I've ingested a Belushi-scale portion of stimulants this morning, and it seems that I'm just going to sit here and write until I get sick of writing. All of it is going to make sense, and most of it will be entertaining. It is, however, looking like it's going to be long-ish. Now that you have this information, I'll respect whatever decision you need to make.

You know what I think? No, you do not.

I think a fairly good philosophy is to just assume that everyone you meet is attracted to you. You have to admit, it's a nice position from which to start. How can you help but have a positive outlook on life when you walk around thinking that everyone wants to touch your goodies? I say, it should be much like our court system in that the burden of guilt is on them. If someone isn't attracted to you, it should be their problem, not yours.

To humor my cute apartment manager Lori, who complains of only having been mentioned in these pages once before: She came up yesterday for a smoke. As we stood on the porch, she saw fit to mention one of the permanent fixtures of our place.

"What the hell is this fork doing on your porch? It's been here since I've known you guys! Why don't you take it back inside?" she said, exasperated, indicating the untensil that's been lazily hanging out on our porch ledge since some long ago barbecue.

"Because that's where we want it," I said for absolutely no reason at all, especially considering that, for my roommate and I, the unspoken and not formally acknowledged rules of the Fork Game eventually became 'Let's See Who Can Stand The Fact That There's A Slightly Crusty Fork Sitting On The Porch Ledge For No Reason The Longest.' Well, it was either a game, or we just stopped noticing it.

Us men apparently enjoy these types of games. My freshman year of college, my suitemates and I decided that we were going to fill an empty pie tin with cigarette butts until we couldn't stand the fact that there was a pie tin overflowing with cigarette butts sitting on the floor of our room. This was an unspoken agreement as well, and yes, it was disgusting, and we damn well knew it, but the baffled and sickened reactions of the girls that came to our room were endlessly amusing and very much worth it.

"I'm going to do something with it. It's driving me crazy!" She plucked up the fork and planted it in the small pot that contains the plant JonnyBoy bought and promptly managed to kill.

I noted the juxtaposition of the shining stainless steel and the withered and beaten plant sprouting out of the dirt as neighbors. "Well, now it's art," I said, knowing full well that it was nothing more than a fork in a pot.

Oh, God bless you, coffee. And chocolate. And cigarettes.

And long overdue supernatural blessings to TBK, who selected some very good music, put it on a CD, and sent it to me in the mail. She did this of her own accord, out of the simple motivation that arises from the desire to share Good Stuff. This is the second disc she's sent me, and it's even better than the first, which itself was amazing.

If I had money, I would bolster my CD collection with albums by The Pernice Brothers, The Postal Service, The Shins, The Streets, Stereo Total, and, above all, Starlight Mints.

I apparently really like bands that begin with 'S' or 'P.' I've already contracted Ms. Knees to compile soundtracks for as yet unwritten dark romantic comedies that are brilliant, cute, and moving.

The job front: Boring, so I'll be quick about it. The demented dentist canceled his appointments for the rest of the week on Tuesday afternoon, leaving me unemployed once again, the bastard. So, I'm back to the search. Last night I dreamed that I was hired at the (as far as I know) non-existant Los Angeles offices of Saturday Night Live, and that's the best news I have from the job front. Strangely, I had dreamed of these offices before, and in that dream, I took my mom there to see them as she was in town visiting. In last night's dream, I told that anecdote to one of the SNL producers.

To deftly make the leap from dreamworld improv to realworld improv: Nictate came with Jonny to see The Excuses on Tuesday night, and man oh man, the pain we inflicted upon our poor audience that night. People who saw it say that it was good, and had it's moments, etc., but my favorite thing to say about it is that if it were a first date, I wouldn't go one another. Man alive, it felt like torture, to ourselves at least. As we self-flagellated backstage after the show, we agreed that we just needed one off week to get our chemistry back, and, much like the Cubs, we'd get them next time.

My last level five class went markedly better than the show. Our teacher, Miles, ended it ingloriously with the words "OK, that was level five. See ya." This is typical of the man, and I love him for it. But, before that, he gave all of us our critiques.

He says he comes up with his criticism by imagining the best players he knows, and then trying to see what seperates us from them. Simple and brilliant. His comments for me: "Bill, you're pretty good. I like what you're doing up there. You seem to have taken in most of what I've been trying to teach. Just try to listen more and see what happens with that."

Praise from Caesar. I was silently elated. This from a self-proclaimed hard ass who, at the beginning of the level, told us he was barely going to laugh at whatever we did. Very validating.

My roommate has written and has decided to direct a short film. We had our first auditions this past Wednesday night. At first, I was kind of dreading it, thinking it would be an ordeal, half-embarassed that we were having people driving down to an empty Venice apartment from as far away as the Valley to audition for a no-budget film produced by a couple of 20 something shmucks with a DV cam. But as the auditions went on, my feelings began to change. We saw some pretty good talent that night, and, more important than that, they were into it.

I realized that these people didn't care who we were, or that they weren't going to get paid in anything more than pizza. They came knowing that, and they didn't care. They were driven by the desire to play, to practice, to hone their craft and get a copy of a VHS tape with them doing exactly that. To do something they loved for the sheer sake of doing it, to see their faces on a screen, to point to something they could potentially feel pride about.

The fact that they were committed made it OK for me to be committed to it too. I realized that it wasn't about being connected to a studio or any possible source of distribution, they just wanted to do it because they loved making films, and that should have been enough for me, too. I'm surprised it took me this long to realize it. We're going to do this, make it the best we can make it, send it off to a few festivals, and go to sleep imagining miracles.

It's cool. The coolest, actually.