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Yesterday my depression reached its nadir (I had to think for about 30 seconds before remembering that word! I checked it; it's right!) and now it's swung back around to a general goofiness characterized by a fixation on things I find amusing, such as this article in today's Free Press:

If you follow me on Twitter, you probably know by now that the idea of the man who knows himself only as "Dennis" fills me with glee, although I acknowledge that the man's situation is probably pretty distressing in real life. I want to make a series of comics all about Dennis' adventures. He will have the same bland but haunted expression on his face throughout.

My mood has also been buoyed somewhat over the past few days by getting hooked on Villagers via NPR's Tiny Desk Concerts. They're an exceptionally listenable Irish folky alt-something group in the vein of Grizzly Bear or Fleet Foxes. Conor J. O'Brien, the band's frontman and creative powerhouse, has a truly gorgeous voice. They seem to be touring the West Coast this coming week, so if you're out there, check Villagers out. For the rest of us, I would highly recommend watching the aforementioned All Songs Considered performance or just buying their album outright.

I've been feeling kind of frustrated and beleaguered recently, for a variety of reasons, most notably the rejection of my application for a job that would have been impressive, well-suited to my skills, politically relevant, probably at least relatively well-paying, and located in the same city as some of my friends. As with anything you get rejected from, you can't help but wonder where you went wrong. Was I too nervous on the phone? Was my rationale on why I was interested in progressive ideology lacking? Did I do bad on the proofreading test? Was I so sleep-deprived and hung over that I was actually speaking gibberish?

The logical part of my brain tells me that there were probably just a lot more candidates with more impressive resumes than me, but that's never much consolation to the emotional part. It's just tough when you get these bursts of hope and you think "My search could be over! I could have a job in a few short days!" and then you wait and wait and wait and eventually realize that you're not any closer to success than you ever were.

I'm not completely hopeless now (and ideally I won't be even if I do end up at square one again). I still have one more exciting iron in the fire. But it's the hopeful waiting that kills you. It's tough to keep sending off applications when you're clinging to the hope that you'll rise to the top of whatever pool of sad jobless schmucks you happen to be swimming in at the moment.

So I continue to clean and organize in what could probably be analyzed as an attempt to assert a measure of control over my life. In a similar vein, I decided to try to start a comedy blog called Laughtracker. I'm not sure what exactly its content is going to entail, but it's all designed and functional. I did this instead of applying to more jobs. But I could argue (and will continue to, especially to my parents) that any and all design work strengthens my resume. So it counts!

In happy news, Inception is coming out this weekend! And my birthday is in a week and a half! And Mad Men is starting up again on my birthday! Almost all the major events in my life are media-related!

The first of the weddings has arrived. People that I knew in high school and whose intelligence I respect are starting to get married. It's not that I'm disdainful of them. No, more power to 'em if they want to get married. But the contrast between the place where I am emotionally/developmentally/professionally and the place I associate with marriage is enormously stark. 

Perhaps this has just been ingrained into me by two parents who each had a young, ill-advised marriage before getting it right, but I really don't think I could pledge my life to anything at this point. I don't even know who (or what) I am now, much less how I'm going to feel thirty (or even just ten! Or five!) years from now. Getting married fresh out of college is a ballsy thing to do. You really have to have conviction (and love or whatever, I guess). Maybe it's my lack of both of those things that makes it so hard for me to grasp.

Yes, I've said it! I'm an emotionless, indecisive robot! Watch me debate every possible option endlessly, my tiny robot brain going round and round in circles! Wheeee!

While I continue to ponder, I will continue to clean my room. Unfortunately, I'm running out of places to clean. Anyone want to hire a robot maid? You know, like on The Jetsons?

Zack and I have been friends since the very beginning of college. We both came to the first Gargoyle meeting of our freshman year and, as I recall, hit it off pretty immediately. We got even closer living in the same house this past year. I can't count the number of strange and wonderful in-jokes we've generated over the course of our college careers, how many times we've had breakfast at the Fleetwood, or how many times we've walked down the tracks to The Underpass (actually I can: two).

So I've half-moved back to Rochester for now to save money, since right now it doesn't look like I'm going to be getting a job before my lease in Ann Arbor is up. By happy coincidence, my semi-clone Sam Nash, who used to live in the same town as Zack, has moved to a neighborhood about a five minute drive away from here, which will be nice. I've spent the past day re-integrating my possessions and throwing out old stuff, something I'm a little tired of doing at this point. If college has taught me nothing else, it at least trained me well in the art of packing, moving, and unpacking.

Right now I'm waiting to leave for my aunt and uncle's house for our annual July 4th cookout. It's hard to believe that is was only a year ago that I was packed like a sardine in a crowd of strangers, watching fireworks burst over the Hudson. Last summer still seems more like a strange dream to me than something that actually happened. It was so far out of my paradigm that I can't reconcile it.

Anyway, I hope you're all having a great holiday. Let's all show our country we love it the best way we know how: by setting things on fire.

I'm not going to attempt to cover everything we did over the next few days, since they were fairly packed with new experiences, in-jokes, and gastronomic adventures. Instead, here are a few firsts:

• My first time driving below the Mason-Dixon Line, and first time in anywhere in the South other than Florida
• My first night in a Motel 6
• My first meal at Waffle House
• My first time barhopping in Nashville during a huge country music festival
• My first city recognized only because of its description in a Gargoyle article (Horse Cave, Kentucky)
• My first time seeing an accident back-up so major that drivers got out of their cars and walked around for miles
• My first attempt to explain to myself what "barber's milk" is
• My first time backing out of a cave tour because of frightening torrential rain
• My first time hearing Ludacris' opus, "Sex Room"
• My first time soaking a shirt in sweat in under five minutes
• My first jambalaya (delicious, at COOP'S PLACE)
• My first Sneaky Pete (disgusting, at Sneaky Pete's)
• My first beignets and chicory coffee
• My first time swimming in a disturbingly warm and salty pool
• My first legal, public, open alcohol consumption in a major city
• My first time seeing a house Nicholas Cage has lived in
• My first Mississippi riverboat ride
• My first time wandering under a highway to find a fancy cemetery
• My first time enjoying coleslaw
• My first turtle soup (also delicious)
• My first live New Orleans jazz
• My first time trying authentic gumbo
• My first time experiencing horrible intestinal distress due to said gumbo
• My first glass of absinthe
• My first time watching True Blood with anyone else
• My first interview for a bona fide, actual, desirable, long-term job
• My first time driving 18 hours in one day (not that bad!)

More happened (so, so much more!) but it would take a long time for me to cover everything here. Suffice it to say, I had a great time. Despite the stifling, unbelievable humidity, New Orleans is a gorgeous, lively, eccentric, friendly town. I could seriously consider living there. As long as I had air conditioning, naturally.

I just returned from a second, less ambitious trip. This one was to Mackinac with my family and my sister's boyfriend, Adam. It was also quite pleasant and lower-key. We made all the normal rounds to the normal places, did a good deal of walking and nature-enjoying. Now I have to stop eating because I weigh 900 pounds. I made the drive back strapped to the top of the van.