mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- crushed velvet Today, Mom told me that Cousin Brandon's psychiatrist said that he's a sociopath, and she wouldn't be surprised if he grew up to be a hitman or a serial killer. Yeah. I signed up for NaNoWriMo last night. Harold turned me on to it a couple of months ago, and I decided I'd try it this year. Basically, the objective is to crank out a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. So far, I've only got 700 words, but I have until midnight of November 30th to finish. Should be fun. I'm also writing my research essay for English class. We have to argue a point-- Argumentation, it's called, and did you know that argumentation was a word? I did not. Anyhow, I'm writing about comic books, and about how they aren't considered to be serious art forms. I'm actually enjoying it-- I'm big on arguing, mainly because I'm 100% positive that I am right. Chuck Palahniuk (pronounced "pollen-yuk," not "pah-lah-nee-yuk," like I'd been saying) was on Conan O'Brien last night. Unfortunately, Molly Sims and Quentin Tarantino were on, too, and they were being obnoxious and loud while Conan was interviewing Chuck. As a result, his interview was much shorter, and Molly and Quentin kept interrupting. Can we please make that a metaphor? Let's. I like Chuck Palahniuk. He's got a crazy brain, big and crazy. I want to surround myself with people like that, people who have entire rich, amazing worlds inside of their heads. Because, really, what else matters? I was thinking about fame last night, about how at least a tiny part of me wants to be really well-known for something. But who cares, huh? We're all famous in our own heads, stars of our own stories, protagonists, heroes and heroines. That's probably good enough. We're all gonna die, anyhow. Yahoo. 2:07 p.m. - 2003-11-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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