1 Decmber 2001 - 5:04 p.m.

Well, I have too much work and George Harrison is dead. At 58. Of cancer.

This fucking world. It is not a good time to be me. If you read this entry, you'll probably just be indulging me. But whatever.

Yesterday I had lunch with a semi-notable independent film maker. When I told her about my current screenwriting project, she asked me, "Are you funny?"

Well, hell. How do you answer that?

I actually had to lean over to one of my classmates and ask.

Apparently, I am. So that's good. I suspected as much, but that's not the kind of thing you want to be wrong about, you know?

I swear, the line between self-confidence and inflated ego is so fine, if there is one at all.

Oh, here is a pretty important other thing. Barbara thinks I should scrap the idea of a one-year, expensive M.A. and just apply for a Ph.D.

Here's the funny thing - it doesn't even sound all that crazy to me, or to anyone else I tell about it.

But I don't have to apply for a little bit, so now is your chance to sign my guestbook and tell me if "Dr. jpellecchia" just doesn't have that ring to it.

How many Diarylanders do you think have a Ph.D?

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: