Tuesday Nov. 26
The full moon was framed in the otherwise entirely blue sky by four little clouds on the way up the Hollywood Freeway this morning--No. On my way up the Hollywood Freeway this morning, four little clouds framed the full moon in the otherwise blue sky. I subbed for Mrs. Kumaus' class. The day went fast. A puppet show in the auditorium taught the kids about different holidays around the world.
When I'm done here, I'll make myself a garden burger before I do my fifteen minutes. Mrs. Spalla forced a five dollar bag of mixed nuts on me today. I ate out all the cashews, almonds, and pecans, and gave the Brazil nuts and the filberts to the kids.
I read the paper. When I got home, I beat again. Haven't smoked yet, though. Billie Holliday is singing about "That Old Devil Called Love". Amory Blaine, after realizing his vanity at the monsignor's prompt, thinks he sees the devil one night after a friend of his had taken the bold step of joining some French academy or something. Amory's bemoaning the loss of his personality mirrors my own bemoanings. I wasn't impressed with the monsignor's talk of personages as opposed to personalities. He seemed to suggest Amory pursue a course of what we may now call yuppie-ism.
Rob had asked what I thought of the ending of Seize the Day. It was kind of blah to have Wilkie bawl at a stranger's funeral. We're already aware of his grief and regret about the course his life has taken. That end is ridiculous. You get the feeling Bellow got sick of Wilkie and just wanted out, and that was the best way he could think of.
Tonight I'll finally start the crime dialog for next Thursday's class. I don't know what kind of bitch to say she is--New Hampshire?--bitch's story about one woman's battle with infertility. I felt really embarrassed that my submission is so lame. I'd wanted to write a guide to the kind of critique that would help me, but Pete Lee dropped in, and like an idiot, I went with him to shoot a few terrible games of pool in Hollywood. I can't believe what a fool I am. I've been building up to this presentation of my work for--weeks? months? years?--hundreds of dollars?--and then I blow off giving it any kind of quality edit and leave enough time to get a decent set of copies from Kinkos. That's me!

A Tool Pouch

November 25
Monday I called Pat Ortega this morning at six fifteen to see if she wanted the job I was going to sub for Mr. Ledezma up at Sharp. I felt feverish all night and sneezed and sniffled and coughed and could not breathe. I thought I'd stay home and get Jim to page twenty-five. It's already one, though, and I haven't looked at Jim yet. I got out of bed around nine thirty. I was confused about what to do. I checked my e-mail. I brushed my teeth. I put on some socks. I smoked a little. I had some tea with my vitamin. I walked down Dockweiler to the news stand on La Brea. I was thinking about what I am to do today. Then I thought I needed to write what I observe instead of always compiling lists of what I'm going to do. I observed a Hispanic man with a tool pouch and a long ladder up to the second floor of a house he could have been robbing, but he was putting in a bay window. I thought I should talk to him about repairing the broken window in front of our house, but I had already walked past him. I thought I could talk to him on the way back, but by then he had already gone back upstairs. I ate a bowl of raisin bran and read in the paper about the rise in marijuana seizures, and the Ethiopian plane highjacking, and a high school history teacher in Orange County who refutes the Holocaust and believes the Anti-Defamation League killed Kennedy. I did the crossword. I wrote out a check for a credit card bill, but I can't find my stamps. Now I'm sitting here in the kitchen. I began Samuel last night, The first Book of Kings. It told of Eli's wicked sons and their deaths. I read the two student stories from my class. The main character in one was a man named Eli awaiting a heart transplant. It suffered from some unclear word choices, but was all right nonetheless. Duffy's was about the same. I'll type critiques of each before five today. After this I'll do my fifteen minutes. Jim and Adam are in a liquor store figuring out about how to pay for beer before they go out to meet the girls. Perry Mason is on TV. I have to take out the trash. I have to go to Kinko's and drop twenty bucks on copies for the class. Duffy called here; I ought to call her back. What shall I have for lunch? Ribs, Garden Burger, peanut butter, tacos? I could go for a cup of coffee. I put in a Patsy Cline tape. Two weeks of my vacation have already passed. I want to fish and ski. A black crested chickadee-looking bird perches on the fence in the back yard. He's gone now. Where was he born? Somewhere, a hungry great white swims in the ocean.

