Today must be Thursday. I never got the hang of Thursdays.

I've been debating how I was going to write about this, either my usual, Angry Dave style, or maybe trying out Cynthia's "Interview with the Blogger by the Internet" style(which was originated by Tony Pierce), but, seeing as I've been watching episode after episode of Six Feet Under, I've decided to try my hand at writing the beginning of an episode:

EXT CHICAGO STREET, RAINY POST-DAWN SKY, A LIGHT DRIZZLE FALLS.

A BALD MAN WEARING A LIGHT BLUE SHIRT AND GREY PANTS EXITS HIS BROWN, BRICK APARTMENT BUILDING AND STRUGGLES TO OPEN HIS UMBRELLA AS HE CROSSES HIS STREET. AS HE WALKS AND FIGHTS WITH THE UMBRELLA WHICH REFUSES TO OPEN, A RED TOYOTA HALF TON TRUCK WITH A BLACK TOPPER RUNS A STOP SIGN AND RUNS THE BALD MAN DOWN.

FADE TO WHITE. CENTERED CAPTION READS:
LOGAN'S DAVE
1973-2004

Anyways, that's kinda what happened. Well, kinda. Since my budding television writing career just started, let's pretend that I am, after all, being interviewed by the internet:

Hi, Dave.

Hi, Internet.

So, what happened to make you want to write about your own death?

Well, it all started as I left the house to catch my morning train. As I was walking across my street, which is a relatively safe thing to do, a guy ran a stop sign and damn near ran me over as he turned left. I should also be noted that I was in the crosswalk and he did not signal his turn.

Wow. That sounds like an intense experience.

Yes, yes it was. Certainly wakes me up faster than caffeine ever did.

I'm sure it did. What was your reaction to nearly getting hit by a car?

Well, not surprisingly, I shouted out "what the fuck do you think you're doing?" I tend to shift into intense anger pretty easily when I'm threatened. I guess the guy tried to indicate to me that he was sorry, but I couldn't see into his car.

What happened after that?

After a couple more angry shouts from me about how he broke the law and nearly ran me over, he decided to get out of his truck and confront me. He said that he apologized, and suggested I wear brighter clothing as I walk around the neighborhood.

But, in your script for Six Feet Under, you specifically mention that you're wearing a light blue shirt and grey pants against a background of a brown-brick apartment building.

Yeah. I guess that wasn't good enough for him. I know he had his headlights on, but I also know that he didn't even come close to stopping at the stop sign. After making his "suggestion" I believe I called him a fucking idiot and tried to explain that failing to stop at a stop sign and yield right of way to a pedestrian in a crosswalk was against the law. For my albeit rushed and heated explanation, I was called an asshole.

Wait. He called you an asshole?

Yep. Can't say that I blame him. I'm sure he probably got a good yelling at by his passenger for not paying attention to his driving. At least, I hope he did. It was a pretty intense experience with lots of surprise twists.

So, why an episode of Six Feet Under? Why didn't do you write an episode for er or another series set in Chicago?

I had just watched an episode the night before about a biker funeral where about half the patrons had bottles of Jack Daniel's. I then decided that at my funeral, I would want my friends and family to have flasks full of my favorite scotch, and that they couldn't leave until they finished. That's a wake and a funeral all at once, and you can consider that to be stipulated in my will.

You have a will? Aren't you a little young for a will?

No, no I'm not. No one is, in my opinion. After my friend died last summer without any kind of will or family- he was adopted and his adopted parents are dead- it got me thinking that if anything happened to me, well, nobody would know what I wanted, so I wrote up a letter with my final wishes. Considering my recent health issues and my extensive bike riding on Chicago streets, it seemed a sensible thing.

Interesting. Listen, this interview as gotten a little morbid. Wanna hit the pub?

Oh, it's too early for the pub. We'll just have to stay here and drink.

Fine by me.

Anyways, thanks to you, red Toyota half-ton, I'm awake and feeling a whole lot more philosophical than I wanted to this morning. I would like to mention that my need/desire/idea to flee this country for Canada has been somewhat curbed after reading this post.

More on that after I've calmed down a bit, ok?