I ragged on that Potato Salad kickstarter like none other on social media because I thought it was the world’s dumbest shit. I still can’t believe those guys got something like $80,000 for potato salad. Stupid! The internet is so stupid. I’m still ragging on it, I guess. I built a whole stand-up set about kickstarter. It’s silly, but so is giving away all your money all the time. I basically ragged on it publicly until I found out I knew one of the dudes. He’s a sort-of friend, mostly former colleague, but he’s a good dude and a funny dude, and then I felt a little bad that a gchat joke made him my public enemy number one.
Anyway, those guys raised ten billion dollars just to make potato salad and no one ever heard anything about it ever again. Do you know what they’re doing with the money? They’re having a huge food festival in Columbus, Ohio. I love this. I actually really love it. There’s going to be food and music and cooking competitions and the money is all going to charity and Local Matters (which is a great organization). This is good. This is important. This is a dumb thing that the whole internet gave their money to and now something legitimately great is going to happen with it and I wanted to tell you guys because this all feels important and good.
- Me: What should I be for Halloween?
- Owen: Amy Poehler.
- Me: That doesn't make any sense.
- Owen: It'd be great. You look just like Tina Fey.
- Me: What?
- Owen: You'd just wear a blonde wig and not wear your glasses and everyone will just make comments about how difficult you've made it for yourself. It'd be amazing.
Nothing else matters in my life because tonight someone told me I was a good dancer. Do you understand? I have worked for so much but tonight someone acknowledged my dancing. I was dancing to No Diggity and someone said the sentence, “you’re a good dancer” to me, the human me, and I said, “oh my god,” and they said, “you are!” and then I whispered, “tell no one.” But now I am telling the internet. It is here now, on the record, that someone thinks I am a good dancer. You can tell me I’m a bad dancer all you want now, but at least there is a single contradictory opinion.
“Our jazz band rehearsals are a 1-2 lesson in the deprecation of the greatest American art form.”
I tried to have a serious discourse about my emotions tonight but then Lena Dunham favorited a tweet I sent her, so we’ll put off unpacking all of my feelings for another night, I think.
Last night I accidentally cleaned my whole room. I dusted on accident. I vacuumed on accident. The whole thing was an accident.
I went to a party this weekend, which is a funny thing to say. I have been to about three parties this whole year. Now that I’m not in college anymore, going to parties always feels weird and alien. Oh, is this where I put my coat? Where are the snacks? I went to this party and it was cold out and I wanted to wear a scarf but I hadn’t worn a scarf in ages. I couldn’t find this red cowl I own so I put on a different one. Last night, one of my friends said, “oh, I liked the scarf you wore to the party this weekend.”
"Oh, thanks! But I wanted to wear a different one!" I explained.
I got home around 10 last night and I thought, I wonder if that scarf is here or at my parents’ house. So I started to look for it and then I also started cleaning and then ~one thing led to another~ and my whole room is so much more organized. It’s still kind of cluttered, because that’s my vibe in general. But I was doing laundry and I found my scarf and I even washed down some surfaces that are always sticky with, like, San Pellegrino or whatever it is I consume on most days. I have a good feeling about this fall. It kind of caught me off-guard and made me feel weird, but I don’t know. The second September started, I felt good again. I felt significantly better about almost everything.
Of course I’ve typed this whole post in semi-procrastination of going outside and getting dressed, two things I should do, and will do, but also bed and also sitting by my window. Fall will always remind me—and everyone else who is a living breathing human—of school. My sophomore year, I used to sit up on my lofted bed next to the window and write on Tumblr for hours. I think I might take myself for a walk today instead.