So yesterday Jenna was kidnapped. Luckily, she was kidnapped by Brainerd's favorite hooligans--Nick, Joe, and Ben--so they returned her after a bit. In the meantime, Jenna's anxiety-ridden mother and my own worries ("she said she'd call… I need that application!") sent me looking all over town.

For a little while, anyways. I was going to see Mr. Deeds at the theater, and was actually on my way there, when one of Graham's "other" friends called, using the ultra-cool phrase:

I am the Gatekeeper. Are you the Keymaster?

Which I've used from time to time over the years. I still don't know which of Graham's "other" friends it was, but anyways, he said the movie was sold out, and I decided to go into Walmart on the off chance that Jenna had lost track of the time while shopping.

I ran into Graham and them at Walmart, the biggest coincidence of the day, and decided to miss out on some primo four-square action, partly because I don't know how to play. But partly because I thought I'd prefer watching Lantana with Jenna and Adam.

It was a pretty subdued movie, but I liked the characters, and the different interactions between them. It must have been a good movie, because Adam and Jenna were quiet for much of it. Graham is right: no one talks at movies anymore.

Well, later.

No no no, this isn't an opinion —it's a belief. This is something I believe deep in my heart.
-Rush Limbaugh

Not everyone can be Jon Stewart, or rational.

I started Gravity's Rainbow again. It was too difficult of reading for me, a year ago, but maybe now I'll be able to hack it.

Umm… yeah… this is a useless post. Time to go do something.

Wait a minute… flag… eagle… freedom… Jingo! I've got Jingo!
-Jon Stewart.

The Daily Show is still hilarious. I feel a sudden urge to play Stewart's Fox-News-friendly form of bingo.

Meanwhile, still no job, again. Jenna is picking up a Video Update application for me, but I can't bank on getting that job. Maybe it'll be Tom Thumb after all.

Well anyways, I'm off.

There is now an opening at Schaefer's Foods.

Quitting that job was hard. I feel a tinge of regret, a thrill of freedom, but more than anything else, all I feel is the crushing weight of failure. I have tried something and I have given up. I didn't even try very hard, at that.

In my defense, the glamour of the graveyard shift has been overstated. X-files episodes and Martin Scorsese are partially responsible, but I think everyone shares this idea of the romantic twilight and the contemplative loner who fills it so well. Well, at least I do.

Read that sentence again, because I'm proud of it.

This could all easily be the sleep-deprivation talking. Since Tuesday morning, I've gotten all of six hours of sleep.

In fact, it must be the sleep deprivation talking, because only a moron would think that bragging about his lack of sleep made him sound like anything but a moron.

I choose not to get enough sleep yesterday, and I am tired and whiny today. This is my badge of honor.

Other recent, non-job events? Not really. I got flicked off by someone in a large white van, I went swimming last night at Larson's cabin with everyone, I just talked to Jamie this morning, I finished The Sound and The Fury and ordered some more books, and now I think I may go to sleep.

Anyways. There're plenty of jobs that'll demand much less of of me. I'm pretty sure this was the right decision.

The job is fine, it's the hours I hate.

Oh, and that teller position was a permament position, not a summer job. So I got up early this morning (1:30) for a completely pointless interview. I'm going to be very tired soon enough.

Speaking of Lawrentians, I got an email from Jinx the other day, all about her trip to New York City. She did more in five days than I'll do all summer- she's constantly surrounded by a vortex of entertainment.

Just talked to Jamie. She's got a great MSN personality.

So last night I saw Minority Report, a good movie that only the presence of Spielberg kept from being great. And then I went home. No drunken party for Our Bold Hero. Eh.

I had dinner with Graham at Perkin's, where we discussed the economic state of modern man, the various connotations of "I'm not one to judge", and the other usual odds and ends. Afterwards, we went to Best Buy and looked at DVDs--The Skulls, a hilarious nonstop thrill-ride, was on sale for $9.99, bundled with its straight-to-video sequel, the aptly titled The Skulls II--but neither of us bought anything.

Graham had initially stated his intention to go to the drunken party instead of seeing Minority Report with Larson, Kate, Jenna, Manney, and I, but our favorite blowhard kept vacillating all night. He ended up seeing Minority Report, deigning to spend time with his less cool friends, then rushing off to the party with Manney and Jenna in tow, but the whole situation irked me, because it wasn't a big deal either way.

