For weeks, I've felt overwhelmed with the burdens of responsibility. The constant need to be vigilant, to be ready for any contingency, to be available. My psyche has become numb with anticipation. I want to get on a train and go and go and go. Slip into some small northwest town and take on a new life.

When I first encountered Kerouac and read "On The Road," I couldn't understand how someone could be so indifferent. But of late, the logic seems far more fathomable. And in a way, the reasoning feels almost inescapable.

Some years ago, I remember reading an interview with Sir. Francis Chichester, who sailed alone around the world in a tiny yacht called the "Gypsy Moth." He spoke of the necessity of being regimented and disciplined in what he had to do. But he also told how that engendered monotony and boredom.

I suppose I can take some cold comfort in recognizing the problem. But what now?

Also the movie indicated some homoerotic undertones between Sasson and Owens. A distinct possiblity I'm sure.

One of the DJs and a friend had a chance to have dinner with a rock star who happens to be married to a dwarf. A limo picks them up and they ride to a fancy restaurant. The four have a great time with lots of food and wine. At the night progresses, everyone got friendlier and friendlier. Once back in the limo, the very friendly atmosphere continues. The rock star's wife cuddles up to the DJ and puts her head on his chest and says, "I'm sleepy." The DJ replies, "Well, I've been trying to figure out which one you were!"

PAX!