How is it that a marginally attractive woman can have Playboy fling wads of cash at her while an explicit video of her wedding night sells like hotcakes online for $40 a pop (suspicions are that she is selling it herself) simply because she chose to starve on an island and swat tropical chiggers for a month in hopes of winning $1 million on Survivor? Jenna Lewis has the most charmed life out there--she has stretched her 15 minutes of fame into a lucrative cottage industry. All because she's a pseudo-celebrity. Heck, I couldn't pay people to look at naked pictures of me. Am I envious of her low standards and opportunistic windfall? Darn straight.
Last night, while Lewis was probably reclined in some luxury condo somewhere, sipping daiquiris and counting her money, I was slaving away at my computer, doing my darndest to adhere to my writing commitment made here yesterday. What did I accomplish? A thousand words or so transcribed on the Lois McMaster Bujold interview, plus I completed a pitch for a 64-page one-shot graphic novel, which I submitted to my good friends over at Shooting Star Comics. The good news is that they haven't rejected it yet. They've even made some noises that could roughly be interpreted as "This could be interesting." Which is encouraging, but not as encouraging as someone offering me ten thousand bucks to take off my clothes would be. Drat.
Now Playing: Franz Schubert Classics
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