten into drugs, he got caught masturbating in the science lab. I don't even know if he graduated high school.

People slip through the cracks.

Yesterday, I'm talking to Jamie's uncle at the Ameri-Host. He asks me when I graduated high school and I - trying to bridge a time gap and also, share something in common - tell him, "Four years ago. Yeah... Jamie was in my class." And his uncle says, "You mean, trouble was in your class."

Jamie may have stood up for his uncle, insisting that he was smarter than most people gave him credit for... but his uncle knew Jamie was trouble.


SIDENOTE: A housekeeper brought fake-poo to work this morning and put it in the bath-tub as a "practical joke." Jamie's uncle thought it was hilarious.

I read strangers' blogs. You find your way to them - you know, a "friend" of a "friend" of a "friend of." A few moments ago, I read a stranger's blog and in it, this girl mentioned: "I have an eclectic taste in music, and like a lot of different stuff - although chances are i don't know names or members of many of them."

Which reminded me...

A couple of summers ago, Scott (my sister Amy's boyfriend) and I were chatting about a band we both liked, Quasi. As these conversations tend to go, we began to throw around album titles and unreleased B-sides and "favorites lists" and whatnot. Soon enough, my sister interrupted and surmised: "That's boy talk."

Warning us first that this was a strong generalization, my sister went on to share a theory about how boys and girls appreciate things differently. Basically, boys appreciate things by memorizing every possible detail about them... and girls... well, girls... just like it.

She used the example of when she was growing up, all of her male friends (and from the ages of 2-6, her friends were primarily male) memorized the names of all of the "Star Wars" planets, spaceships, secondary characters, etc. She, however, showed her adoration differently. She just watched the movies and lovingly re-enacted them during play-time. WEIRD, HUH?!!!

But this distinction doesn't end at childhood though. Look at me. I can't just watch a movie. I have to know every possible fact about it (whether I appreciated the movie or not) - production information, release dates, cast and crew, all that. I've been like that since I was a li'l scrap. In third grade, I would play a game with people where they gave me a movie (any movie) and I could tell them what film company distributed it. Dead-on. Everytime. Nerd.

In any case, I think my sister has a point and although I am participating in the type of discussion I despise ("girls are like this and boys are like this"), I have to admit that I see it going on all the time.

Anyway. I am now going to watch "The Man Who Wasn't There." I like it a lot. This is how it falls in my "favorites list" of Coen Brothers' movies:

1. Fargo
2. The Man Who Wasn't There
3. Blood Simple
4. The Hudsucker Proxy
5. Barton Fink
6. The Big Lebowski
7. Intelorable Cruelty
8. Miller's Crossing
9. The Ladykillers
10. Raising Arizona
11. O, Brother, Where Art Thou?

Mom and pop are outta' town! For the entire weeeeek! I's got the whole house to myself!

What am I gonna' do?! List-time, suckaz!

1. RAID THE FRIDGE!
(I'm gonna' eat a double-decker bologna-and-ham-and-cheese Dagwood sandwich... for a snack!)

2. MAKE PRACTICAL-JOKE PHONE-CALLS!
(MAYOR OF LEMARS: Hello?
ME: Hi, this is Paul Rust.
MAYOR OF LEMARS: Excuse me?
ME: Shut up, four-eyes!)

3. DRIVE DAD'S HOTTT NEW PORSCHE!
(I'll just use it to pick up groceries... BABE GROCERIES, THAT IS!)

4. THROW A BITCHIN' PARTY!
(I already sent out the invitations. Make sure to R.S.V.P. - Respect the Seasoned Veteran of Partying - i.e. ME!)

5. WAKE UP THE NEIGHBORS!
(If #4 goes right, #5 is in the bag!)


With luck, in four days, when mommy and pop-pop come rollin' into the driveway, they'll see the house is nothing but smoldering rumble... and I'm playin' air guitar on top of it! Jose Can-Strike-Out!

And if you don't believe me, check out what I did last night!

Me and three friends sat peacefully on my living room floor and perused a book of Norman Rockwell paintings.

This is true. So, so true.

The LeMars Public Library is missing their copy of "House of Leaves." That's because I have it. In my possession. If you went to the LeMars Public Library right now and looked for a copy of "House of Leaves," you would be sorely disappointed.

Don't worry though. I checked it out. With a library card and everything. Geeze - you were scared that I stole it, weren't you?

So yeah... I'm reading that book and... it's about a haunted house... and it's supposed to be scary... but it's not scaring me. In fact, no books have ever scared me. Everybody's got a tale to tell about a book that's scared them. But I don't.