We went back to Graham's, Manney came, and the three of us hung out for a while, until Graham kicked us out of his house so he could go to the aforementioned party, at which point we drifted to Jenna's and moved some furniture before the movie. Exciting stuff.

Anyways, it was a good night, methinks, minor annoyances (I got eleven hours of sleep this morning, so minor annoyances don't really bother me at this point) notwithstanding.

Might have a job. I interviewed at Schaefer's for the overnight deli clerk position, and, overall, I think the interview went pretty well. Excepting this slip:

Deli Lady: By the way, do you know [Sex & Poverty]?

Our Bold Hero: (Involuntary catlike hiss). Yes, I do…

But surely I can't be punished for not liking Sex & Poverty, that social-climbing vaguely-eastern-European valedictorian social climber? The world isn't that unfair.

I've also applied to Domino's (as a delivery driver), Mid-Minnesota Federal Credit Union (as a teller), and Wendy's. I was going to apply to Goodwill and Ember's, but the former won't give me enough hours, and the latter building has a horrible, horrible smell.

Plus, I put two and two and two together, realizing that Josh Humphrey (who would, coincidently enough, train me in for the overnight deli clerk job) is in fact Noble Joshua of Hamline. This leads me to believe that I have in fact met my potential future coworker; moreover, I prettymuch ignored him.

I've been doing that quite often of late--being rude to people, that is--and it's a pretty annoying habit. It's always the same thing, too- I get invited somewhere and don't want to go because I don't like/know a few of the people who could also be in attendance. I refuse to place a value judgment on this action, however.

Anyways, later.

Still no job. I've only heard back from one of the places I applied to. Maybe Manney was right, and the employees really do rip up our applications once we leave the store… but still I carry on, a boat against the current, born back ceaselessly into the past.

The past being, in this case, the dreaded Tom Thumb. I've already filled out an application, and the manager says I'm as good as hired, but I don't want to work there. All I'll do is complain, as you can tell.

And why shouldn't I? A summer of unpredictable hours, always in limbo between part-time (8 hours/week) and full-time (40 hours/week), ripping the guts out of chickens, ruining my shoes with deep-fryer grease, spending an hour in the freezer searching for blueberry donuts, constantly listening to the inane jabber of race fans, working alongside a mulleted thirty-year-old with an ego bigger than the very gas station he's much too old to be working at…

So maybe I won't work there. There's a job at this grocery store near Nisswa, "overnight deli clerk", which sounds easy enough, and I won't have to deal with too many of you humans. And there's still the other gas stations. Well, enough of that.

So yesterday night was pretty mellow. I spend more time yesterday reading--a book of Jenna's called Norwegian Wood--than I spent doing everything else. A good book; I feel like I know all of the characters.

I've given up on A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, because I'm sick of the more pompous post-modern flourishes. Eggers seems pretty full of himself.

My little cousin Marissa is over, because my mom wanted a daughter. She's too old for toys and too young for television. Much like me at that and any age, all she ever seems to do is read and play chess. Well, Josh is entertaining her, so I don't feel too guilty.

I've been skipping out whenever possible -yesterday my dad was home, so some Rush Limbaugh clone was prattling in every room of the house. I loved when the host blasted liberals for selling arms to Iran. You see, as even my dad admits, he blasts conservative radio in every room of the house in the hopes of "indoctrinating me."

"I just hope that some of what you hear will rub off on you," he says, "I'm indoctrinating you with some good commonsense conservative beliefs."

"Even you can't find a good word for it," I say, "Saying you're 'indoctrinating' me is one step away from saying you're 'trying to brainwash' me."

At this point my dad laughs and makes some lame joke. Matt gives me a look that says he's glad I'm home. We are brothers, in arms against the fuzzy logic of our garage logician.

Yesterday night I escaped to the theater. Larson, Kate, Jenna, Graham and I saw The Bourne Identity. As Graham said, it was 'euro', which for me means that not everything has to explode. I like that euro feel: a bit more existentialist, slightly more realistic, a celebration of imperfection and the antihero. Europe: Huzzah!

