Sometimes people will ask you, "Would you rather be rich or famous?" It's a silly question, like, "Would you rather fly or be invisible?" I, for one, want to fly. Perhaps that's why I'd also choose fame over fortune.

After they ask you a question like this, they always want to know why you made the choice you did. My pat answer used to be, "Well, if you're rich you can lose your money, but if you're famous you can always use your fame to make more money." I don't know if I ever really believed this answer, but it seemed a reasonable one.

The truth was, it wasn't even a question to me. I intended to become famous. I still do.

Ever since I was young, I've been convinced that I would one day be well known. Since writing was my obvious talent, I always figured that's what would garner me this destined fame. And yet, though I've met plenty of celebrities over the years (and become a dreadful name dropper), I have yet to capture more than a modicum of fame.

Yes, there was local renown at Penn State for my radio show and for my tenure as president of the Monty Python Society. And yes, there were the fan letters I received for the column I wrote when I was a reporter at a small town newspaper. But so far, it's not everything I've been expecting.

The key, I believe, will be in actually finishing something. Like my novel, for instance. Or that book of essays. Or maybe, like Anais Nin, I'll be known for my journals, which are currently a work in progress.

For now, I have my memories, my Net fame, my name dropping and an unwavering confidence that my 15 minutes are coming. If only I'd stop hitting the snooze alarm.

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