And MORE TO THE POINT, I've never read a book that's completely moved me - you know, changed my life. Sure, I've read books that I liked (or possibly even adored), but never one that I feel I can "call my own." I don't have a "favorite book" that was "written just for me."

Which is funny because I could easily list 30 movies with no hesitation that do that for me. Or 50 songs. Or 10 TV shows.

Books gotta' start pulling their weight.


ALSO:

I was watching CNN and a guy from the Gallup Poll service was talking about the peaks and vallies of President Reagan's popularity during his administration.

And he made the point that Reagan never had an overwhelming majority of admirers while he was president. In fact, towards the end of his presidency, Reagan only had 53% of Americans regard him favorably.

However, by the mid-90's (curiously when Reagan's illness became known), nearly 75% of Americans remember Reagan being a good president.

Huh.

Because one person loses their memory, everybody else does, too.

Most of my fellow employees at Super Wal-Mart, Inc. are women in the 28-55 age range. If you've ever wondered what it's like to be completely surrounded by older women... it's like attending one large Mom Convention. And it's fantastic.

But I must admit, as I was stocking "Denture Cream, Inc." packages onto the shelves and listening to the ladies chat, I remembered those bygone days when I worked at Hy-Vee Food Store, Inc. from 1997 to 1999. Back then, 90% of my co-workers were high-schoolers just like me and it was cool because even though we would have never been "friends" outside of work (what with differing interests and personalites - and especially since many of them went to a different school than me), we still got along and appreciated one another. It was kind of like "The Breakfast Club" - except instead of eating breakfast, we sold it! In boxes! In aisle 9!

So, as I was stocking the "Body Lotion, Inc." bottles, I started thinking about those co-workers at Hy-Vee. And I mostly remembered the girls there. They were brassy and funny and cool. In particular, I recalled one girl (whose name I cannot remember) that worked the register. She was friendly and interesting and... pretty - prettier than I ever appreciated at the time. She chatted with everybody, but I remember something about her face (I don't know, fragile and stuff) that made her look bored or disinterested or... sad.

And there were these weird tidbits about her life that I came across (not by ever talking about it with her, but by observing things during endless six-hour shifts). She apparently took care of her baby brother more often than her own mother ever did - leading many to believe that she herself was the mother of the child. She also dated "the town asshole/hellraiser/bad boy." But I remember him always treating her with the utmost respect and kindness and... I recall how comforting it was, knowing that even assholes care about somebody.

So then I started wondering whatever happened to her - whatever happened to all those girls I used to work with. I haven't seen any of them since I've graduated high school.

One hour later, I'm walking out of Wal-Mart's back-room and I see the aforementioned girl (that very same girl) pushing a shopping cart and passing the DVD Clearance Bin - her stomach expanded and about to burst. She easily had to be 6-9 months pregnant.

And I realized - there goes one more attendee at the ol' Mom Convention.

Yesterday, for the first time in my lifetime, a horse could have won the Triple Crown.

Instead, for the first time in my lifetime, a president (who was in office while I was alive) died.

Plus, a bunch of stuff burned down in downtown LeMars.

And the neighbor kid Nathan lost a tooth.

Here's a big plate of pancakes, Mr. Newsday!

I'm finally unpacking (after three weeks!) and as a result, I'm going through all the old junk in my bedroom.

And Holy Gouche! I've came across a real treasure:

My 1995 "Movie Idea" book containing the plot outlines for such 7th-grade masterpieces as "Wasteless Armchair Liquids" and "Rotten Aries." All of these films are heavy, heavy, heavy Tarantino rip-offs (as that was my main obsession at the time). And of course, like any good writer, I spent more time on "dream casting" than ever re-drafting a script. Surprisingly, the cast list still holds up. I mean, who wouldn't want to see Mickey Rourke and Buddy Hackett in a movie together?

Of course, after you uncover something like this and become embarrassed by its amateur status, you instantly look at the work you're doing now and realize you will be mortified by that as well. In a few years, I'll revisit something like "David Mows Yards" or "Bubblegum Brigade" and I know its faults will sting.

The thing is... those 7th-grade scripts are relegated to my bedroom where no one can see them, but hundreds have seen "David Mows Yards" and "Bubblegum Brigade" or whatever else I've done. Not only will I have to suffer these errors alone, but additionally, I'll have to think about how many others witnessed them as well - and it will sting to know that some in the audience were rolling their eyes at those very errors while they were watching it.

Fortunately, I can rest in the knowledge that I don't put out potentially embarrassing stuff out to the world everyday, which can be archived and read (on, I don't know, say the Internet) for many years to come.

Oh... wait.

KEEP COUNT WITH YOUR FRIENDS...

