I've decided that I, personally, am not going to attack Iraq.

You?

For some reason, this work week has been especially long. Yesterday was hellishly crapulent. Sometimes, I'm really grateful for this job, and other times, I really hate the fact that my forgetting to make sure there's enough San Pellegrino in the refrigerator jeopardizes my entire future as a writer.

See? It's not all hobnobbing in elevators with celebrities. For every funny or amusing conversation I have with some actor, there are 26 far less entertaining incidents of me walking around the office distributing copies of memos.

That ratio is fairly accurate.

And I can't even take a day off. Jonny boy is taking two days off because he just finished a big project, and he feels he's earned it. If I wanted a day off, I'd have to drag my own severed limbs into the office to prove that I really, really would have a difficult time making copies of the production reports today.

It's all part of paying your dues, though. Being a production assistant is, notoriously, the most overworked and underpaid position in the industry. Thankfully, the higher you rise in the ranks, the more ridiculous the money becomes.

I can't wait until I look at my paycheck and feel guilty.

When I was out on Monday, I was in the Hollywood neighborhood. I would compare it to some parts of Chicago's Wicker Park neighborhood in terms of hipsterosity and general urban attractiveness. I've decided that, when my lease is up here, I'm going to look into getting an apartment up there, as it's close to most of the major studios anyway.

I hear tell that there are apartments with actual hardwood floors in this city.

And you really have to appreciate any section of Los Angeles in which it actually makes sense to walk.

I really can't explain to you how much I miss walking out of my apartment in the morning to grab a newspaper.

Oh, and last weekend, Jonny and I were discussing silly terms for disgusting functions. You'll have to ask him about some of the more truly horrid ones. The big one that I offered was the term that describes that oh so special moment in your life when you've had too much to drink, and find yourself sitting on the toilet having to poop while simultaneously feeling as if you're nauseous enough to vomit.

That is called a "Shaquille O'Neal."

Alternatively, "The Shaq Attack."

I want you to think of me the next time this happens to you.