I Think I'll Have My Lawyer Send Them a Letter

Sunday November 24
Yesterday Hugo took us up Outpost to the top of Mullholland and we had to dig up some young pine trees and replace them with coco palms. I heard that it was LAPD Chief Williams' house, and that his wife wanted the trees changed. I thought there was something corrupt about them using us. I fantasized about going to the Times with my story to bring him down, but I realized it would have been done only to glorify my own ego, and that I am too feckless to follow through on such a project, so I just kept digging up trees and hacking at their roots with the shovel. Soon four of us were plucked from the crew and driven lower down the hill to clear brush off the hillside above the road, protecting the chief's mansion from brush fires. Thistle and sweet annis. We got it done pretty quickly, even though one of the guys was an imbecile. He had just completed his DUI hours and was now doing eighteen days for "pushing" his wife. Two guys climbed the hillside, pruning as they went. I gathered branches and broke them up and stuffed them into bags. The idiot was gathering them into piles. I couldn't understand this step, why not just put put them directly in the bag and skip the whole pile idea. I couldn't convince him that my way was faster, even when my partner and I finished a half hour before he and his partner. I ragged him a little bit and then went up and put the branches his partner was cutting directly in the bag while he kept putting them and piles. Eventually the hillside was cleared up to the cliff below the chief's house. We took turns throwing sandstones at a can across the road. Then the imbecile threw a bottle into the road. When the old truck came to pick us up, a piece of the broken glass punctured the tire and the air started hissing out. We were stuck for about an hour and missed our lunch, but one of the supervisors came back with a bag full of Whoppers from Burger Kind, and I ate two.
I showered when I got home and got out quick because Shirelle was abusing my mule. I met Peach in Pasadena and split two pitchers with him at a bar in a hote,l and then at Q's I had a double bourbon and then Getoff came and bought me a bourbon and three kahluas and coffees. Tom McQ was there. Getoff drove us to the taco truck and along with carne asada and carnitas, I ate brain and tongue tacos. After that we stopped in at Carmine's that used to be called Cabo's down below our old place on Raymond Hill in South Pasadena. A band was playing a lot of old seventies rock, and I danced with a girl who asked for my phone number.
I slept at Peach's on his couch and a parking ticket waited under my windshield wiper on my car when I got to it because the god damned city of Pasadena has a racket where for four hours in the middle of the night from two to six, your car may not be parked on the street. It's a twenty-five dollar ticket. I think I'll have my lawyer send them a letter instructing them to fuck off.
Shirelle made blueberry pancakes and turkey sausage and scrambled eggs with diced onions this morning. I caught a cold last night.

Friday November 22
At Leo Politi Elemantary, I'm close enough to downtown LA's "skyscrapers I could hit the top of library tower with a rock, but I would have to listen for impact because the clouds are so wet and low today. The school is ringed by the tall, slender palms ubiqitous but not native to Southern California. Through the classroon door I can see KoreaTown strip mall billiards joints.
Home now. A Mrs. Rodriguez called me on the phone in the classroom to say that even though class was letting out at two o nine for parent conferences, I was to stay until two fifty and monitor the children on the yard. From my shoes I was working an extra hour without pay to do a Teacher's Assistant's job. We teachers get dicked around enough without some fucking AP bitch trying to pull her chickenshit rank on me. I stayed until about two thirty and then the bail button got pressed. I don't feel right about it either way.
My younger sister K-Mart got caught shoplifting at Nordstrom's Department store last night.
I've got nothing to say today. I'll add ten pages to Jim Crack, switch shit no matter what, by Monday afternoon. I'm subbing Monday and Tuesday for Kumaus. I don't know who else. Tomorrow I need to do a community service. Jeff is expecting me to do out with him tonight. I said I would. Shirelle wants me to have dinner with her. My work needs work. The Thing's on his way expectin' we'll watch the "Bottle Rocket" video which is due back to Blockbuster tonight.
In one week I got a ticket for running a red light in New Jersey, speeding in Illinois, and speeding in New Mexico. I also got pulled over a week earlier for making a right turn at a red light driving intoxicated in New York City, but they just told me to park and get some breakfast before I drove anymore. A month before that, I got yanked driving hammered in Maine and let go. Plus I got one in Oregon and of course God only knows now how many I've gotten in California.
The Insanity Pepper is blabbing on about the way strippers snub him now that he doesn't buy table dances.   He doesn't feel like a celebrity anymore. The girls are all different now. Lana is the only girl who gives him a hard-on at the Goose. She tells him she doesn't want him in there, that he should save his money and buy some new clothes. I still have to write the crime story.

