I just realized that I'm never going to be inducted into the rock n' roll hall of fame.

It's a humbling realization, sure, and it takes a while to accept. It's not the kind of thing that creeps up on you, either. It hits you all of a sudden, most often after you've done something that would make the Ramones spit or Tom Petty turn away in disgust.

Twice in the past week, I've chastised my roommate for using too many paper towels.

One would like to think that they are far too cool to be concerned about paper towel usage. One would like to believe that, when the time comes to be mildly annoyed and speaking up about something, one should choose something worth being annoyed about, like foreign policy or Charlie's Angel's 2.

No.

Instead, you find your coolness slowly seeping off you the moment your mouth utters the words "Uh, two paper towel squares? Do you really need two paper towel squares to dry your hands? Are they that wet? God."

And you don't say this kind of thing just once. You say it twice. In a week. And later, you think back on it, and you wonder who the fuck is that worried about paper towels. And you think that, probably, your mom or dad would have said something like that to you when you were a teenager. And you imagine yourself as a teenager, and that teenage self of yours would have internally scoffed and thought "Man! When I have kids I'm gonna let them use as many paper towels as they want! I'm not gonna be all worried about one square, two squares, whatever. I'm gonna be rich, so rich I won't even be thinking about paper towels, man. Ooh, Quantum Leap is back on."

But if I'm not going to be accepted into any Cleveland Organizations of the Supercool, neither is my roommate.

Five minutes ago:

Me: Hey, man, do you know what happened to that one cup of mine? You know, that cup, the one I like to use?

I knew damn well where that cup was. And, yes, I know damn well that this is ridiculous.

My roommate looked at me and put on his Lying Face. His Lying Face is identifiable by the sudden drain of all emotion. His speaking rate becomes clipped, and after he says whatever non-truth he needs to say, he clams up and waits.

Him: What? No. I dunno.

Me: Really? Huh. It wouldn't happen to be on your bathroom sink, would it?

Him: (pause) What were you doing in my bathroom?

Me: What was my cup doing in your bathroom?

Him: I hid it the other night when you were being a jerk. You know, when we were joking around and stuff.

This is the kind of thing my little brothers and I would do to each other, as we were growing up. Then we got to highschool.

My roommate is 30 years old.

So, you may have noticed that, yesterday, I did not plug my usual Thursday night show at the Improvolympic. Alas, this is because, last week, my team, The Excuses, met their defeat at the hands of the evil Hip Replacements. We were clearly better than them, but we were missing two people, and they had nine people on their team. And, oh, let's say they each brought two or three people to vote for them. And so they won. Bastards.

But the defeat of The Excuses will not be our demise, as we have a former instructor that is going to go to bat for us and try to get us a regular weekly slot. It won't be a great spot, and will likely be something like a Tuesday night at 10, but it is a good place to start.

The job hunt continues. Looking for a job is my job. I'm going at it full barrel, working all of my contacts and my contact's contacts. I experienced a small thrill the other day as I faxed my resume off to The Simpsons, hoping that they were hiring for a Production Assistant position. When I made my follow up call the next day, however, I was told the same thing that I myself told many an aspirant when I was a PA answering the phones: "Ah, yes, we have your resume, it's on file, and we'll call you if anything opens up."

Not surprising. It's The Simpsons, after all. I'm sure they have a dedicated file cabinet full of resumes from people willing to fetch Matt Groening's coffee. Keep those fingers crossed for me, though. I got Buffy because one of their PA's unexpectedly left them, so the magic could happen again.

Not having a job, I've been considering some ways to drum up some alternative income. I could run errands for the many little old lady shut-ins in my building. I could grab a shopping cart and join in the scramble for aluminum. Then there's chestnut roasting. People always need chestnuts.

Then, while I was kicking around Diaryland, sick of looking at the job boards, it occured to me: If all of you sent me two or three dollars, I could pay rent quite easily.

But, no! I am far too proud to beg. I couldn't simply ask for money for no good reason, no! Even if it meant that I would survive another day to bring you startling and profound observations about the size of certain fish.

No. Such a thing is not for me, and it surely is an insult to you. But...if I could honor the spirit of capitalism, and offer you good people something in return for your wages, I would feel comfortable with that.

Therefore, taking a cue from Andrew himself, I would like to announce:

You, my friends, are far too intelligent and attractive to settle for giving over something for nothing. You deserve more, and everyone here at FadeIn has always thought so. That's why, as a member of The FadeIn Gold Program, you have the option to exercise your right to these special premiums:

- Why read FadeIn when you can talk to him? That's right! As a FadeIn Gold Member (FGM), you can receive a phone call from me some weekend, anywhere in the United States or Canada! You and I will talk for no less than ten minutes, about whatever you want! Like the literature? I'm fairly well read. Want to talk cinema? Well, sure! Need advice or a sympathetic ear? I'm here for you, baby. Want to have a sing along? No.

- Do you like cake? We all do! If you can make it over to where I live, I'll prepare (with 24 hours notice) a cake of your choosing! Yellow cake, chocolate cake, choice of frosting, it's all up to you. We'll have cake, we'll have coffee, we'll kvetch! It'll be fun! Maybe you'll get to meet my roommate and have him hide something of yours! And you get to take the leftover cake home with you! (Note - The free BBQ is still available only to those who have read FadeIn in it's entirety, FGM's or not)

- All FadeIn readers look super hot and have sophisticated, cultured tastes. But FGM's have the special option to have a cheap paper copy of FadeIn of their very own! Keep it in the bathroom for those private moments! Put it on your coffee table to inspire interesting conversation! Feel it's satisfying heft (almost 500 entries and counting!) as you whip it at the head of whoever is pissing you off, and smile inwardly as you know that the tome you're using to beat a loved one to death is of the highest possible quality! I'll even autograph it for you, and on the chance that I become a successful producer or actor, how neat will that be?

- I own many pants. Sometimes, I get sick of a pair of pants. When I do, I'll announce that I am sick of my pants and the first FGM to email me will get said pants.

- That's not all! Sure, we all know that the end of the month brings that feeling of impending dread, because that's when we've got to pay rent. But what better way to cancel out that bad feeling with the thrill of the FadeIn Photograph of the Month? That's right! On the last day of every month, FGM's will be emailed a special super secret link to an image I've chosen especially for them! What will it be? Will it be a peek into who FadeIn really is? Will I take you somewhere I don't take anyone else? Will I be wearing a shirt? Only FGM's will know for sure!

Surely, by now you've all opened PayPal in another window, credit card at the ready. All you need to know is how much you have to fork over. You're probably thinking it's some ridiculous amount. I mean, fucking hell! Free pants! That alone is probably worth $20! And you all know that cakes aren't free! How much does it cost to become a FGM? What's the catch here, bub?

No catch at all, my friends. You become a FadeIn Gold Member for the easy price of one Abe Lincoln, one fin, a handful of thin dimes: $5.00 US.

Five bucks! I know! That's nothing! Why not become a FadeIn Gold Member* today? It's simple, it's stylish, it's free. Well, no, it's not free. It's five bucks.

*FadeIn Gold Memberships can (and almost certainly will be) cancelled at any time, for any reason.