Sa 6-7 2:10

UCLA Melnitz Theater. Shirelle and I are waiting for the premiere of Sharon Powers film "Taxi Dancer". I work with Sharon at the night school. Shirelle is already crabby because she had to drive.

I walked home from Sh'elle's house. I walked to Canter's and read the paper and ate some pasta for breakfast.

Mon. June 9 12:25 PM

I am eating an apple at Eve Sciupac's desk, the lady for whom I'm subbing today. The air conditioner isn't working. I haven't felt like writing at all. I'd rather be reading. I'm reading Hunter Thompson's book Hell's Angels. It's okay. I forgot my iced tea in the lunch room. The principal, Sam Pasada, wants to see me today. She probably wants to know if I'll be back in July or not. It's starting to look like I will be back. I have to call Idaho today, and Amtrak.

Tues. Jun 10 9:55

Now I'm eating an apple in crazy Sunseri's class. I got my tie on so I can drop off some resumes after work. The kids brought ice cream for an ice cream party. I need a cup of coffee at recess. I have a strong urge to go to Jack in the Box. I fought it off. I'm drinking coffee now. I haven't been sleeping well. I smoked a joint and wrote last night. I talked to my dad and his wife and parents in Idaho yesterday. I'm super tired. The kids are playing Body Bingo and Anatomy Apron and blowing up balloons. Elva Munoz came by and said, "Are we having a party yet?" There was a farmer had a dog and Bingo was his name-o. B - I - N - G - O, B - I - N - G - O, B - I - N - G - O, and Bingo was his name-o. I lost my Primatine Mist tablets. Maybe they're in Suipac's room or at night school. A little fat girl in a blue dress named Sarai brought the ice cream. They brought liters of soda but no cups and are pouring the soda into styrofoam ice cream dishes and sloshing it all over the place.

I'd really rather be reading. I'e been reading an account of the Hell's Angels motorcycle gang. Satyric. I've to get up in almost six hours. I took the lampshade off the lamp so that I would have a brighter light by which to hunt vampires in here. Blood oozes from sores in my nose. Anyway.

Fri June 6 10:07 PM

Lying under the stupid bridal veil Shirelle hangs over her bed. I got like day fifteen of the grueling, non-stop, runny snots and a little buzzsaw headache from the two or three margaritas I had for lunch at El Coyote. I was typing at my desk when I heard what I though was the mail drop through the slot in the door. There was a manila envelope down there. Peter Lee had returned a script he'd borrowed from The Thing. There was no postage on it, just a note thanking Thing. I walked outside and he was pulling out of the driveway. He spotted me and pulled back in. He said he was going up to Hollywood to transfer some film. We talked a little and he drove off. I went upstairs and put on my shorts with the big pockets and put this journal in one of them and Hunter Thompson's Hell's Angels in the other. I took my vitamin and smoked weed through a pipe fashioned from a toilet paper tube and foil. I put on my sunglasses and headed out on foot to El Coyote, a couple of miles away, to meet Julia. I barely got to Olympic when I saw Pete coming back in his van. His appointment got bumped a few hours. I told him where I was going and invited him along. I hopped in and we drove up. We talked about the movie Hud, about it being a quintessentially American film, the conflict between the old way and the new way.

Pete and Julia hit it off. I said Jim Krak was about sex. I asked Pete about the first vagina he ever touched. He answered without batting an eye, "Above the clothes or below?" A distinction I'd considered. I said, "And coming out of your mom's doesn't count." I asked Julia when was the first time her vagina had been touched by a boy. She said she didn't remember and reminded me she was a grandmother. We talked a while longer and they left. I walked up to Shirelle's with my newspaper. We went to sushi at Ten Masa on Sunset. It cost fifty bucks. We came back to her place and I fell asleep watching the Bulls lose to the Jazz in Utah. Now we're watching "Cheers". Drip drip drip goes the nose.

June 5 Th noon

From a chair waiting in the main office at Leo Politi Elementary School on Olympic near Hoover in the shadow of the downtown high-rises. I'm waiting for the office manager so that I can talk with her about working here full time or at least subbing over the next few weeks.

I've got a little dilemma with the car and the planned trip to the Bay Area. There's a little trouble with the rack and pinion and we want to take HWY ONE on the winding road on the cliffs over the ocean. Hardly the place you want steering woes. Shirelle is pouting like a baby that we may not go.

This office has a very nice aquarium. It's a nice office.

Yeah, so what else? Julia proposed meeting at El Coyote for lunch tomorrow. I e-mailed her about the Frisco trip; if I go, we can't meet. If I don't we can. Duh. I read the whole paper. Last night, I just sat at my desk and read about Israel and Proust on the CDROM encyclopedia.

Getoff and I are at The Living Room now on La Brea. It's one of those pretentious cafes where you're supposed to read and write. All my tragic little conflicts... I ate a scone. I wish I wouldn't have. I'm al burnt as usual. Getoff's reading through the LA Weekly. There's a painting of one topless French-Revolution-Era woman expressionlessly tweaking the nipple of another.

What the fuck else? Aagh I can't think of anything. I wonder what that girl is writing. She seems to be studying something. I'm quite sure I spent enough on the BBQ. I'm quite hapy with my contribution. Don't ask for any dough, Joe. Too bad I gotta work tonight. Fucking cars and paranoia. I feel like kicking the shit out of something. Ten after four. Too bad I can't get drunk. Too bad I have no personality anymore. What happened to my exuberance for life? Why am I such a scared square now? How can I regain some boldness? Where's the courage? I need one of those medals the Wizard gave the Lion in Emerald City.

Ask ick urg fuck. Almost there. Too bad I gotta work tonight. Girls Girls Girls.