NaNoWriMo

It's November! That means it is National Novel Writing Month. This is where I puke 50,000 words worth of my insanity out. I know I had mentioned possibly writing about my experiences of spending part of every day in October doing nothing, but it really wasn't that mind blowing.

What is it with midgets? Terry Gilliam has used midgets in films from Time Bandits to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Robert Anton Wilson made a midget one of the central characters to his Schröedinger’s Cat trilogy. Midget wrestling. Midget porn. Twin Peaks. The Oompa Loompas. The Munchkins. Something about the prescence of midgets slips the brain over into a fantasy realm. Or maybe it just has to do with unknown midgets. My friend Stan is a midget. Somehow there is nothing surreal about seeing him pull up and get out of his specially modified Porsche with booster seat and pedal extensions. Never mind that every other Porsche owner I have met can see over his own car when standing.

But a French-Canadian midget with a handle bar mustache was a bit over the top. Especially when he is the coordiantor of a satelite control center constantly monitoring cultural movements around the world. Was his name really Guy? Too much. Do we really need to know where the largest pockets of klezmer afficianados reside? Way too much.

Up in the main control room, overlooking the spherical room below, he turned and looked me in the eyes. It was the most serious and urgent and joyful look I could imagine a man having. Nothing funny. Nothing scary. He just turned to me and said in that thick French-Canadian accent of his, “Jaq, the world is yours. The world is yours, Jaq!”

Great. But do I want it?