06 May 2003 - 8:36 p.m.

Okay, I will never make fun of a certain professor's southernisms after he gave me a two-day extension, no questions asked, on my paper. Tell me something good, 1nman Maj0rs!

Actually, the same professor's wife told me I looked "so hot" the other night, and though I'm not gay, and neither is she, I can't help but declare that the bomb ass shit, right there.

So now I have a bit more time to make my paper cool. Which is a bad thing, in the wrong hands. It started out being about one Tim Parrish (try him, you'll like him). Then I added a little John Kennedy Toole, because trying not to write about A Confederacy of Dunces is not unlike trying not to think of a pink elephant for me, and now I'm comparing them both to Arthur Miller.

And Arthur Miller? Not a Southern writer. So I'm gonna have to wrap this crap up pronto, and get started on butchering La Dolce Vita.

La Dolce Sigh! I'm actually going to base a not insignificant portion of my argument on the importance of the considerable beauty of both Anita and Marcello to the meaning of the film.

That's important. I swear.

What I'm wearing: Pink and white striped housedress, pink heels.

What I'm reading: Rufus and Chaka

What I'm doing after this: Southern Lit. Paper. Still.