FAILED JOKE AT SUPER WAL-MART #5 (OF A PROJECTED #478):

Yesterday at "Orientation," a lady's giving a tour to me and a few other future employees. She shows us a bulletin board in the back-room of Super Wal-Mart, which displays competitor prices as well as photographs of these competitors' buildings. As you can guess, these pictures eerily resemble super-sleuth, spy photos taken by international profesionals - a componenet of Wal-Mart's own private "Project Mayhem."

After we all admire the craftmanship of the board, the tour lady says to us, "This is our comp board." ("comp" apparently code for "competition" or "competitor"). Finally she remarks, "We call these businesses 'comp.' I don't know what you guys call them."

And I said, "Dead. I call 'em dead."

Tour lady looks at me. "What?" Then... she smiles - very, very distantly. "Oh... Yes."

The tour continues.

As one often tends to do in LeMars, Iowa, my mom and I were having that age-old discussion: "is-that-one-person-related-to-the-guy-who-went-to-jail-a-few-years-ago?" In this instance, "the-guy-who-went-to-jail" was a local man who allegedly molested children back when I was in high school.

So, my mom and I are talking about this guy (careful not to mention anything about "molestation" since my 8 year-old niece is in the room), but despite our efforts, my niece does hear us say "put in jail" and her ears inevitably perk up.

"Who went to jail?" she asks us.
"A guy." my mom says.
"Why?" she asks.

And there's a silence - yes, an uncomfortable silence. And my mom and I look at each other, not knowing what to say. And then... without a moment's hesitation... as if there wasn't an "uncomfortable silence" at all... my mom says...

"Stealing. He was arrested for stealing."

That's 29 years of motherhood at work. My mom knows what to say to appease a child - and consequently how not to demolish their china-plate world.

And yeah, you may disasgree with my mom's actions. It may have been "better" for her to tell her grand-daughter the full-truth. And it have been "better" to explain what "molestation" is and how "some people do some bad things," but... I'm glad she did what she did. Ignorance can have horrible consequences, I know. But knowledge can hurt like a sunuvabitch - especially when you're 8 years old.

However, I know if I had been in that position... I would have told the truth, but then... proceeded to muddle through some poor explanation which would have indeed shattered the aforementioned china-glass... metaphor.

And that's what scares me.

For years now (but especially within the last month), I think about how awful of a parent I would be. Not because I'd be negligent or abusive or anything like that, but because I'd be so over-concerned about protecting them - and not in the T.S. Garp fashion of making sure they don't break their bones or get hit by cars or whatever.

No, instead, I'd be wanting to protect them from all those "the world just revealed that it is an awful place" experiences. Cuz as anyone with even a passing interest in my plays/NS pieces/whatnot could easily glean... for me, childhood is that glorious/horrendous period where everything is glorious and horrendous. And I know that as a parent, I'd be so over-burdening in trying to keep a "perfect world" for my kids. And well... that's no way to raise a kid, right? You know why. I don't have to tell you.

Anyway, back here in LeMars, since I'm around more kids (no longer in the twentysomething-heavy Iowa City), I'm more exposed to these tales of "growin' up" and "experiencin' shitty things" and "the speedy passin' of youth" and I'm struck with such an overwhelming sense of melancholy. Sometimes I purposely avoid situations just so I don't have to deal with it - even when they're not overtly "shitty things."

But sometimes, you can't avoid everything. Sometimes, you have to go to your niece's dance recital where 5 year-old ballet dancers stumble through "Maybe" from the musical "Annie."

And goddamnit - don't you know? Those 5 year-olds made me weep like... a 5 year-old girl.

At 12am, my University of Iowa Webmail account officially ended.

I didn't know if I would still be able to access any old emails afterwards, so I decided to take precautions and forward emails (that I wanted to keep) to an alternate email account instead.

So, at 10:30pm, I had an hour-and-a-half to decide what emails I wanted for the rest of my life and which ones would be forgotten forever.

Yes. It was that big of a deal.

And in a way, I've been engaging in this sort of activity ever since I began preparing myself for the end of college. These last few months have been a constant struggle over deciding what to file and archive, so you can later remember and what to... regard as unimportant.

In the end, I mainly opted for keeping emails sent by former girlfriends. You know, so I could go back and re-read them and make myself feel bad/good/bad when the time was necessary.

And for some reason, I deleted any emails from people who wrote to tell me that they liked my play or enjoyed my movie or appreciated me as a friend.

Huh.


Somebody on IM tonight told me that they like my web-blog because it's one of the few that isn't a bummer. She said my weblog was like a buddy - the kind who says, "Come on, buddy, things are gonna' get better!" I liked hearing that comment.

Funny that I would write such a joyless blog entry so soon afterwards.