someone needs to make a movie of Winesburg, Ohio

I'm not a writer, I'm more of a rambler.
I think both on paper and when I'm talking to people--like I just spew out these unintelligible strings of sentences. My storytelling teacher told me that, well I mean, not really that but a version of that when I went up on the stage to tell a story about new york last week. I go up there in my rain boots and mismatched dress and something like 3 layers of shirts and i somehow sit indian-style and tell my story. and when im done he goes "you got up there and you're all slouched down in your chair with your rainboots and i thought: lily tomlin. and then you started talking and i was like: you are lily tomlin!" i, of course, have a very vague idea of what he is talking about. maybe lily tomlin wore rainboots at some point in her life and sir crosby hunt just decides that i resemble her. well, i go onto youtube to see about this resemblence and what do i find but lily tomlin and the director of I Heart Huckabees fighting and cursing and yelling at each other. That or a clip of her sitting in a huge rocking chair talking like a 5 year old.
so either a) i have a horrible temper like lily tomlin or b) i resemble a 5 year old.

great, just great.

anyways. I had to write a lesson plan today for school, and (even though it was a day late) i actually enjoyed it a lot-weird. i think it was because i had to teach a lesson on winesburg, ohio--by sherwood anderson and someone needs to make it into a screenplay and then a movie. here's a little snippet.

"In the bed the writer had a dream that was not a dream. As he grew somewhat sleepy but was still conscious, figures began to appear before his eyes. . You see the interest in all this lies in the figures that went before the eyes of the writer. They were all grotesques. All of the men and women the writer had ever known had become grotesques. The grotesques were not all horrible. Some were amusing, some almost beautiful, and one, a women all drawn out of shape, hurt the old man by her grotesqueness. when she passed he made a noise like a small dog whimpering. the procession of grotesques passed before the eyes of the old man, and then, although it was a painful thing to do, he crept out of bed and began to write.

At his desk the writer worked for an hour. In the end he wrote a book called "The Book of the Grotesques."

I saw it once and it made an indellible impression on my mind. The book had once central thought that is very strange and has always remained with me:

In the beginning when the world was young there were a great many thoughts but no such thing as a truth. Man made the truths himself and each truth was a composite of a gerat many vague thoughts. All about in the world were the truths and they were all beautiful. The old man had listed hundreds and hundreds of truths in this book. Hundreds and hundreds and they were all beautiful. And then the people came along. Each as hea ppeared snatched up one of the truths and some who were quite strong snatched up a dozen of them.

It was the truths that made the people grotesues..."

i love it. plus Wing Biddlebaum is the name of a main character. Can't get any better than that, can you?