But the 'american' elements soured the experience. The story had been done before; cram Enemy of the State into Mission Impossible, add a little bit of The Majestic, and bingo bango bongo, you've got the plot. And then there was an explosion, and an extended car chase, both of which blatantly pandered to the audience.

But I had fun, and I still think it was a good movie. No one else seems to have liked it, though.

Anyways, I suppose I should go look for a job, so I can shut up about it already. Well, later.

Played Risk last night at Graham's with Jenna, Adam, Manney and Amelia. I'd forgotten that, at Graham's house, every game is an epic battle. If we would have played Illuminati, someone would no doubt be dead right now.

I tried to take the board from Australia. I lost.

And now to find a job…

Yes, yes, I'm home. We all know that.

Ten minutes after I got home, Larson and Dylan were at my house. And for some reason, they both gave my the kind of reassuring masculine butt-pat which freaked me out a month ago when The D.J did it. In fact, I received much of the same at the bonfire.

Larson invited all of us over to his cabin for the bonfire, which was fun. Everyone was in top form: Jenna was talkative and angsty, Graham was loud and opinionated, Larson engaged in hand-on-hand action before our very eyes, Dylan was combative and apologetic, Adam was incessantly logical and understanding, and Manney was just hilarious. Well, none of them was reducible to a single adjective, but I've missed this bizarre dynamic.

There were two other people there- the former girlfriend of my Gothic German (who was quite welcome) and Larson's weird friend--the other Adam--who has yet to make an impression on me.

Anyways, there were many memorable moments, and since I see that Graham, who recorded said moments in his Palm Pilot, has chosen to place one of the greatest ideas ever right in the public domain, instead of talking about last night, well, I suppose I should say something.

Manney said some of the most hilarious things I've ever heard; among them an It's A Wonderful Life parody in which Justin B, the only person in the world horrible enough to draw Meghan Rahn's ire, was shown what a world without him would be like. For without people worse than us, what basis of comparison would we have?

I realize this is pretty dry. It was pretty nice to be out past two--I no longer have a curfew--and I used every hour of freedom wisely. The last was spent having a philological conversation with Adam (the good one) about Jenna and Social Norms. We're freaking geniuses.

Well, time to find some way to entertain myself tonight.

A dead battery and one hour-long traffic jam later, Our Bold Navigator is home.

Leaving tomorrow morning.

I can't understand why I'm not in charge of everything.
-Joel Stein

Yes, Joel Stein has a new article out, on why Americans aren't interested in the World Cup. It's apt.

Speaking of apt, I finished my last three essays today -overall, they're pretty mediocre, though I'm proud of my second Drama and Crit essay, "The Disappearing Premise". That's right.

Now only a German take-home final remains. It'll be hard to get out of here tomorrow, though; I might leave Wednesday morning, I think.

After I finished the last essay, an admittedly poor assessment of my Twelfth Night presentation, I rushed to The Deathtrap and drove to Prof P's house for the Drama and Crit lunch. I was half an hour late, thanks to my poor concept of time, but no one seemed to care. Prof P had made us burgers, brownies, and fruit salad, and we gorged while exchanging pleasantries. Everyone was in a chipper mood, even The Dramaturge, and it was pretty fun.

After that, it was off to the English Picnic. I went with Ann and quite a few people I knew were already there: The Humanist (who kept whispering "crazy"), Crazy Ed, The Poet, The Idyllist, Prof Bloom… even the guy whose room I'm living in next year, Jim. We all sat around in the Colman lobby and talked for a while, about English and various other things.

In fact, after prettymuch everyone else had left, Jim, Prof Hoffman, Prof Bloom, The Idyllist and I were still there talking, about Freshman Studies no less. Prof Bloom asked if I would be her writing lab tutor, but since neither of us knows how the system works, that's likely to fall through.

Tonight I went to Crazy Ed's for a game of Mafia; that was pretty cool. I was much too spastic, however.

Well, night.

Props to you, Graham. I love writing about writing.

But to punish the noble semicolon for the failures of those who use it? For shame…

I, for one, love the semicolon as much as I love the comma or the question mark. In fact, I've long thought that we should create a symbol, longer than a comma and shorter than a semicolon, to make writing even more precise. To bridge the proverbial gap, as it were.

