Sunday December 8
I did community service today, up at six AM. I stopped at Kinko's to see if they had one of those pocket notebooks. They didn't, but the guy gave me a Kinko's note pad. When I got back to the car, it wouldn't start. I motioned a security guard with my jumper cables. He aided me, but still the car wouldn't start. I checked the fuses and pulled the plastic off the steering column and checked the ignition wiring, but couldn't make anything out. I touched the alligator jaw of the positive cable to that of the negative and the battery made it spark, so I at least knew the battery wasn't dead. I thanked the guard for his help. The battery had water. I rapped the rusty clamp from Guerrero Negro with a screwdriver until it was loose, and then I rapped it back on. I used the screwdriver to make a connection from the negative terminal to the groundwire, and I heard a little click. Do you think I reversed the polarity? The car started. I got there and the iron gate at HBT was shut. The supervisor was standing there. They close the door when you're too late, but he nodded at me like he knew me and opened the gate. I was the last man in line. Two more came in after me, so maybe I'm not all that special. I got signed up with the paint team today. A lady said, "What are you reading?" I had Saroyan's Human Comedy in my back pocket. I took it out and gave it to her. She wore dark sunglasses over her tachometer. There was a tickly pull at my stomach. "What's your name?" I asked, and she said Zinnia,  I think she.  I asked her to spell it, but I'm still not sure what it is. We liked each other. She got in the van with me, saying she wasn't sure who she was supposed to go with. I told her not to worry about it. She asked how old I was. 28? I heard her ask. UCLA Chem. Engineering grad student. Scott reading Updike on last day. Whose finals are this week and he said 23. At the donut place, where I had a coffee and a croissant and then got a french horn cuz the one she was eating looked good. She asked George the Russian-Armenian with the ocean blue eyes his age. He said 33, I think. I said, You and your ages. How old are you? She said 35. We drove all over LA painting over grafitti and talking. I cracked jokes. George gave a 'quit drinking' speech. Some gangsters threatened us for painting over their tags. I said we should put on capes and tights to be grafitti eradication squad. She said she'd just painfully left behind a ten-year relationship. People asked me about teaching. I babbled how I loved it. They asked about Spanish and I babbled some more. We erased La Mirada Locos and the White Fence Locos who a guy in a Laker hat said had been around since the '20's. I had fish and chips with her.

Wasted Day, Nothin to Say

Saturday, December 7 Day of Infamy.  The end. Amory Blaine became a socialist in the end. In the end, though, he's only in his twenties. I think he probably went on to become a well-known writer/alcoholic. The girl from the bar called, and while I was on the phone with her, Shirelle came to me and wanted me to kill a spider. My bottle of wine is gone. A little brandy still resides here, though. It's almost seven in the evening. I have to be up in eleven hours for community service. That set off a few branches of lightning. Here was a new generation, shouting the old cries, learning the old creeds, through a revery of long days and nights; destined finally to go out into that dirty gray turmoil to follow love and pride; a new generation dedicated more than the last to fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken
?...heritage of passed personalities
The last page seems a little cornball, but its a fine exploration of conscientious and self-conscious youth. He was twenty-three when he was "catapulted to fame" by it. I told the girls they should have read The Great Gatsby in high school. I fell asleep during the Army/Navy game and into the Nebraska/Texas game. I was awake when BYU beat Wyoming in one of those WAC games where whoever has the ball last wins. I ate two dinner rolls with butter and peanut butter and no more than a dozen Triscuits with cheese. I'm not sure what to do tonight. I read Rogeve's fantasy. I had a hard time reading it. It's about a magician and two spirits who control his body using universal forces that include an army of lizard people to catch a couple of elven lycanthropes whose swords talk to them. Guy ought to be writing scripts for Spielberg.
I got nothing today. Nothin to say, wasted day. Shirelle went to Westwood to see her friend April. Shirelle gave me $150 of what she owes me and Miguel $50. I'm rolling in dough, but I'm home tonight so I can do my community service tomorrow. I'm supposed to golf with Kayo Monday. The Kings defeated Stanley Cup Champs Colorado tonight. I'm almost out of my inhaler. I need to research Tourette's. I need to get a new car. I need to get a tune-up for my truck. I need to go to bed. I have to switch around channels to look for things to write about. I shouldn't have napped today. I looked through high school year books. It was mostly hurtful. I'm not sure why. My beard itches. I've got to take those photographs. I need to go to the market. Alfred Hitchcock's "Lifeboat" is on. I guess it makes me sad that I have no friends from high school.

