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.
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.
posted by johnz at 7:05 AM
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