<center><p> <b><u>REVIEW OF THE WEEK</u><p> by<p> BAO DAI OF HOLLYWOOD</b><p> </center> <left> DATELINE: HOLLYWOOD 20 AUGUST 2000<p> </left> <center> <b><u>UP 'N' AT' EM, ATOM ANT</b></u><p> </center>

For those of you who are old enough and willing to date yourselves (in a nonsocial manner, of course), well, please don't think you've stumbled onto the Lost Episode of VH-1's Whatever Became Of discussing the dime store wouldbe teenage heart throb Adam Ant who flirted with some sort of success in the early 1980s (by the way, I hear he's a total crack head reduced to doing mall openings in Kentucky to get by, but I'm not sure I trust my source). No, I'm writing of a serious condition which afflicts at least me, at least on certain days... or should I call them "daze?" Anyway, I'm experiencing it right now, so I will be mercifully short.

A lot of people would probably pay good money to attain that with which I have been "blessed" for free, but since I can't figure out how to market it..... well....

See, here's what happens. On a given morning I'll awaken and after cursing the day and watching maybe three minutes of local news hoping to catch a report on traffic conditions (why I'm not sure since I won't deal with any area they will report for at least 90 minutes, so unless someone has blown up a freeway, it's kind of irrelevant) and then drag myself out of bed and trudge into the bathroom cursing the dawn. About half way through shaving and/or my other morning bathroom activities, I'll suddenly find myself fresh as a daisy and even read (with interest) a few pages out of whatever -- Time, The Hollywood Reported, the latest LL Bean Catalog... whatever is handy, zip through my shower, pour half a cup of joe down my gullet and head off with a heart set on breaking the land speed record for 25 miles of freeway during rush hour(s) in LA

Then, by nine, if I am safely ensconced in my office and thru playing the MSN Stupid Computer Game of the Day (for instance, last Wednesday it was "Match the heads of the performers to the cartoony bodies of these "Boy Bands" -- I was continually reminded that I'm a complete "loser"), it hits:

As I work away on whatever I grow increasingly exhausted, and no matter how much hot coffee I swill, or how many times I go down stairs and buy outrageously marked up Red Bull (which tastes sort of like liquid Pixie Sticks), dreams start interjecting themselves into my consciousness and I'll repeatedly have to jerk myself awake, reminding myself that I am not privy to the secrets of the White House and/or I'm not responsible for salvaging that smashed up Russian Sub... and neither is anyone else I know.

I am apparently immune to caffeine, taurine, straight glucose, sublingual B12 and ginseng. This afternoon I actually found myself toying with the idea of copping something with Ma Huang in it, but I knew Ma Huang, I worked with Ma Huang, and let me tell you Dan Qyay.... oops, see what happens?

It's scary, and potentially embarrassing (I'm told I talk in my sleep... but do I scream?

Well, at least it would wake me up.

Good night until next week.....