Boring

March 31, 1996

Hey tomorrow's the day of the year to celebrate myself.

I had an idea for Derb. A comic book character called "The Fluke"

"I could go into it, but I don't feel like."
"Oh."
"Fuck the web."
She groaned. He had noticed a definite difference between her moans and her groans.
"You need to walk."
Why didn't he want to? She walked into the kitchen
Mrs. Mausku is a juggernaut.
But let's not speak of that just now, nor that I bent low and put my folded hands between my legs and told Carlos, "You're lucky I'm not allowed to hit the children."
Frank Thomas was talking to himself in the dugout.
Jim Crack is adopted?
I read an article in the Times Sunday Book Review about lifelong correspondence between Ezra Pound and William Carlos Williams, even while Pound was an expatriate overseas broadcasting Axis propaganda in Italy and Williams was in Jersey delivering babies.

I almost quit The Razor's Edge because the first hundred pages have been so fay. Even now that the narrator has gone from concerns about Larry's engagement to Isabel in Chicago to working in a coal mine in France.  I find it elitist.

So let's jam through the rest of this. I paid some bills yesterday. The phone is maroon. The Mariners and Whitesox are tied 2-2 in the tenth. Johnson struck out 14 in 7 innings and Thomas has homered in an Opening Day gem.