I was in a retrospective mood last night, which led me to take a look at my old journal. Covering an eleven-year time span from 1992 to 2003, it’s everything you would expect from the journal of the twentysomething version of me. Self-indulgent, overly dramatic, and occasionally perceptive. I’m struck by how much time the younger me spent worrying about so many things: finding a job, not having enough friends, whether this girl might actually like me. I had a tendency to write many of those journal entries late at night, which probably explains why I come off sounding so emo. And the writing itself is…not good. I recognize it as mine, but it isn’t anything I’d want to include in a portfolio.

But my younger self was right about a few things. He was pretty sure it wasn’t impossible for him to see Paris. He was determined to live on his own someday. And he understood that he needs to keep writing because it’s the only thing that helps him make sense of everything.

After observing the dust-up surrounding Al Franken’s 2000 essay for Playboy, one thing is eminently clear. I can so never run for office. This blog has enough material to kill any political aspirations I might have several times over. Imagine all the negative political ads that could result:

“Mark Siegel says he has your best interests at heart. But all he can really think about is fishnet stockings. A quick search of his blog reveals that he mentions fishnet stockings over a hundred times. Do we really want someone like him serving on our Parks Board?”

It’s all too easy to become jaded in this world of commonplace wonders. But some things still manage to impress me, like these pictures beamed back from the surface of Mars courtesy of the Phoenix lander. Shooting a probe at another planet and landing it successfully is no small feat and a million things could have gone wrong along the way. Not bad for the same race that invented ringtones.

The Coen brothers are shooting their next film in Minnesota. This could be my big break. After all, every Coen brothers movie features at least one funny-looking guy. Steve Buscemi. John Turturro. I’m way funnier-looking than either of them. And I’m not picky about the size of my role. I can play Onlooker #2 or Quirky Co-Worker with equal gusto. I’ll even change my name to something less ethnic. Mark Singer. Mark Samuels. Whatever. Just give me a chance!

My first encounter with Midsummer Night’s Dream came in a high school English class. We read much of the text aloud in class and the teacher assigned Bottom’s lines to me. I remember choking down laughter as I played my part and it dawned on me that Shakespeare was pretty hilarious for a dead guy.

The Guthrie’s production of Dream is a playful and ambitious updating of the original text. While the action still ostensibly unfolds in classical Athens and the characters still speak mostly in Elizabethan English, I don’t think think Shakespeare imagined a notebook computer as one of the stage props. I also don’t think he imagined his characters breaking out into elaborate song and dance numbers. The decision to include undeniably pop-sounding musical interludes is a bold one, but my friend and I both thought they slowed the pace, at least in the second half. To paraphrase my friend, it got a little too Broadway towards the end.

Still, it’s impossible not to give in to the play’s intrinsic charm and magic. All the actors are wonderful (but Oberon and Bottom are particularly superb). The set design and costumes bring an otherworldly splendor to the proceedings. When it was over, I was a little sad; the kind of sadness you get after waking from a good dream.