I swear that I could be a movie star if I could get out of this place.

I do a lot of thinking and pondering about the future.  This isn't the absurd part.

The part that defines my insanity is the part about wanting a six or seven year old domestically manufactured SUV or having a black cordless phone in my kitchen. You could even cite my need for a breakfast nook or a riding lawn mower --um, a snapper, nonetheless -- as being derangements of my mind.

I've never thought too highly of being an actor.  Not the profession itself - but of me being an actor. I never thought I possessed the talent necessary to persue the dream. But then I thought about it today - just now and very seriously.

And I'm not going to take you for an idiot - I read the biographies of a Mr. Chris Farley and a Mr. Phillip Seymour Hoffman.

They took some acting classes.  They stumbled around some stupid jobs.  They had passion, and they made it.

And when I think about my future I think my window of opportunity to persuing acting just got cracked open a little more.  To go ahead and expand the metaphor: it's getting drafty in here.

Maybe in my biography, if I am ever priveleged enough to have one, it'll talk about my humble beginning. And I don't think it'd be out of the question to say that if Chris were alive today I could have had the opportunity to sit right between him and Phillip and have a drink.