A Time Travel Hard-On

Thursday November twenty-first
On the shitter in Tony Roma's at City Walk. Sneaked a wee puff after watching the movie "Space Jam" with Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny. I ate a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese from McDonald's not two days after swearing I wouldn't eat any more burgers the rest of the year. I was supposed to have written a story where one character convinces another to commit a crime. I want to show Adam and Jim trying to get alcohol.
Now I'm at Upstart Crow at a wooden table, varnished pine I think. Jazzy music plays. Women laugh. I wonder if I look like one of those dorks who goes into coffee houses and writes or otherwise intellectualizes. I could wait up at class and write the pages where Jim and Adam try to get beer. Now I need to know exactly how old they are. Jim discovers his wallet was in the car. Adam's wallet is at home so as not to spend money.
A girl with a red apron tugs and curls a srtand of black hair around her finger. A red-head kneels to extract a trinket from a box labeled POOH ORNAMENTS. She's pretty with freckles and bright red lipstick to go with that frizzed red hair. I put the pencil led in behind my thumbnail and dig out a little dirt.
What will the first sentence be? Who's driving? Jim has no car. Adam wants Jim to drive. They argue. Adam tells Jim to drive his car. What does Jim do about his clothes? Nothing? Do we need to describe the bathroom in that house?
It's raining. Has been all day. I considered making it a double feature, but I wouldn't be writing right now if I had. I should check with Pam to make sure I'm getting paid for both coordinatorships since I'm doing all the work. I'll tell her if she guarantees it, I'll get a modem and hook up the computer to the net. I haven't seen Fay nor Teresa at school the last couple days. I showed "Toy Story" to my class today. I wonder if this bookstore has The Adventures of Augie March. Two women speak a foreign language I don't recognize. Wait. It's French. All of the sudden the whole place is speaking French. I'm a Parisian ex-pat. Marilyn Monroe gives me a fifty-year-old time travel hard-on from beyond the grave, which I think was all she ever wanted out of life, to be the immortal desire of all men. I'd like to be the modern male equivalent, the immortal desire of all women. It will probably be very quiet in class. I'll probably be able to write undisturbed for one hour and a half. Shall I get some coffe? Isn't it smart I didn't sit drinking alcohol today?! Would caffeine distract me from the story? Not much. Can I afford it? Tomorrow I may have to tell Jeff I can't make it. I'll have to put on a good face at Leo Politi tomorrow.

That's Huge

Wednesday November 20
This must be the most boring book I've done so far. I'm taking a crap while I write this in the bathroom here at Keniston. I subbed today for Alison Scheins' class. It was good because she has a student teacher who handled everything, and I read the paper and more of Amory's time at St. Regis's and his early days as a freshman at Princeton. He is conceited but not arrogant.
I would have liked to have finished this writing here for today, but I forgot pack this book in my bag. I'm going to put a page and a half onto Crack tonight and write seven first lines and work on the convince-a-crime story and type up critiques for Kevin and Laura. Check my E-mail. Smoke dope. Tread mill. Watch the Kings and Florida and the Lakers and Utah. Maybe rent a movie. I'm not scheduled to work tomorrow. If it doesn't rain, I'll definitely do another community service. I'm about ready to wipe now. Back at my desk now, holding my breath. I'll put on a little music when I'm through with this. I'd like to switch doctors while the open enrollment period lasts. There are only four more days, but I don't know that I'm concerned enough. I feel like a little wine. I've got a little salad and some fetuccini alfredo and a slice of bread in the fridge.
I'm going to have to start working on getting my school on the net. We need lockdowns on the computers. How do we get the cable? I wonder if Peach uses that modem I gave him. I should bring that to school. Hook up the computer in the coordinator's office. Just run a phone line through it and see what happens. I guess I could just bring the AOL software.
I wrote a long story about what I called the trick the coyotes played on us in Baja. I like to call it that. I liked writing it, too. I like that I liked it without having to try. The people on Thursday want to know how everything is put together. I'm so bummed my bike got stolen off the porch. Some chaincutters got it. The things you could do with a pair of chaincutters...There's a title for that thing tomorrow for Roberge disciples. Fitzgerald talks abou the difference between slicksters and Big Men. You might add hucksters. What the heaven else is there? Pink rose stamps. Roses smell so clean; soft and cool they feel. The colors--what causes the color of a rose? Not genetically-- I mean why does it reflect back different frequencies of the light spectrum? That's huge. I ate a turkey sandwich and a salad and an apple from the cafeteria in the teacher's lounge today. I haven't written left-handed for a while.