Vein of Gold JHacking@ix.nextcom.com

Thursday December 5
A mist is falling on Hollywood and the soap chips they used to make snow here at CityWalk have sudsed the sidewalk. I saw the movie "The English Patient". It was very good.
Friday December sixth
I subbed again today for Miss Martin. Did a little Shirelle this morning. Showered quick, put on the same green Levis I wore yesterday; they still had wallet and keys in pocket, belt through belt loops. I wore my shirt with the ducks on it and the long coat my grandpa gave me. I remembered to take the "Toy Story" video the kids wanted to see. I mentioned to Shelly Kumaus and Rosana Caplan how my car had been broken into in front of school yesterday and the stereo stolen. They say school insurance would pay for it! I called school police and a guy came down and I filled out a report. I then called school insurance and they're going to send some forms. I have to get estimates and take some photos. Good. I'll have to use up my film, find other things to photograph. That might be fun. Five days of community service left. Tomorrow, though, I might kick it here and watch Nebraska/Texas, and I should take my car in for a tune-up. Like that will help. Mac was the kind of person who could never hold still or the Demons would enable their attack. Like a shark, as long as he kept moving, he was vital and alive. I haven't been playing much guitar lately. That may mean I'm spending more time writing. I'll have to register for at least one more class this weekend. There were twenty-four dollars in the pocket of that duck shirt I hadn't know were there. I just puffed my empty inhaler. I keep looking at a pack of American Spirit cigarettes in a Bonanza souvenir tin mug that Rawler brought me as a gift from around north of Lake Tahoe. I'm hungry and I ate a corndog and a pork sandwich and an orange for lunch and a quesadilla half, bran muffin and biscuit with margerine and jelly today, and last night I ate a tub of pasta and some Cheez-Whiz and triscuits and a piece of chicken and some broccoli and a textured vegetable protein burrito and a chicken sandwich. I don't think I'll ever treadmill again. Got a post card from Getoff at the wannabe monastery in Big Sur. I'm excited that I can start a new novel soon. I'll play a chess game tonight. The crossword was hard today. It's hard not to think of that wine on the hutch.

Painful Boogers That Graft to the Skin Lining the Inner Nostrils

Wednesday December 4
I subbed for Schiff today. Her student teacher, Roger Gitlin, did all the teaching, so I got to sit at a desk and read the paper. Scientists think they may have found a sheet of ice in a deep crater on the moon's south pole. They can't see it, but radar bounced off that area much more quickly than expected, consistent with its reflection of ice. They've launched another probe to Mars, too. I also read the chapter Supercilious Sacrifice in Paradise. Amory's willing to take the fall for his ex-girlfriend's more upper class brother. His rationalization is that because he has no family to shame, it's less scandalous for him to appear to have violated the Mann Act. Fitzgerald's preoccupation with distinction--Shirelle came home and robbed me of all my thoughts, paltry as they were. I read some student stories, one about a pediatrician testifying in court, another one about how a woman deals with getting dumped, a trippy one about a lady who doesn't want to talk to her sister on the phone because she'd had colitis, and another one still about a snobby Englishman and his travel woes in Paris. I smoked a while ago. Shirelle got an invitation to a party, but I don't want to go. I definitely must tread tonight. My car is suffering. Old Kathy Ravell asked me did I hear it skipping, it needed new plugs, she said. "That's troublesome," I said, and she got all exasperated and she said, "I could do it for you." She sounds a little like Daffy Duck. The paint is peeling off the hood, too. The speedometer and tachometer don't work anymore. It's loud again. It doesn't always start. It overheats. Ugh. I just took out the trash. I'm not breathing well these days. I've had painful boogers that graft to the skin lining the inner nostrils. I'll do my fifteen and then I'll tread and work on the crime dialog until nine and I'll finish Paradise tonight, the last fifty pages. An apple is bruised on the file cabinet. I havent' gotten the mail yet from the guy with the internet cable kits. The kids will figure it out. I have to check my e-mail. I made and ate a turkey sandwich with mayo and gravy and melted cheddar cheese. Shirelle put all the tapes and CDs in the hall closet. Ron gave us some gumball machines. I read something Linda gave us that said all the other arts, painting and music and sculpture, utilize color or sound or resources already at large in the world; writing deals with words that come strictly from the narrator's psyche. I'll tread from seven to eight. What'll come next in the crime dialog. They discuss the impossiblity of pulling off the crime, and then the possiblity, and then I'll have a page and a half and be done with it. I can't find the green paper with the court-ordered instructions for fullfulling my penance to the People. Yeah.