Like Graham, I don't care for the exclamation point. A few months ago I wrote about my neglect of that most pompous of punctuation marks:

It's odd that I no longer use the exclamation point. I'm not that dry, humor wise, and I really don't know what I'm trying to pull off, but it's been slipping away from my MSN and ICQ conversations, and it left my other writing years ago.

I'm for keeping that mark, and other antiquated rules. Their existence makes for powerful, understandable, wonderfully standardized writing, while their absence can be equally powerful.

"You monster," he screamed is eerie.

On a less trite note, I went to The Dramaturge's acting recital, running into The Humanist and Jinx while I was at it. She's not pure evil, I guess… the performance was o.k.

I went to the library today and did nothing, for hours, though I have a very good idea of what I'm writing for all my papers. Needless to say, I'll be living there tomorrow, writing essays in utter solitude… ah, I'm a martyr for hedonism.

I've been wandering. I can't write that word, that "wandering", anymore without thinking of

Wanderer, kommst du nach Spa…,

a line from an eponymous short story we read in German class. It really doesn't have anything to do with anything, though.

I went wandering, because during the concert, the big Conservatory concert that I saw tonight with Megan, Jamie, The Idyllist, Ann, and a hundred strangers, during that concert I got restless.

I wanted a cigarette, chocolate, caffeine, etc. Which reminds me of another line, from my Twelfth Night presentation.

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

That's the problem, isn't it.

Anyways, the concert was good, but it went from eight until ten thirty. Afterwards I wandered, poking my head into the various campus activities, but I was in no mood to attend hip-hop concerts (even a very good one) and foam parties unless I at least recognized someone.

And I wasn't dressed for a foam party; jeans did not fit in. Some partygoers, I believe, weren't dressed for the foam party.

So I slinked to the coffeehouse and talked to Ed and Ann and the third that sat beside them. After that little chat, I went back to the room to entertain Greg.

My classes today were good; Prof Ternes and I will speak when I turn in my paper -he wants me to consider a German major, and has good advice on where to go for the Junior-year exchange. (For me, he recommends the University of Freiburg, not the music-oriented Vienna exchange).

Prof Fritzell, on the other hand, confused me. He talked about The Great Gatsby again, but he's made Nick Carraway into some kind of god, omnipotence-wise. I don't agree.

Anyways, I'm very tired, and I have to finish at least one of my three papers tomorrow. So goodnight.

Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I sing not loud or long.

We read The Waste Land at the coffeehouse tonight, and I think it went well. We had a good turnout —a lot of people I know came— and everyone seemed to like the poem.

All these meetings with Al, Ed, and Ann have been really fun, and it's nice to be able to consider our meanings "productive". And they must have been productive, for look what we produced. We even had a question/answer session after the reading.

Ozma's "Lorraine" is about Back to the Future.
How did I miss that?

My Drama and Crit presentation today ("A Tragic Malvolio") went well, but I found out right afterward that a 5-10 page paper was supposed to have accompanied said presentation. Prof P gave me an extension, so now I have three long papers due Monday.

I forgot, but she wouldn't accept the same excuse from an upperclassman, so I know I'm getting Freshman treatment. It'd be something to get upset over, were I not on the receiving end.

Anyways, today was a success, I think. Goodnight.

Check this this out. It's like hotornot.com, but with tough decisions. Like: "Which is better, Beef or Ms. Pacman?" Very lame, but a good way to waste an hour or two.

Some trivia? Legos are better than The Force. And Hot Grownup Natalie Portman is better than Earth. But what, I wonder, is the best thing?

So the interview went well; I got the job. The Poet will be a tutor too, or so I hear, and I bet I know a few of the other new people. There's a picnic tomorrow, but I don't know where.

I talked books with Ann today, that was cool. And I got some work done for my Drama and Crit presentation tomorrow -I had to read Night of the Iguana and Caligula, so I can participate in the group discussion for my classmates' projects. But, I still need to read some play by Brecht, and find things to say for my fifteen-minute presentation.

The Dramaturge is apparently my dramaturge for the discussion portion of my project. There will be contention, because I decided to be unorthodox, and she won't agree with the 'Tragic Malvolio' take on the play.

The only really interesting thing today was how my mood kept changing. I've heard people use the phrase "mood swings" before, but this was probably the first time I experienced that pendulum motion, where the slightest provocation could profoundly affect my emotion.

