Note: The name 'Bill' not properly evoking eroticism. Evidenced by: Bill Cosby, Bil Keane, Bill Pullman, et. al. Consider: William?

Note Two: If you're just joining us now, gentle reader, we are following Bill on his brand new adventure. He has, within the last week, forsaken Chicago, family, friends, love, familiarity, and most of his stuff to board an aeroplane and travel to the sunny land known as Los Angeles to participate in a five week program which will teach him to write stories for the talkies. This episode may be especially long, as our hero has some catching up to do, and we will therefore understand if you must stretch, smoke, make sandwiches, make love, or otherwise distract yourself, but please do kindly return to where you left off without disturbing your fellow patrons. We thank you.

Our Hero Adds One More To The Already Bloated Population of Los Angeles - or - Why No Subway System? That's Dumb

Our Hero Learns That a Car Really is Essential Here - or - The Simple Joys Of Sitting Around in Your Apartment All Day

Our Hero and The Mystery Of The Missing Underwear - or - Why Jonny Can't Sit

OK. I'm done with that intro and my inexplicable capitalization.

Hi!

My last Saturday morning in Chicago involved an emotionally harrowing few hours with my ex-girlfriend/best friend Sally, which evolved into an emotionally harrowing following 48 hours, the outcome of which I still have mixed feelings concerning, understanding and swallowing.

But the real fun happened with my flight.

For some reason, I decided to fly cheaply and connect in Kansas City, rather than spend an extra $30 a just go direct. Dumb mistake. Anyway, I armed myself with a New Yorker and an Entertainment Weekly at the Midway airport concessionary to give myself something to read on the plane.

So, I'm reading, and I'm halfway through an article about FBI intelligence when we land in Kansas City. I decided to stop reading for a while and just people watch and walk around. It should be noted here that, during the hour layover there, I could not remember for the life of me which state Kansas City was in. My brain refused to cough up the information, and, being too embarrassed to ask anyone, for a good hour there, I had no idea where in the U.S. I was.

Even better, we board the plane. Just as we're taking off, I come to the end of the paragraph from the article I was reading before. Some FBI person says, and I (loosely) quote: "A new terrorist attack could happen anytime, anywhere. Even, say, Kansas City."

Great!

Brief macabre thoughts: "It probably doesn't hurt that much to be in a plane crash. It can't last that long, after all. I wonder if there's any trick to surviving it, like the ol' jump-just-as-the-falling-elevator-is-about-to-hit-the-ground trick. Ooh! Pretzels!"

The plane landed safely.

So, the aforementioned Jonny picks me up. I felt pretty comfortable with him right away, as he's a cool guy. For some reason, I thought he'd be lanky, but he isn't. On the drive home, we eventually came to an understanding when I explained that I was NOT comfortable with his hand on my knee.

(Oh, and because, according to some profile comments I read, some of you seem to be confused as to my gender, let me say this: I am a guy. Jonny is a guy. I was kidding about the knee thing. I understand I threw you off when I mentioned my 'snatch' a little while ago, but now you know.)

So, we get home and dump my two bags/entire life in my gigantic, nearly as big as my studio in Chicago bedroom. I re-meet my roommate, a guy with whom I took a few classes at my alma mater. I'm hungry, so Jonny boy takes me down to a touristy part of town where I proceed to eat the first of three cheeseburgers I'll eat in the coming days. I buy his smoothie to thank him for kindly picking me up, and he drives me home like a gentleman.

So, the next day, my roommate (Joe) and I drive around looking for furniture for me, and I learn that one can be ticketed for jay walking in this crazy city. This does not at all jibe with my Chicago sensibilities, a city where, as long as there are no solid obstacles directly in front of you, you can go anywhere you please. Stupid Los Angeles.

So, Jonny comes over, as well as Joe's pal Tucker, and Joe grills some steaks as I make my signature "let's eat some vegetables with our meat" dish: Potatos, carrots and broccoli all fried up with chopped garlic. We four lads eat at an actual table with actual napkins as Joe and Tucker shout at the Knicks game while Jonny and I wonder why people shout at televisions. Eventually, Jonny and I end up in the living room reading Simpson's trivia cards to one another. He correctly hails me as the master.

