Saturday, September 03, 2005
3:19 PM

****(PLEASE SCROLL DOWN A BIT TO READ ABOUT RACHEL FROM IRAQ.)****

It's 3:20 p.m. in Columbia, Missouri. The weather is gorgeous, warm and sunny, not a cloud in the sky, yet I'm in a hotel room, in bed with a sheet between my legs and this computer.

The mall is across the street and I just visited there for some lunch and a stop at Barnes & Noble. Yesterday I had a taste for orange chicken but the headliner this week, BT, wanted sushi. Only recently have I tried sushi and actually liked it. If you eat it with someone who likes it and knows all about it, great. But I would never eat sushi on my own. Yuck. Although if you put tempura batter on just about anything and dip it in a spicy sauce, yum yum. I think I had monkey nuts yesterday.

Today's lunch was in the food court. I thought about a sandwich from some steakery place but wound up with orange chicken. The rest of the day will see me picking chicken from my teeth. At least I think it's chicken. You never can be too sure in those kinda places.

I've got a lot on my mind and therefore a lot to write about. But I wonder why. Why keep on writing on this wesbite for my friends and some people I have never met? Perhaps I'm a little bitter since I just left the book store. I had three books to thumb through but barely managed to do that. One was called "On Bullshit", another was called "The Complete A**holes Guide To Handling Chicks", and finall there was "Porn Generation", written by a kid born in 1984. He's fuckin' 20 and a published author. I know a lot about porn, dammit. Where's my book deal?

Barnes & Noble always brings out the best in my ADD. Although I haven't been diagnosed with it, I have to have it, although at times it's more like ADDD - attention deficit disorder denial. I love the smell of B & N, the smell of success fortune. To me having a book on the B & N shelves would be tantamount to a Super Bowl ring. At least that's they way I think right now. I'm sure there are many published authors out there in financial tidal waves and with other troubles beyond my grasp. But I don't know what it is about writing a book or taking my already written thoughts and articles and compiling them into a book. Hell, I don't even like to read, so I find it oddly ironic that I want to have my name on one. On many actually.

While I want to write about the comedy this weekend, the large hotel room, the nice breakfast, the lady who laid passed out on the hood of my car last night and her friend who was trying to get into my car, the grandma who appeared to hit on my after last night's late show, the ultimate cock block that is the best friend of an ex-girlfriend, the horrific scene in Louisiana and Mississippi, and so on, right now I need to sleep. After tonight's show I'm driving back to Chicago, some 6.5 hours. I'm working at Wrigley Field for the Jimmy Buffett concert tomorrow at 6 p.m. I need to be there by 1:30.