Tuesday December third
I finished the last book in less than a month. I've done ten since November '95. Six hundred pages! Today we put down a brick sidewalk in front of little Yucatan Market in a Salvadoran neighborhood, at Pico and Catalina. We dug the dirt level and mixed the concrete and laid the bricks. It was good work. A woman was so happy with the improvement, she made us pupusas, and we ate in her pupuseria. An Indonesian girl named Lili and a Czech-born girl worked with us. Hugo was the supervisor. I was telling Baja stories. Hugo said it was like a movie. When I would stop, they would ask me what happened next. The Czech told about getting a BMW stuck in the red mud in a Swaziland game preserve. She needed some dental floss, I observed. Hugo told the girls he could go all night long after he ate oysters. A young man came in with a Playboy bunny tattoo on his forearm. When he left, Hugo said he was with 18th Street Gang. It was a clean cool day. I think the gangbanger said excuse me as he walked out. I read about Amory's first encounter with Elanor in the rain on a haystack in the dark. I wonder if Zelda was the model for her.
Tomorrow I'm subbing for Alice Shiff who has a student teacher. I should be able to see the paper and do another entry in here and read and comment on some student stories. Tomorrow I'll have to finish my cruise ship jacker story. They critiqued Jim last night. It was embarrassing. I got mostly positive reactions, but there were those that couldn't stand it, couldn't finish it, were lukewarm. Rogeve and Jim complained it was racist, offensive and homophobic.
My teeth are sharp today. They are cutting my tongue and inner lip. It's hard to pick which trivial little bit of information to report next. I have cement boogers. Shirelle's bringing out a slice of pumpkin pie. Ron said to take his couch and gumball machines. I though he said all the plants too, but he came home just now and wanted them, so I brought them all back downstairs. I had a little nap today for maybe an hour. I think I can stay up til 11:30 or midnight. I got a letter from my gramma from the Coast Starlight Express. Guess I'll do fifteen now.

Monday December 2
I'm waiting for the latest incarnation of Jim Crack to print on the Mac here in the Sharp Ave El Library. I'm going to have to sneak out sixteen copies from the copier here. Yesterday I had to sweep Santa Monica Boulevard from Vermont to library. I think it gave me diarhea. A trio of homosexual prostitutes waited at a bus stop on Highland. One of them looked at me and hooked his finger in his mouth and pointed down his throat. The trash around the bus stop there revolted me in its volume, and my imaginings of the fluids it contained made it worse.
I read about Amory's little love affair. It was embarrassing in its drama, as first loves are. Fitzgerald, aware of this, presented the episode in drama form. A stroke of genius? I read it sitting on a couple of buckets of paint while waiting to sign out at the Hollywood Beautification Team yard.
When I got home, Shirelle fried some drumsticks and served them with stuffing and mashed potatoes and spinach. I read the paper and all about the epic SC/Notre Dame game that I saw from the end zone where all the last minute action was. It was a great game. I called the upset in the early minutes.
What else? It's hard to think here. There are children in the library. I wonder should I go home first or go straight to UCLA. I think I'll not drink until New Year's. Maybe I can see a movie. I still have to read the infertility story and write a critique. Before Thursday I have to finish the cruise ship jackers story and read and critique two others. I haven't had lunch yet, but I had some raisin bran and a bran muffin for breakfast.

Sat. Nov 30
I just took three Primatine Mist tabs with ephedrine. I already feel the added pump in my veins. I had a hangover this morning. Last night I had a Heineken and a brandy here at the house. Then I drank three margaritas at Mexico City next door to the Derby, which we decided not to go into because Getoff was hell-bent on meeting some English chick that doesn't like him at the Dresden, where I had a bourbon and a double bourbon. We told gross embarrassing stories about each other, like when my fart was so bad one of my kids puked, and a couple of times I pissed myself in the car, and the time the bouncer rolled me into the gutter at Good Luck Bar. The Dresden was packed and confining. I have a burst blood vessel in my eye. Al's on his way over. We're going to the SC/Notre Dame game. I'm supposed to go to a party, but I need to go to bed early and do another godamn community service. Duffy called last night. My submission is missing some pages and has duplicates of others. I feel like an ass. I read the paper. Shirelle made a leftover turkey dinner with stuffing and mashed potatoes. I had four Excedrin this morning.

