Monday Jan. 13
It drizzled more today. George of the protruding forehead was upset all day. Tomorrow I have to do a thirty-minute presentation at school about problem-solving from a lecture I attended at the Learning and Thinking Skills Institute. Thirty Minutes. I'll plan for that when I'm done here. I feel like this is the place for rawer emotion. Uh, yeah. Demona wants to host her own Politically Correct Friday night on the topic of Larry Flynt and the First Amendment. I golf Saturday. I asked Mark and Victor if they want to go. I emailed Kathleen to ask if we could move the meeting to a later time. Sunday would be best. Shirelle had a bottle of champagne open when I got home today. I've got to write Jim's conversation with with older bar patron about true love.
One time.
I don't care much about paragraph-to-paragraph chronology. Morrison blew it to pieces.
I talked about the globalization of language.
A lemma is a sub-equation written to prove a main equation.
I did that knot thing with the kids. First we stood in a circle and held hands.
I'm reading a short story by Stephen Crane called "The Open Boat". It reminds me of Marquez's tale of the shipwrecked sailor. Mrs. Pantoja's son is going to Washington DC. Luis brought his little sister to class after school today. I said, "How come she's so pretty and you're so feo?" What a stupid thing to say. I thought I was being funny. He shrugged good-naturedly and said, "Because I look like my dad. She looks like my mom." He's nine.
I didn't go to Chief Auto Parts today. Tomorrow I'm going to see "The Whole Wide World" at the Beverly Hills Music Hall on Wilshire and Doheney at 5:30. I've got to stay up until at least until 11:30 and read after I'm done writing for the night. No news today except that they re-enacted the sesquicentennial of the Treaty of Cahuenga in which the Californios, led by Andres Pico, surrendered to John C. Fremont without a battle. We should research Fremont in class.
He claims I suffer from delusion/ I'm so confident I'm sane/Can't be no optical illusion/ How can you explain/ I've still got to type for fifteen minutes. I don't think I'll be able to tread tonight. Shirelle fixed some drumsticks. I ate two with some Stovetop Stuffing. The tv is off. The cassette plays songs I taped at Jeff Seedy0's house about five years ago.

My GM Mastercard bill came. I'm going to pay three hundred and thirty-three dollars. Spanish classical guitar is romantic. Someday I need to read Cervantes. And Lorca. I've got Bible to read tonight. I should get into the second Book of Samul tonight. I had two fried eggs with turkey sausage and toast for breakfast. There was half a glass of red wine next to the tv on the dresser. I'm supposed to meet with Julia and Kathleen Saturday at one at Kathleen's near the pool hall on Venice and Inlgewood where I occasionally shoot an unshaky game. I won't be able to make it until like five. "Can't decide whether to kick her out or get her pregnant."
I have to give a presentation to the staff on Tuesday about the workshop I attended. I've been thinking about writing a letter to Catherine. Probably this week. It's time to clean my desk again. I drank a couple of light beers today. Shirelle has just awakened from a nap. She has the sniffles. She takes some kind of pills for it. I have this movie "Georgia" to watch and gete back to the store by midnight tonight. Maybe Friday I can see "The Whole Wide World" about Robeert E. Howard. Maybe I'll drink a little Gatorade when I'm through here. I've got my fifteen minutes to do still. And Bible to read.
Shirelle wants to go on The Dating Game. It will be good film she says. April agreed.
I put in "Georgia" for which Mare Winningham was nominated by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Science for an award for Best Supporting Actress. I wonder how long it takes pumpkin pie to go bad.

Saturday January 11
Everything changes when you become a killer. We had been married four years before I started having fantasies about killing my wife. I knew I would never be cool enough to cover it, would have to leave the country. I used to fantasize about where I would go, Mexico? South America? I know Spanish.
Sunday January 12
I'm watching a video called "The Great White Hype". Green Bay beat Carolina and New England beat Jacksonville today. Neither game was very good. Mariachi, Steve, and Al came over to eat, drink, and watch the games. Shirelle fixed ribs, baked beans and macaroni. It's been drizzling today, soft and persistant. I walked down to Ralph's in it., bought a newspaper, package of ribs, can of baked beans, and a twelver of Bud Light. I read the paper between plays. The crossword was tough today.
Move up the side, let the man on through. We drove to Stevo's in Costa Mesa yesterday for a housewarming barbecue. It was pretty dull. They watched Jackie Chan laser discs. We went down to the Newport Peninsula so April could say hello to her father, but he wasn't there. An old drunk stood in front of the place, asking if there was an AA meeting there.
We walked to the Crab Cooker for lunch. I had clam chowder with a hunk of fisherman's bread, and the combination fish skewer with seasoned mashed potatoes and cole slaw.

