Last night I ran into my best friend from when I saw fifteen. He was drunk and walking by CVS. We hugged and he asked me what I was listneing to. Then I asked him. He was with a drunk thirty-year-old named Chris, who was nice. He asked if I was still a film major and I said “yeah, it’s silly.” Chris yelled at me, saying, “no, it’s creative!” and I thanked him for that. My old best friend and I spent a lot of time staring at each other, smiling. We exchanged phone numbers. It was the best thing thats happend to me in Lebanon for about four years.

“I met Oberst once at the El Rey. He was incredibly friendly and thoughtful in his answers, and seeing those famously dewy eyes up close reminded me of how, seven years ago, I craved the wild, extravagant intensity of those songs in my own emotional life. I saw myself in them. I don’t anymore, and I don’t think he does either. I haven’t listened to Bright Eyes in probably a year, and I don’t feel a huge need to buy his new solo album even though I know it’s probably great. And even though my critic-lizard brain knows that Fevers is cloying, it still sounds spectacular to me. I fully suspect that the theremin swell on the second chorus of “The Calendar Hung Itself” will make my hair stand a bit for the rest of my life, and that reminds me that those songs did their job. They carried me into whatever sliver of adulthood I’m standing in now. I guess the best compliment I can pay them is that I don’t need them anymore.”

-August Brown, LA Times

This whole TV show thing, which again still might not happen, is really giving me hope and purpose like I’ve never felt before. I’m so anxious to get the ball rolling, I find myself constantly bugging those around me with ideas for segments. I keep Facebook messaging film students I had a class or two with to see if they’d want to help. I want to be in charge of making something that’s good, for once. Something I actually want to do. I think that would help.

The new medication doesn’t work nearly as well as the old medications, but there aren’t as many side effects. I’m happier, but there’s still… is there such a thing as manic attacks? Because I think those describes how I feel pretty well. To everyone else I just seem like a crazy asshole and random times for no reason. But, I mean, if that’s what I seem like doesn’t that mean that’s just what I am? I don’t suppose it matters.

I’m escaping to Chicago again soon for a few days. Not sure when, but soon. I just feel like I need to go all Zen and Bruce Banner and be by myself a while so as to control the Emo Hulk that pops up now and then. I think that’s a cute way to imagine it.

“Don’t make me sad… you wouldn’t like me when I’m sad…”

So the whole thing with the TV show is I want to make a show “inspired” by This American Life. That is to say it will, of course, choose a theme and bring you a variety of stories on that theme.

These stories might come in the from of short documentaries about people, places and things related to Purdue or short films, animations or songs performed by students (and I assume professors, if they’re interested) and shown on local television (BTV, the channal in the dorms, and the local cable access channel.

What has me jazzed is this might qualify as an internship this semester, meaning I would get class credit for doing something I would love. Also, I get to help people get their stuff shown on TV. I don’t know how its all going to work yet. Or if its actually going to happen. But wouldn’t it be cool if it did?

I’m not particularly creative. I don’t have the confidence to write or really direct anything yet. So, for now, I think this is perfect. I can facilitate creative, help it to blossom or whatever. Behind the scenes, because I’m no Ira Glass. I still haven’t worked that part out.

The wonderful Brandon Javella has agreed to write and contribute music to the project, and I’m sure I can find more folks - local folks even - that might help in that respect.

I’m not saying its going to happen, but it would be super fucking cool if it somehow could.

Been a weird last few days. Mom had a heart attack Friday (the 13th!) but she’s fine now. I was in Lebanon for a long time visiting her and hanging out with people. Now I’m back at work.

On Wednesday I went to Von’s to buy comics and the red-headed clerk was like “NEW ANGEL AND EVERYBODY’S DEAD TODAY!” and I was happy because he rememberd me. And I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who’s remember in some kind of store. Comic book is one of the best kinds. The cute Asian girl who works at the Food Mart down the street remembers me, too. But she just knows I like Snapple. But that’s enough for now.

I love you. I’m sorry, I know this is fast. But sometimes that how it works. I’ll never talk to you, I’ll never meet you. Even now I can only vaguely remember what you looked like. But in that moment, when I was buying Snapple and apples and bread with which to make sandwiches and you were drinking a Bawls outside of the Olive House I knew it was meant to be. I know we could share private jokes, recite High Fidelity, and talk about our love Buffy the Vampire Slayer with a rare and scary brand of sincerity.I know you weren’t reading that book for class, I know you like the way your glasses make you feel, and I recognize your untapped potential. We could make each other better, happier people. Maybe.

Last night we cheered for Obama, talked about all the change that was possible for our country, and then figured out that the end of the world is coming. 2012 is when the Mayan calendar ends. The Bible predicts that a new leader will take over and lead the world downhill. The Bees are dying. The ice caps are melting.

Joey called Bill Stack to tell about the election news, and Bill told him he had just said a prayer and was about to eat a steak. Then, later, Matt said “What if Jesus did come back as a lion, not a lamb?” There was a loud roll of thunder and our lights went out.

I’m going to repent on December 31st, 2011.

Just to be sure.

Note: Very long, weird post bitching about work. Might be some funny parts, unexpected tense shifts.

I’m starting to think its a joke.

Inventory. On all the computers in the College of Liberal Arts that we cover. That’s over 1000 computers. The student techs - that’s Me and Matt -have to go around to all of them, laptop in hand, and enter in information. Host name, IP Address, MAC Address, Serial Number, Make, Model. These things apparently matter to someone. All of this require us to physically log into all of these computers. Inventory has been done twice in the last three years and no one’s gotten it right. Now it’s our turn to try, I guess.

When I got to work today I was told I’d have to move nine computers from the Forestry building, which I’d never been to, to Pierce, where most of our IT offices are slowly morphing into one office. One huge, horrible place with florescent lighting and a dozen or so bosses who all want me to do their work.

I take the big cart to the Forestry building. The wheels are filled with air begin to bounce if you go to fast and even empty it takes some effort for my muscle-less arms to push across the broken and uneven sidewalks. I wait for the light and cross State street. The building, they told me, is behind the AG building. By the green house. About two blocks away. They tell me to carry a smaller cart on the big cart, because there are no elevators in this building. Use the small cart take the computers from the room to the stairs, then carry the computer down the two flights of stairs to the waiting big cart. Load all nine computers, put the smaller cart on top of the computers on top of the bigger cart, push all of this back a block across a busy street at noon. The building has no air conditioning.