1-5-97 Sunday
I just finished reading The Monkey Wrench Gang--Good, old-fashioned, subversive adventure. Keen insights on man's destruction of the environment. Straight forward storytelling. "If you don't drink, don't drive, for freedom, not safety, is the highest good." Carlin, Getoff, and I went up to the Dublin Whiskey Bar and watched two football games. New England beat the Steelers, Carolina beat Dallas. I predicted all the outcomes this weekend. Green Bay will win next week. Jax vs. New England is harder to call. Tomorrow school starts up again. I should be alseep right now. I napped form like six to nine, though, when I got home, after Shrill, and I boned. Now I'm not sleepy. I should do the 15 minutes, and I have Bible to read, and what about e-mail? I wrote a weird poem last night about swallowing a shard of Corningware. It sounds a little homo. Thing was supposed to meet us at the bar, but he never came. Gavin and I worked the crossword during commercials. We had a great spot on a deep black leather couch, more like a bed, the tv was right in my line of vision, my neck positioned comfortably. I thought some things in bed last night, but I've forgotten them now. We stopped at Pink's on the way home. Ugh. I did thirty minutes on the treadmill tonight for the first time in weeks, maybe months, while I finished my book. We played darts and pool. My pool game was decent, but my dart game sucked. Our waitress was a beautiful young blond girl with sparkling blue eyes. She wore a snug-fitting v-neck t-shirt cutoff midriff. I said to Gavin, "I'd spend half an hour on her belly button." A delcious inny it was. Dallas receiver Michael Irvin appeared to suffer a psychological meltdown on the first play of the game. Sins catching up. Deion Sanders got knocked out of the game and wheeled off the field. It was all nearly as beautiful as the waitress' belly button. Justice, however, has still not overtaken Erik Williams. I'm starting to feel tired. What will we do tomorrow? Time to re-dedicate. Time to enact Effective Positive Challenge

Brad Pitt and I

1-4-97
I watched football games today. Green Bay beat San Franciso, and Jacksonville shocked Denver, though I suspected that upset all along. Last night we went bowling at Hollywood Star Lanes. It was a big group of lively people. Shirelle has a strong energetic group of friends. My friends and I are not like that. Shirelles friends have all stuck together since high school, Fairfax hipsters. Few of them have carreers or families,  and most still live at home or on incomes subsidized by their parents.
Shirelle is going up to Cafe Largo to see her girlfriend Ileyni sing. Thing's girlfriend is taking him to Ed Debevic's for his birthday. The Guatemalan Insanity Pepper is an idiot. His superficiality is appalling. I should not rip on people. My oberservations are all so mundane.
I was watching "Seinfeld" while I heated my leftover spaghetti in the microwave. The bell went "ding". Kramer cut himself on a coffee table he had made from a windshield. I laughed and dropped my plate on the counter and cut myself trying to catch it. Isn't it ironic? Oh, God, give me some inspiration. Maybe if I walk down to that underground tea place on La Brea... I wonder if any cool chicks ever go there.
I ate the spaghetti that I scraped off the counter onto a new plate. There were shards of the old plate in it. I tried to pick them out of my mouth when I felt them. One cut my tongue, and the salty blood mixed well with the tomato sauce. There were a few gritty mouthfuls. This morning I shit out an arrow-shaped piece of ceramic plate. I pulled it out of my butthole after wiping my ass. I couldn't believe how sharp it was to have caused so little discomfort.
Shirelle asked, "What are you going to do tonight? Stay home and watch "Legends of the Fall?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'm going to jack off to it. I'm going to pretend Brad Pitt and I are taking turns buttfucking each other."
"Why do you have to be gross?"
"Who am I talking to? You're Shirelle Buttler, right? You love that picture. Gross. You're the one'd be jacking off over that."
I'm an ass. There's no denying.
Ebonics is a joke. How about we validate surf slang? Maybe I'll watch "Slingblade" tonight.
My life is a bore. Too safe. I should quit my job. Live poor. Just write. Carlin gave me a couple of Band-Aids. I wonder how my forbears are weathering the storms in Idaho.

Trippy-ish New Year's Eve

1-3-97
Man I have been too unable, too unstable to write in here. I had no reason. Too uncompelled to try, couldn't even force myself like I had been doing, or didn't force myself, anyway. I got mail from Linda Ashour. Shirelle is sanding the stairs. We drove up to the credit union in the Cahuenga Pass. On the way home we stopped at a little shop where Shirelle asked for money for "a cassette." I gave her $20 and waited in the car out front and she went in and come back with a bag of incense and one of marijuana.
On New Year's Eve, Shirelle's mom rented a limosine. Bernice came up with Shelly Glass. They had some ecstasy with them. Shirelle, Shelly, Bernice and I all took some. The girls danced in the living room floating in sensuousness. Carlin came up from downstairs and danced with them. Shelly kept clutching her tits. I played my guitar. The limo arrived bearing Shirelle's mom, an old black guy with an earring named Harry, Cousin Patrick (who, two weeks earlier had gotten out of prison after doing four years for armed robbery of a post office--Shirelle laughed telling him, "Who the fuck robs a post office?") and Patrick's girlfriend, who Shirelle's mom warned us was "freaky". We all piled into the limo. I was handed a baggie and papers and appointed joint-roller. I gave directions to Chateau Marmont on Sunset and twisted a joint. I just finished as we got there. It was ten dollars to get in. I covered all and bought two bottles of champagne. Midnight came fast. Patrick disappeared with his freaky girlfriend and the limo. Harry and Gwen and I walked up to the hotel lobby. It was quiet like it wasn't even New Year's Eve. Eventually the chaffeur returned and we rounded everyone into the limo. The ride home was freaky. Cousin Patrick talked some shit. Shirelle went over to him on her knees and got between his to say good-bye. It looked like she was going to blow him or something. Walking back to the house Shirelle told me her stepfather slept with her when she was a girl. Then she asked me if I wanted her to do nude photos for extra money. It was unsettling.
Today I rented some movies. Watched the bowl game. Tonight we're supposed to go out to a bowling party at Hollywood Lanes on Santa Monica. I told the Thing I'd take him out for drinks and NFL playoffs for his birthday on Saturday. Balanced my checking acct.

