I feel like I'm drifting through some kind of cozy time warp. Mary Jane is back; we're seeing each other as familiar friends, but also in a new light. It's like meeting someone that you loved in a past life and knowing you were made for each other. My friends are pretty goofy but you know... they're a great reminder of why I do what I do. My aunt truly understands me for the first time. My dislocated shoulder is healing. Flash may be finding his way back to us. All in all, life feels slightly above average. I'd call that a major breakthrough.
- Paul Jenkins, Spectacular Spider-Man #6

"What a Difference a Day Makes..."
We had two honorary doctoral candidates at Honors Convocation. One was Pat Hume, the Northern Irish peace advocate, and the other was Dick Gregory, the famous black comedian turned wacky Christian spiritualist. To be honest, I thought that having the two of them there to speak was the perfect way for me to wrap up my college career. Don't ask me why. I'm not sure I could explain it.

Anyway, the theme of Gregory's speech was "What a difference a day makes." You know, times change, we're working toward equality, follow your dreams, look to God, Bob Hope owes his century-long life to Jesse Jackson 'cause he's been saying "Keep hope alive for decades," the usual commencement claptrap. But it's true.

I woke up yesterday morning pretty sure I was looking at another awful day, but I rolled out of bed this afternoon having found my bliss.

"He's Forgotten But Not Yet Gone..."
I'm kind of digging this theater gig. Sure, charging 10 bucks for a tub of popcorn and less than a 2-liter bottle of Pepsi is tantamount to a mugging and they're preparing a special place in hell for me, but what can I say? I get popcorn and buttery topping whenever I want -- which they tell me I'll get tired of eventually, but if that starts to happen, that's when I know it's really time to quit -- and free movies. It's not much, but it's enough for this little black duck.

Brent Jones, Part II's philosophy on life, especially when it gets rough, is that you have to find something to look forward to, even if it's petty and stupid. Usually, for him, it'd be his frequent day-trips to Kirksville to see our old high school friends. On Tuesday night, when he was slogging through some assignment for class, he'd tell himself that it'd be all right, because in a couple of days, he and Andy Sack could go to Baggaducci's for a nice baked sub. It was simple, but it worked. I realize now that Brent has a lot to teach all of us. Because when I'm working at Forum, bemoaning the fact that I've lost the privilege of telling Maria White that she's not the boss of me, I look up at that big ol' poster of a Kirsten Dunst pressing herself to the web-garbed frame of Tobey Maguire and remind myself that I get to see Spider-Man 2 a day before it actually comes out, so everything else is all right.

"Find Spider-Fan or I'll Peel the Flesh from Her Bones..."
The effect this movie continues to have on me is strange and undeniably sad. I saw a spot for this flick on TV Tuesday night, and it contained a few clips I hadn't seen before, and for some reason, this really lit a fire under my ass, and I finally wrote that letter to Marvel. I just stopped worrying about trying to sound like whatever the hell I thought they'd want and wrote about me. I still need to come up with a better conclusion, but for the most part it's done.

"You Know That Hidden Track on Sea Change in which Beck Explains the Meaning of Life...?"
You know what I find to be just as blissful as the prospect of Spider-Man 2, if not more so? Beer and Nilla Wafers. Toss in some dear old friends, the last twenty minutes of You've Got Mail, a couple episodes of Ed, a smattering of Twisted Toyfare Theatre, and a sleep deprived Prewitt to cap it all off, and I think you'll find the difference a day can make to be a positive one.

The flip-side of that, of course, is the unfortunate reality that things can turn bad just as quickly. But its like the song goes: You take the good, you take the bad, you take 'em both and there you have the facts of life, the facts of life. I don't need this innate sense of things to tell me that there's a dark day or two (thousand) coming my way in the coming years, but right here and right now, I say bring 'em on!

"It Sounds Way Worse Than It Actually Is, But..."
Prewitt and I did something on the couch I can only describe as truly unholy.

"A Word on the Worst (or Possibly Greatest) Blog Entry That Never Was..."
I'm telling you, we all dodged a bullet there yesterday.

I had this whole blog entry planned out that would have shown you the full force of Lenar Fallafel Clark, unmasked. I was going to drop all pretense and subtext and metaphor, and I was going to get real and direct with you. And if that's the type of thing you've always wanted to see from me, you would have loved it, but I'm telling you, it would have been awful. I don't do so well when I feel all exposed and vulnerable. But then again, who does, right?

And I was going to write this whole massive "Sure, Clark's a dick, but here's why" post as a woefully wrong-headed grand romantic gesture, but thanks to Anansi or St. Jude or some other divine intervention, it turned out things were not, in fact, that desperate, my call was answered, and I didn't have to go through with it.

Guess we'll just save that for the next time I think someone's really pissed at me.