The Myth of Moral Decline

Friday January 10
I am in Cudahy, a city I never knew existed. We're doing a workshop on incorporating games involving body movement to promote language-understanding and social cooperation. We did this knotting up game where you join hands at the center of a group and try to untie yourself without letting go hands. I knotted up with a finely shaped Latina name Mathilde in such a manner as to stir the penis.
Now we're out on the yard watching a grad student give a lesson to a group of students. They have towels and balls. A simple lesson, but the kids seem to enjoy it. I'm falling asleep. If I write I'll stay awake. We went to Sizzler for lunch, but I didn't eat because I had eaten two homemade burritos during the break. The burritos were for sale to raise money for a student trip to Washington D.C.. I'll have to pick up my prescription at Larchmont and rent a couple movies tonight. Get high, read and write. Last night, Getoff and I saw a few bands at the Troubador. It was mostly uneventful and unremarkable.
I'm home now at the desk; radio, TV, Mac: on. Took a wee rip. Gonna make a Garden Burger. Read the foreward by Saul Bellow to The Closing of the American Mind which Getoff said was a must. I don't know if I accept the premise that America is in moral decline. I think morality is unquantifiable and if it could be measured, you would see that morality and immorality have been about equally balanced from the beginning. Talk of moral decline is a way for holier-than-thou types to reassure themselves of their moral superiority. Actually, look at the the history of man. Has he ever been more moral than now? Slavery has been abolished. Genocide is frowned upon. When was it more moral? In the fifties, when blacks rode the back of the bus and weren't allowed to vote? Is this the better moral period we have declined from? To say that university professors close minds in ridiculous, unless you believe the only people that get into universities believe everything they're told and the only people telling are the professors. If anything the amount of competing opinions people are exposed to today makes it even more difficult to make up one's mind, let alone "close it". I suppose the moral decline camp liked it better when young people had only their parents to believe.
My mom called. We lamented the lack of freedom on the freeways. The fifteen minutes are waiting. Lisette said that I was nice. I am nice. But not always. Am I really hungry? I ate two homemade burritos. I was dumb today. Soul coughing. Sky dimming. Smashing Pumpkins. The Four Seasons turned inside the Windstar MiniVan via Vivaldi. I got a Dodger ticket magazine in the mail today. I thought my transcripts were in a manila envelope that came, but it was information to be in something called the Chevron Club. Petroleum rip-off. What are you thinking about?

Thursday January 9
Shirelle just got home. Oh, shit. Getoff just called. I told him I would go up to the Troubador with him to see some bands. It will be harder to write, now. At the in-service today, we did a bunch of problem-solving and logic tests. Went to TGIFridays with the princial and some other teachers. I played NTN and put Sharp at the top of the leaderboard for the month.
Shirelle presented me with a six-pack of Pale Aspen beer. She said, "Look, Honey, I got you some beer."
I said, "Yeah, right, like you won't drink it all before I get to it."
She said, "No. I don't like that beer."
I looked at it. "Pale Aspen. Why not?"
"I don't like those microbrewery beers."
She's on her third one now.
"I thought you said those beers were for me?"
"I don't know," she said. "I decided to try one, and they were good."

I read a nice little essay by Louise Erdrich called "Skunk Dreams". She contemplates an episode in which a skunk cuddled up to her while she was sleeping outdoors in a sleeping bag. This incident is a springboard to a dream of a fence in a forest. She later encounters this fence while awake in New Hampshire.

Shirelle is making Hamburger Helper.

Tomorrow: Cudahy--Some workshop on incorporating body movement into learning.

I mentioned Edward Abbey to the group today, and talked about blowing bridges. They stared at me with their conservative faces.

I ate a little tuna salad on an old kaiser roll. Did a few threshhold push-ups. Shirelled made hot link sandwiches with cheese and mayo. Brand new Cranberries. Called the pharmacy. Still haven't gotten this golf thing straightened out.

Calling John at United Rock Products. You ask the operator for the mill. They play country music on hold. I think I'll floss after this. Then I'll do those fifteen minutes. What else? Look through the bag. Read Neruda. Local H. Shirelle dropped a plastic-wrapped brownie on the desk. Check e-mail. Sent that letter to Scott.

January 7, 1997
"Move up the side, let the man on through" is the song on the radio. It sounds like something they would play when Mike Tyson jogs out to the ring. Now it's Beck with my favorite song "Loser". My friends are calling about becoming teachers. Justine, Kayo, and my brother have called about it in the last few days. To whom will I send my poems? Julia and or Linda. The year passed with little reflection. Hopes for the new year--It's copascetic. I got a letter from my stepmother and a card from Scott Biddlecombe in Australia. I shall write them back promptly. I don't feel too bad, but Shirelle and I had a row. She pulled on me two nights in a row of surprise guest stars and again last night. I revolted. I had been planning to treadmill and write. I was so disheartened by the intrusion that I retreated to the bedroom and pouted listlessly.