My Brother

Friday Nov. 29
The hill had never been on the street before. I had gone that way many times before, but this time suddenly, the car struggled up against gravity; a steep new hill had been put into Pico.
At the gast station a guy asked, "You sell you car? I like it to buy." I said no, and put the nozzle in the side of the truck and thought how I've been thinking of selling it. I said to the guy, "How much you think for this car? It doesn't run very well; overheat. Paint's peeling off. I paid four thousand for it almost two years ago." I lifted the hood for him, and we checked the oil. He said there was water in the oil. "Yup. That's me," I said, "always needing a new head gasket." He left. I got in the car to drive off, but it wouldn't start. Ha. I turned the key and nothing happened. I looked under the hood again. The battery connections are a little rusty. I got the jumper cables and asked a brother filling his van if he could give me a jump. He said sure. He popped his hood, but the battery was on the other side; the cables didn't reach. I went back to my car and tried it again. This time it started right up.
Now I'm at the dentist's office in Pasadena waiting to get my teeth cleaned. I read the interlude in Paradise, letters to and from Amory as he looks to the future, his transition from childhood to manhood complete.

I'm home now. I lay in bed and read the paper and watched Nebraska beat Colorado seventeen to twelve. Hosebag, Kayo, Walters, Truman and Liza, Getoff's brother, two English girls, and the Pepper are coming out tonight. What'll we do for fun? I have no idea. I would stay home and read and go to bed early and do a community service tomorrow.
My brother pissed me off yesterday. He called in the morning to say Jan had sent him her recipe for peanut stuffing and he was going to make it to bring to Thanksgiving dinner. He said the oven at his place didn't work; could he cook it here? No problem, I said. I went with Guatemalan Insanity to give him a lesson driving the stick in his VW thing. When we got back, I was locked out of the house. I climbed up onto the roof and went in through a window. Soon Shirelle came home. I said, "Where did you go? Did my brother come by?" She said, "He's the one that called and sent me to the store to get all this stuff." It was 12:00. I had planned on getting to my mom's by one, before the Cowboy/Redskin game started. The fucker kept us here two hours later than that, then up and bailed. "See you there." All the while he talked aboutt he clubs and parties and games and concerts he's been going to, but not a word about the hundred and fifty dollars he owes me. I said, "How bout that one-fitty you owe me. If I had that maybe I could go to some concerts and games." He said, "Oh, if your gonna be like that, I'll just go."
I asked Shirelle if he paid her for the shit she bought him at the store. "No," she said.

Wednesday Nov. 27
The alarm went on. I shut it off and went back to sleep. Shirelle was hassin' me for sex. I gave her a lackluster few minutes before I rolled off limp wihout coming and went back to sleep. We watched them carve turkeys on Good Morning America when we woke up again. She bitched me down to the market to buy dish soap and toilet paper and laundry detergent and stamps. Then I had to sit at the laundromat with her and fold clothes. On the way home we picked up some beer at the liquor store and a chicken sandwich and fries from Burger King. I slept through meeting my brother for golf. He said my stepmother sent him the recipe for peanut stuffing. Shirelle's friend Dimona called. We're going to meet her up at El Coyote. I feel out of place with those people. They all talk so freely and have families to rely on. They are responsible for little. I read more of This Side of Paradise today. Amory seems to be losing his vanity, going through a process of maturity that I remember going through and still suffer from now. His belief in his destiny of greatness depresses me. It is like my own belief, but in comparison to Fitzgerald, mine is, of course, unrealized. I haven't smoked today. I don't breathe well at all lately. I'm working at Sharp on Monday. Leo Politi called about a long term job, but I told them I already had one. Pepper left a message. I called him. He was on the other line. He'll call me back later. That about covers it. Now what do I say? My life is a bore? Mundane? Meaningless? Without revelation or epipaphany. I'm a dilettante. We're taking care of Christina's little dog Puck while she is home in Missouri for the holidays. She and Dionte came over to drop him off last night. I managed a football conversation. Shirelle just called from the other room, " John, we have to go!" I think Pepper wants to come. I could go for a new kind of drink tonight. What would be good? What else? We're running late. Who cares? God give me social skills tonight and something intelligent to say and a little revered leadership.