The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
May 14, 2006

Soda

Why is it when Constance loses her moccasins it becomes my problem? I ask you this Diary because if I said it aloud I would seem like a poor boyfriend. I can't believe I just typed that sentance. There is much static in the signal. I feel as though I am being sent to the work farm without tobacco money. It was only Tuesday when we were fighting last; she wants too many salt lamps in the quiet room. It's an impossible amount diary, trust me. She fails to grasp the concept of a Quiet Room. The way she approaches it, its as though she wants the room for Opium sales. Perhaps I didn't comprimise but then again I didn't call myself a "stubborn bear." In better news, Manolo and I have finally turned the Grey Room into a functioning recording studio. Our side project is now entitled Growth Poster until Manolo changes it again. I am just wanting to give the four track a proper test drive. Neil faxed over some tips from his vaults and when I say vaults I mean mind. I of course was expecting a joke and he delivered with the second bullet point. The first one read 'Power on.' The second: 'Get good at guitar.' Solid gold. Til next time. Aloha.