Jan Miller wrote about the people of Hayden Lake, Idaho, "...their thinking is what true America was suppose [sic] to be. Everyone feels that you are accountable for your actions and if you cross the line you pay. In the paper they list everyone who has an outstanding warrant, civil suit, bankruptcy, etc."

Don'tcha sometimes wish the press would stay out of people's personal lives?

I ate all these leftover shrimp that Shirelle had made for her an her girlfriend over which to chat. This don't-end-a-sentence-with-preposition thing is funny.

What else? Adrianna Gonzalez was my first TA. She's subbing for me tomorrow while I attend some workshop at the Levy Center County Office of Education in Torrance. I'll tread tonight and read that essay with God's help, right, old pal?
I ate an orange not long ago. Levi asked me how they know that light travels a hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second. I guess they use some mathematical formulae and some high-tec, photosensitive timing equipment.

Hole is on the radio. Shirelle went to Kristina's. The Thing is in the kitchen. I smoked a little. I've got some sniffles, some difficulty breathing, need to call the pharmacy. I'll type for fifteen and then go with some other files. Yawn. I need new guitar strings. I'm wise enough to know the possibility of drawbacks is not non-existent.

I'm For Not Dickin' Anybody Over

Tuesday January 7 1997
I was bummed to have left this silly little book on my desk at school over night, unable to write to the botton of the next page like I had wanted. And I was so fecund yesterday. Armageddon was confirmed yesterday when Peter O'Malley announced the sale of the Dodgers to Fox News Corporation. The business climate of baseball has succumbed to utter corporate evil. Baseball will never be the same. Ticket prices in LA will go out of reach for the average fan. Just when the Dodgers were on the verge of a dynasty, the rug gets pulled out. Our five consecutive Rookies of the Year will go their own ways in search of more dollars. Fucking Jerry Reinsdorf and Wayne Huizenga are responsible for this. O'Malley is a wise man who couldn't face the disgusting level of greed that was imminent in negotiations with Piazza, Nomo, Karros, Mondesi, et. al. A dark day. The bells toll for baseball. Ugh.
I have to e-mail Linda. I can't find Rob's e-mail address. I need to phone Julia. I spoke with Pam today about a computer network. She was sympathetic, if not understanding, to the difficulty I face as point man. I need to work out a whale-watching trip,. I need to go to Marti Bravo's class tomorrow and call the fucking CLAD office. I guess I'll send Julia and Kathleen copies of Miracle Mile and my two new poems. There's nothing on TV tonight. Isn't that nice. I'll just watch Jeopardy and Simpsons and treadmill off some of the bloating Michoacan lunch I ate today. Read a few Neruda poems and one of The Best Essays of 1994. Tomorrow I'll talk about what Mrs. Pantoja mentioned about cramming. When I'm done here, I'll puff some and type for 15 minutes and pick some other files until 7:00. I'll stare at Jim from eight o'clock until nine o'clock. Then I'll lie in bed and read. Shirelle got a thousand dollar check for her lines on a TV show called "The Parent 'Hood." She brought back $184 worth of groceries from the supermarket. The new washer and drier kept tripping the circuit breakers. I had to run an extension cord along the wall to the plug on the other side of the ktichen so they wouldn't be sucking off the same outlet the refrigerator does. Lord save me! Help me do the right things. The song "In God's Country" just came on the radio. I love this song. I get love from this song. It does have the big beautiful sound of Nature's God. Really.
Well. At the bottom of this page I'll have written through another book. This one is equal to the first. Isn't that disappointing? Equality.
Men make the Adam and Eve myth, write it, anyway, but women dictated it.
Cool. Bruce Springsteen.
You know what I'm for? I'm for not dickin' anybody over. That's what I'm about. I do feel good now. Nice high.
Ah, but there are always consequences, even to joy. Kayo just called. He wants to teach. We're supposed to golf Saturday. I'm going to call Hansen Dam. Shirelle's rapping in the kitchen. Mrs. Pantoja talked about cramming words together.

Tap Thoroughly

Monday January 6, 1997
A ferocious wind blows today. The Hollywood Freeway was littered with uprooted trees. I'm at school now. Only sixteen kids came. They have been off school for two months. Alejandro said he heard on the radio that these winds were from Alaska. The trees on the 170 were toppled east to west, on the 5, north to south. Out the window, debris blows west to east. The power flickers on and off. The children are working conentedly on a page of four digit multiplication problems.
I wrote in the memo pad a little poem about Christmas trees laying like winos in the gutter, hacked from the earth, stripped of their glory, under the palms, in the city of angels, needles dry and blowing away, the wooden crosses that were their stands, stand upright while the trees lay prone, suffering the hangover of the world's joy.
I really ought to be planning some lessons. I selected a volume of Neruda poems from my bookshelf. I'm hungry. We've put off doing laundry while waiting for the washer and drier I bought to be delivered this evening. I'm out of underwear. Freeballin'. I have to tap thouroughly after I urinate to keep from having wet spots around my zipper.