The whole thing seemed kind of pointless, to be honest. Really interesting, but irrational and usually counterproductive.

Well, I've got a lot of work tomorrow. And we're performing The Waste Land at 10:30. So goodnight.

Hurrah!

Good people. I ate dinner with Helen, Jamie, and a nice foreign chap. I went the library and talked to Jinx and Meg(h)an and was offered Kettle Corn. I studied with Dungeon Master, finished The Great Gatsby for tomorrow. I ran into The Young Lovers. These are good people.

I lost a lot of respect today for The Dramaturge, a surly, temperamental senior with whom I spar in Drama and Crit. We bicker and insult each other, every Tuesday and Thursday, and it's all in good fun.

I sat with her at lunch, and we complained about this bland, incessantly positive classmate who always prefaces everything with "I thought it was interesting". He was in Extemporaneous Speaking in high school, and it shows.

All went well; class was fine and lunch (pineapple upside-down cake) was delicious. But when Prof P left so we could fill out the course evaluation forms, everything went horrible wrong.

We were talking about the new General Education Requirements at Lawrence, because Drama and Crit fills the new 'speaking intensive' requirement. I mentioned the 'writing intensive' requirement, and The Dramaturge and the other guy complained that some students, even in composition classes, can't write. I've heard this before from The Feminist, and I said as much.

There is a fourth member of our class, The Dramaturge's former roommate, a nice Anthro major who sits quietly through each class. For the record, she sat quietly through this.

The Dramaturge hates The Feminist. The other guy hates "that [The Feminist], or someone like her, exists." I don't like radical feminism, the form of feminism (as opposed to liberal or materialist) that I think The Feminist espouses, and that's all I would say. I like The Feminist; she can have a bit of an ego but she's never done wrong by me.

This was blown off. The Dramaturge acknowledged that she didn't like too many people. She basically said outright that she didn't like the positive guy, and that I'm the only Freshman in her book. She said that not too many people on campus like her, and gave some reasons why.

She told a story about making a librarian cry, laughing as she told it. She admitted to insulting other classmates, in other classes, to the amusement (in her mind only, I suspect) of her Prof. She is an elitist, an egotist, and wears full makeup every day for some reason. The Dramaturge is this worst kind of intellectual, giddy off her own perceived intelligence, off her seniority and flattered, built-up self-esteem.

I'm pretty disgusted with her, as you can tell. We joke around, but only because I've somehow proven myself to her. Otherwise I'd be as ill-regarded as all the others she so easily dismisses, apparently. If not for the overwhelming force of Good People, this would depress me.

Well, I've got an interview tomorrow -today's, a "speaking lab" interview with Prof Rico from first term, went well, but she did come off as desperate. Slipping the phrase 'like debate' into the conversation is a bit transparent, but I countered by tactlessly mentioning her overuse of the word "pedagogy", so hopefully we're even. And I was late. Probably we're a bit less than even, but tomorrow's interview is much more important to me anyways. Hope still at acceptable levels.

Night.

Dan is on neutral right now.

Tonight I ran into The Diplomat and The Humanist, a considerate girl I've know for a while. Yes, considerate. I couldn't come up with a better adjective -you're lucky she has a name.

The Humanist called me 'Crazy Dan' as I walked by, and of course The Diplomat had never heard that nickname before so we had to explain. He didn't buy it, and that was great. He actually said

I don't see where they get 'crazy' from, you're one of the mellowest people I know.

That's a little over the top, but it's kinda nice that The Diplomat got that impression. I don't know where he got it from, because I've been acting pretty high-strung all year, but I'm glad he did. Anyways.

Night.

A phone call. I can apply to be a Writing Lab tutor, but I must do it quickly. Watch Dan's hopes go up.

I just finished watching Donnie Darko. It was good, maybe even very good, even though I have no clue what it was 'about'. It's something to think about, in any case. Jake Gyllenhaal was great; it's hard to believe that his next movie was Bubble Boy.

I just can't sleep any longer. I got five hours of sleep last night, and I'm wide awake right now. So yesterday there was a big Mozart thing, because that's what we do at Lawrence: we have concerts. It was in C Minor, and I sat in the main area (not the ultra-cool balcony) between a strangly quiet teenage guy and a woman who radiated 'grandma'.

