3-11- Tu

Here we are at old La Subida elementary school wasting a lot of time on semantics. I'd really rather not be writing in this, environment, but I should get it out of the way ASAP, because I've got to take the Chrysler in for a smog check today between jobs. I don't know when else I'll be able to do it. I don't recall any dreams. I've been awake for two and a half hours, so there's not much to report. No stimulation. No inspiration. I did some laundry this morning and read the first section of the NY Times. Mr. Bennigan just dropped me a copy of today's LA Times. Diana Watanabe is giving a cloudy lesson on the declarative-ness or procedureal-ness of different teaching strategies. I don't understand what good knowing this is.

"You bet your sweet bippy." "You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy." I have to crap. We talked about movies and college basketball and racism in the car on the way here. Phyllis and Sara picked me up. If I was high my wheels would turn. I'd have something to say, even though it might not make any sense. Sitting at my table are Sandra Clippinger from Indiana, Geraldo Cubias from Guatemala, Hagar Gomez from Pacoima, Phyllis Scantron, from Woodland Hills. I haven't eaten anything but a tangerine in the last twenty-two hours. I've got to call AIS today. I'm wearing green corduroy shorts with a green Polo-style shirt and white sweat socks. What else? Sandra has a niece off Broadway in New York who she says is perfect for me. She showed me her picture. The girl was good looking. Another actress. I said she was out of my league. Sandra said she wasn't. Dick from Minnesota is teaching us about "Reciprocal Teaching." Ho-hum. "It alerts the hippocampus," he says. It's still an hour and a half until lunch. I finished a bunch of Neruda's odes last night. I like them. I wonder how much of the~~~ I don't what I was going to say. I remember! How much of the paper can I read during this lame workshop. Oh, be nice. It's time to finish this up. That's all folks