We go out to our deck and bullshit for a while. I then learn that Charlene Tilton of 'Dallas' fame (who, apparently, was something like the Pamela Anderson of her day) lives across the street from us. Joe talks to her for a bit, as he has been for a while, when she comes out to walk her dog. I just had a brief conversation with her, as I went out on the deck and then came back in to write some more here.

Ah, tinsel town.

I think it was that day that I first checked my email too, after discovering the guestbook fiasco, and I wrote a new email to Jamie, who had written me to inform me that she was in Los Angeles. Unfortunately, she correctly guessed that I was just going to sedcuce her, and did not reply to me until this morning, where she "just got" the email at work. Have it your way, baby.

So, the next day, Joe goes out of town, and I'm all alone for the first time in what feels like ages, thank God. I lived in my own place for the last two years, and I tend to go insane when I don't get my Alone Time. When I'm all successful in a few weeks, wherever I live is going to have to have a private study for me. I'm sure I'll love my future wife/bevy of rotating strippers/harem very much, but I needs my time alone.

So, for the next few days, I relaxed. Explored my neighborhood on foot. Found that the CBS studio where I'll be taking my classes is a 20 minute walk from me, which makes getting a car much less necessary for now. I wanted sushi, but my local place was closed. I went with Jack In The Box, and cheeseburger #2.

Went out with Jonny the next night. Walked around a bit. Saw the ocean. Ate another cheeseburger. Los Angeles, for all it's faults, truly is a beautiful city.

Last night: I go to Jonny's place to watch a movie and eat some non-burger related foodstuffs. Before that, we stopped by his workplace. Jonny has a dream job, in that he does nothing but sit in an office surrounded by hot girls and every single game system there is, and plays on the internet all day. I almost hope that this screenwriting thing doesn't work out and that he gets me a job there. I also met the ever so cute Nictate, who I didn't read before but now, based on the sheer level of charm she exudes, I shall begin reading.

Now for a crossover episode:

So, back at his apartment, Jonny is writing and trying to do his laundry while I'm watching 'Wet Hot American Summer.'

WHAS is the best movie about the last day at a Jewish summer camp in the same way that 'Plan 9 From Outer Space' is the best movie about plan 9 from outer space. But, I liked it.

So, apparently, one of his neighbors friends met these three trashy looking latina girls in a supermarket a few blocks away, and had them pile into his car to "party." I was outside talking on my phone and saw the girls and the friend get out of a car. The girls then proceeded to run screaming like drunken idiots into the building. I had no idea anything was unusual, as Ididnt know whether they lived there or whatever. A few minutes later, the girls came running out and ran away down the street with the friend in close pursuit. I finished talking, went inside, and then Jonny checked his laundry. Half his stuff was missing. We figured it was the girls because there was a woman's watch in his clothes, and during their rampage, one of them had poked her head inside his apartment.

We went outside to see what we could see. His neighbor came down and told us what happened. He was very apologetic, and helped us walk up and down the street. Jonny found a pair of boxers in the middle of the road. We got in his car and drove around, but found nothing else.

Jonny assured me that his neighborhood is NOT like this, and that this was just one crazy incident. He admitted that he should have locked his laundry room, which he apparently never does.

The neighbor said that the building owners dont like him (the neighbor) very much and offered to give Jonny money for the clothes, probably because he didnt want the police or the landlord to know. Jonny was pissed, of course, but he said he'd tell the guy how much he wants tomorrow.

And that, my friends, brings you up to speed.

So. Monday, I start my screenwriting program. Tuesday is my 27th (fucking hell) birthday. This weekend, I'll be meeting some cousins from my dad's side that I've never met before.

The weather is lovely here, but I'm still getting used to it. Cold and grey and rainy is genetically encoded in me. I am liking the palm tress, though. I'm starting to get some color. I'm enjoying that there are mountains in every direction.

I'm also going to take it easy on the burgers for a while.