Dreamed of violinist Isaac Stern writing a list of famous things that originated in Norway, including corn on the cob(?).
Saw Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill: Volume I at the Yonge-Eglinton Silvercity. It's a stylish, well-made and original take on the violent revenge genre. I enjoyed it but felt rather dirty for doing so. This genre is a kind of pornography, really. Paradoxically, seeing someone get his arm cut off seems more violent than seeing him beheaded. No wimpy stuff here about redemption like there was in Pulp Fiction. (At least not in this half.)
Dinner was spaghetti.
Only five people at Creative Writing. My story for next week will be a centenarian reminiscing about the street he's lived on.
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