From where I was sitting, low and close to the front, I could only see The Idyllist, and, briefly, The Politician. And like fifty people I didn't know. Including the four guest soloists. I made up little stories about them but was disappointed to find that someone had done the same in the program. I spent much of the concert thoroughly judging these strangers.

Afterwards I ran into Jinx, and we both waited for people to come out, but alas, the people we were waiting for never showed. Hopefully The D.J will believe I was there. After the conversation had irreperably stagnated, degenerating into random sounds and hand movements, Jinx chanced to see Jonas and Ann, and we ran after them.

Latching onto Jinx was an excellent move, entertainment-wise. Soon we were out for ice cream with Jonas's parents and his hipster sister. It was like a Dairy Queen commercial.

An off-white bandana provided momentary entertainment: In the off-white gang, if you're not off, you're not on. Well, I thought it was funny.

Back at Lawrence the relations soon departed and, continuing the follow-Jinx-and-be-entertained plan, I ended up in Jonas's room with Ann and Jinx. We talked for a long time, then Ann left, then we talked for an even longer time.

Mainly, we talked about movies. An unreasonable part of my estimation of people of the world of people of which we are a part is based on their opinions about movies. Jonas has excellent taste, as does Jinx (who watched four movies a day during the summer). Ann liked The Majestic. Sorry Ann.

We spent probably two hours deciding on a movie, and finally, at two, after a thousand segways, we decided to watch 100 Girls. For some reason.

It was horrible, but entertaining in its utter crapptitude.

After the movie Jinx had to show me her pink squeeze-bottle butter, which was perhaps the most disgusting thing ever. It's definitely not my thing -I like my butter more low-key, however entertaining pink is. I recall my vow, long ago, not to eat artificially colored foods, and this stuff was especially bad -as oily as water off a duck's back. Well, probably oilier.

Someone from this area is apparently dating someone from Brainerd named "Jake".

I left Kohler Hall at five twenty; I wasn't tired, but I knew that I couldn't stay out all night or Greg would think I was up to something uncouth. Well, he wouldn't actually think I was 'getting it on', but he'd tease me about it, pretending he did. Given the fact that I usually pick up on subtext and insinuation pretty well, meiner Meinung nach, Greg's ill-concealed jibes would be like carpet-bombing an anthill.

Did I mention that the similes in 100 Girls were horrible? Give me a coherent tone!

I walked home, tipping my invisible hat to all the invisible people, each of whom I greeted with a hearty "Good Morning!" The Hyrule Field theme from Zelda64 played in my head. I wasn't, had never gotten, tired.

There were all these robins sitting in trees; not sleeping, but not singing either. Everyone thinks the early bird gets the worm because no one is ever around to check. Well, it's an outright lie.

In any case, it was a full night for me, and perhaps the latest I've ever stayed up. I'm pretty sure that five hours isn't enough, and I'll probably collapse or something later today, but as yet I'm still not tired.

Weezer has no reason to respect the fans, not when eight people are sharing "Weezer - My Best Friend's Girl.mp3" on KaZaA. Hasn't anyone ever heard of The Cars? You know, that band that came waaaaaay before Weezer, the one that Weezer sounds a bit like? "Just What I Needed", anyone?

I like both bands, and I'm sure someone just wanted to expose these modern kids to The Cars, but at least give the original band credit.

Why play a trick on the ignorant when all you're doing is perpetuating ignorance? It's all a scheme by Ric Ocasek to sell records, I just know it.

Bah.

I just saw About A Boy with Jonas and Ann -they needed a ride to the theater, and here's the IM conversation I had ten minutes earlier:

Jinx: what are you doing tonight
Jinx: ?
OurBoldHero: i live by the seat of my pants.
OurBoldHero: so who knows!
OurBoldHero: horseback riding!
OurBoldHero: ballooning!
OurBoldHero: karaoke!

As you can see, Dear Reader, I was temporarily insane, drunk off the endless possibilities of random socialization. My apologies to Manney for stealing his phrase. I recall him complaining that the other Brainerdites weren't "seat of the pants enough" for him.

The movie was good, suffice it to say; it featured some interesting camera work, snappy (almost too snappy) editing, and the best-looking Amnesty International volunteers on earth.

Night.