Ah, Diaryland, my one and only. So long I have neglected you. I have missed you, my sweet depository of musings and idle typings. Perhaps we can rekindle what we once had, and become lovers once again, as we were in gay Paree, when we sat in the park, when I looked into your eyes and said "Life: She is an unkind bitch, non?"

If not, can we just fuck like crazy?

My last entry was numero 100, and, frankly, it sucked. I wasn't feeling the D'Land mojo in my blood all week, thus my absence. However, (and you know I'm getting ready to be serious because you no doubt noticed the boldface) it is now the end of the weekend, and I've got my groove back like the prodigial Stella, only, I am a white male and not apt to sleep with Jamaican hunks.

Anyway, I now qualify as back in the 'Hizz-ouse.' <James Brown> Ha! Kiss myself! Uh!</James Brown>

Hmm.

And now, settle in lads and lasses, for the week in Bill-ness:

Monday: This was a day of academic triumph and anguish. The triumph came early in the day, as in my Studio Production Class my group presented. What we presented was our project that we had been working on the last few weeks: A 28 minute late night talk show style extravaganza. We had a host, a musician, two guests, clips, a monologue, and some prepared comedy 'bits.' It rocked many Casbahs far and wide. Since my group and I were not allowed to be 'talent' in our own show, we had technial duties. I was up in the control room, telling cameras what to shoot and cueing up graphics, titles, music, and all that shite. It was fun, because for a while I got to imagine that I had the persona of a 56 year old man with gray hair and a buzz cut, standing in front of a bank of monitors, chain smoking, swearing, and yelling commands at people I considered incomptent. Lifelong dream, you know? Seriously, it was pretty fun, and I made sure to get lots of shots of our space-case musician as he stared blankly at the studio lights. Luckily, he knew a lots of songs by The Pixies.

The anguish was provided later that night by people who actually are incompetent. See, I've mentioned this before, but, for the benefit of late arrivals: One of my classes is called Professional Writing Workshop, in which we (the writers, natch) write for an actual show that our school shoots and produces each week. Awesome class, great practice, cool to see your work get shot, etc. Anyway. It's policy for a writer to stay and watch his or her scene be shot, in order to make any changes in dialogue, or offer the directors general input. This policy was instituted when we had an encounter with a fuckwad of a student director who had the tendency to insert things into scenes that we, the writers, never included, such as plush animals or random shots of bras and panties for no reason. Seriously. Do I need to explain how ridiculous this is? I don't think so.

So, I'm watching my scene, and I'm watching the monitors that show what the camera is capturing. I notice that at one point, during a key line of dialogue, the actress has her back to the camera and her face isn't being shown. I tell the stage director, and he instructs the actress to change the way she moves. She does so, but her face still isn't showing. For some reason, the production side of the class decides that the scene has been shot well enough. They want to move on. I object, which is my privelege as a writer. Much grumbling ensues, and soon, the producers come out of the control room, down to the set, and I'm face to face with six or seven of my surly peers who just want to go the fuck home already.

I'm assailed by people who whine that the scene is good enough as is, by one girl who stupidly states that she'd have to change the entire camera set-up to get her face during that line. This is untrue. All the actress has to do is face the camera as she delivers it. I explain so. More hemming and hawing. The best part was what happened next: Know how when you're in a group, and everyone is trying at once to figure something out, and some guy tries to take control with his idea? Well, this moron says to me, silencing the group: "Wait, wait, wait: Now, what exactly is the significance of what you're suggesting?" My mind quickly formulated this reply: "What is the significance of seeing an actress' face as she delivers a line? Do you want me to kill you right now?" Luckily, I didn't have to convey this thought, as the rest of the group apparently agreed that he was an idiot, and continued to babble on without acknowledging his silly comment. I hate when that happens to one of my questions or suggestions, as it's pretty embarrassing, but this guy deserved it.

So, they go to shoot the scene again, grudgingly. It comes out right this time, and they move on for real. I'm walking through the hallways when I pass one of the aforementioned student producers, and say to her "Nice job, thank you," becuase it was both a nice job and I was thankful. She walks by me without saying a word. A complete snubbing. Good fucking Lord, people. It was two minutes of your lives. I wish I went to a school with more stringent admissions standards, where they took people who actually gave a shit about what went on their reels and not people who are in a hurry to get home, microwave a breakfast burrito and watch Ally Fucking McBeal. Ugh. How about a little respect for your craft, eh?

So. That was Monday.

Tuesday: Not very notable except that in my English class, we've been dealing with images in advertising. This allowed me to advance my theory to the class that the images of women in fashion magazines, the media and so forth is promoting/fostering or making more prevalent/acceptable bisexuality in females. I'm not saying that they are doing this intentionally. I just think that it's a side effect of the daily barrage of images that purport to hold up a certain standard as to what is beautiful. The questions my theory asks are: By telling women that these images are beautiful and, thus, insisting that these pictures/models are things (yes) to be attracted to, are advertisers breeding in females a tendency to be attracted to other females? Or, is bisexuality becoming more acceptable and commonplace in women anyway so that it is more noticeable and widespread than it once was? Thoughts?

Wednesday: Pitched an idea for a show in my Idea Development class. This idea was praised by my teacher, Charlie Siskel (yes, nephew of Gene, and former writer/producer for TV Nation and Awful Truth). That was cool, as he might help me really pitch it to people who matter.

I ran on Wednesday, as I have been almost daily for the past two weeks or so. It is no longer the pain that it once was, and even has the pleasant effect of making me smoke less. Also, because apparently being physically active makes you lose weight (wow!) I now have one of those little muscle lines going down the center of my stomach. I think this upgrades me to some sort of hunkier level. I highly recommend lusting for me.

Thursday: A day of Nothing. Absolute slack, except for a run. This induced melancholy. I got sick of my apartment, so...

Friday: Hung out with Sally. We went down to the no longer hip Wicker Park neighborhood to eat. Tried to get a table at Soul Kitchen. 45 minute wait. Ugh. We walked around, and were amused by a woman in a wedding dress, standing on a milk crate, screaming '"Fascism!" at the top of her lungs while handing people balloons. This is true. We decided not to eat at Soul Kitchen, and ended up in a cafe down the street. Ate veggie burritos. They were very filling and tasty. I think the cafe was Earwax, but I don't remember, because I am not cool.

Saturday: A day for lovin', Target (I made some fat old white executive man 60 dollars richer buying items I probably didn't even need while a young latina girl got paid six dollars an hour for the privilege) Chinese food, and a documentary about homosexuality in Hollywood called "The Celluloid Closet." Fascinating. Rent it.

Sunday: Today. Began beautifully with Sally, coffee, and the Sunday paper at Katerina's. Happily drank coffee and unashamedly smoked until some idiotic yuppie couple sat next to us (in the smoking section) with their baby. They didn't even smoke. I just hate smoking near children. Morons.

So. That brings us up to speed. I'll be running in an hour or so. After that, I have some homework to do, the Fox sunday night lineup to enjoy, and some Chinese leftovers to eat.

I am fairly certain that the next week of my fascinating life will hold just as many hilarious hijinks and adventures. I'm back on the updating bandwagon. I'll never neglect you again. This time it'll be different, baby, I swear. I love you.

Oh, and will someone out there take a minute and listen to me make an ass of myself on my Yahoo voice mail and leave me a message. It's getting kind of embarrasing, here.