New Year's Eve Eve

12-30-96
Scream tears at throat servants of fate serpents of hate

12-31-96
I can't think. There's so much alcohol clogging my brain. I got the shakes from drinking so much last night. Peach and I went to Dublin, where I talked with an Irishman named Mehaul about religion. We went to the bar at Chateau Marmont and then to the Coconut Teaser and the Crooked Bar and Molly Malone's. That's all there is. Jennifer is coming tonight with X. (TC). Shirelle's mom has rented a limo. There are some bars and parties to go to. I should get some batteries for my tape recorder. It's wet and gray out. What else? Shirelle and Demona went to El Coyote a few hours ago.

12-29-96
I'm trying to slow down the day by just not changing the numbers, but it doesn't work. Getoff was making brandy alexenders downstairs while the football games were on, and I read the paper. There was an article in the Travel section about what to do on New Year's Eve 1999: Cruises to the South Pacific dateline, stuff like that. Carlin and I postulated theories for why men don't cry as much as women. It would be boring to write. I told of a day in Cerritos when my parents were still married, and I fell to the sidewalk while climbing over the rickety wood-post fence, and I screamed and cried. My father came running out of the house, intense blue eyes in red face. "What happened?" He looked me over. Not a mark. "I thought you had been stabbed," he said angrily. "You can't just cry like that."

I ate some store-bought croissants for breakfast and missed my brandy and ice cream with coffee. I was thinking about a girl I knew in college. A very good looking girl. All the guys used to talk about how out-of-our-leagues she was. She and I got drunk one night. One of the first times I got really drunk. I played it up. We hung all over each other and became friends. I never thought about fucking her. We didn't see each other much, but when we did, we were close. I've got this great letter I could write her. She got a law degree and moved to Modesto. She was going to visit me this weekend if I would have had good enough phone dialogue. I didn't. At Dublin's last night I won and lost two pool games and couldn't hit enough bulls at the end to get better than a close second in a game of cricket with a sweet looker named Angie and her boyfriend and another guy. Her boyfriend won. She asked me for lessons, though. Heh. Carlin said he was the guy from "Swingers". Oh, yeah, I realized. The boy named Sue. I had three Jamesons and three Miller Lites. As I stepped into the men's room to piss, MTV personality Pauly Shore came out of a stall with another guy. A lovely red-headed barmaid informed me that they were open for lunch beginning at eleven AM. I think I have to read the Bible still today and do some typing. I'd like to put a big dent in Abbey and finish that so-so book of poetry. Need to eat something substantial and healthy. What else? Scraping bloody pepper shits uses up half a roll of toilet paper. Almost out.

Squirrel Squiggles

12-28 Sat
The Guatemalan Insanity Pepper is here. We thought we might go out and watch the football and eat. The Cowboys are beating the hell out of the Vikings, though, and the game has lost its lustre. Gumout sent me his e-mail address. Jewelia replied to my reply. I'm trying to decide how often to e-mail Linda.
His cheeks were rosy. "What's wrong with you?" he asked. Shirelle was cleaning the stove and crying. I put my arms around her and kissed her cheek and rubbed her back. She sniffled and took the kisses. I said do you want twenty dollars to go to a movie with Demona or something?"
Fake sniffle. "Why can't I go with you?"
"I don't know. I didn't think you'd be interested in the football game."
She wants to be where she can have her hooks in me. It works best for her if we're out somewhere, and I'm spending money.
The GIP had a small piece of apple pie. He just turned off the radio. It must be time to go. Sanyo was with Pablo at Rawler's last night. I found a half-drunk bottle of beer in the fridge. I took a few swigs. It didn't go down so good. A squirrel squiggles little m's on the telephone wire the way it's back and tail arch while it moves across. Whenever I plan to go out, I feel I can stay home and write. Whenever I stay home to write, I think I should go out and adventure. Now the Pepper turned the TV off. This is getting serious. Shirelle went over to Demona's with the twenty dollars. She said for me to call her if we went anywhere. We're between storms. Pepper wound up in the living room and threw an invisible pitch. I asked, "Are you throwing strikes or pretending to hit me in the head?" Almost there. Stay on target. Almost there. Stay on target. I drank two cups of coffee and smoked a little pot. I can't find Burlykim Booshay's number. I guess it's time to go.