I'm a crotchety, prejudiced motherfucker.

Sunday, in between Ultimate Party Crew rehearsal and Nolan rehearsal, Dino and I watched two hours of VH1�s �I Love The 80s� (1986 & 1987) and I ran out to Taste of China in the pouring rain to get some food. While I was waiting for my order, I listened to three Workshop people sitting nearby talking about their ideas for novels. A girl with a prissy face and wide glasses and her hair in a severe bun talked about how she wants to "incorporate elements of history" into her novel. But "there are so many ideas at play," she emphasized, it might "be better for a second novel." "What about you, Stephen?" she asked, referring to a dippy boy with curly bleached-blond hair. "What are you working on?" He said he didn�t want to talk about his ideas because he feared it might jinx it. He might build up everyone�s expectations and then disappoint. The third person was a mohawked individual of indeterminate gender.

That's why I haven't applied to the Workshop.

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