Jimmy Fallon wrote a song called "Snowball" - 02.08.03 - 10:12 pm
Look!

Well, the conference is over and I may or may not be prepared to take over the literary world. Yes, all the classes I took were, more or less, awesome, but I'm lacking that burning drive to create like I had after last year's conference. I am writing something right now and I'm kinda sorta really liking it, but I doubt I'll stay up all night working on it. Maybe till 3am, but no later.

Oh, before I forget...THANK YOU to everyone who signed my guestbook regarding my rant. I actually had nothing to worry about. The big question this year was "What do you write?" not "But what are you going to do for real?" I guess all those cigarettes and late night sessions with Jose Cuervo added several years to my face and they just assumed it was too late for me to do anything else.

I'm kidding, by the way. I don't know why I didn't get chastised for fooling myself or whatever, but I'm glad it didn't happen.

Here's some random convention crap I feel like writing about, yet lack the skills to properly intertwine in an essay format-

1) Off the interstate is an old, run-down hospital called something like Saint Bob's Hospital. Except some of the letters are missing. I wonder how many people wonder just what the hell is SAINT BOB'S HO PIT?

2) Writers enjoy sensible shoes.

3) This morning, I counted no less than a dozen nametags pinned on upside down. I did not have this problem. I just forgot to put one on.

4) While going through my notes from last year to see if the instructor for the cover letter class was the same, I stumbled upon something...odd. In the midst of a list on character development, I wrote the following: The date began with snowballing and ended, tragically, the same way. I have no idea why I wrote that, where I was going with it and what form of snowballing I considered the tragic one. I'm pretty sure I came up with that myself because I always credit people when writing down lines of conversation. Even if it's just "Creepy old dude who laughs like a chimp." I mean, what the fuck? Snowballing? Why do I even know what that means?So, yeah. I'm a goddamn enigma.

5) I made a friend. His name is Ben. He's very, very intense, man. And he likes Cheech and Chong. He told me that I was "fucking with authority by smoking cigarettes and, like, that really makes you think, you know?" To my delight, he continued. "And, man, people build these walls because society tells them that openness and truth are wrong and we have to share with each other to tear down those walls, you know? We gotta show those pigs that these sheep have a voice of their own, you know? And our cries of discontent are like poetry to our ears, but, like, evil to the ears of those oppressive wolves. I mean, pigs. Yeah, man...fuck authority."

OK, there's no way I can properly describe this guy with out using hand gestures, so I'll stop. Like I said, man, he was fucking intense. Like my shoes. Except stoned. And possibly on Thorazine.

Hee.

Anyway, I'm still kinda tired and cranky and Jimmy Fallon is coming on soon. I am positive there are things I am forgetting, but whatever.

Oh, one more thing. I took a class on crossing racial and gender boundaries in fiction and I think I'm going to write my next entry about it. I don't know. That class opened up my head a little and now I can't stop thinking about it. So don't let me forget, OK? I want your opinions on this, too.

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