The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
June 20, 2005


At my age, you really can't rethink your signature. When you sign your draft card as a kid they don't lock you up by telling you that signature will stick and for good reason. I'd prefer something a bit more blocky, like a Helmet Lang suit. The alliterative letters are surely a blessing but sometimes I wish I had a name that would fill the signature line of those oversized checks my accountant has me sign. It's been a startlingly clear morning, Diary. I could see Catalina before I took my sleeping mask off this morning. That reminds me, my accountant said David Lynch was working on a movie about a weatherman. I wonder how old he needs to be. Constance has made it clear she would like the wading pool replaced with something a bit more pedestrian, like a hottub. So a couple of contractors are over looking the situation over. I should make sure they don't crush any of Manolo's wheatgrasses. Until then, Diary.

[signed] Nick

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