Blew That
Mon 3-9-98 12:45 PM
In my classroom. The kids get out early this week because we have parent conferences. I already have two no-shows. After work on Friday, Tim and Candoll King and I went up to El Coyote for margaritas. I had three and a half doubles and a beer. Then we went to Candoll's place on Orange, a few blocks from my place, on the little hill the other side of La Brea with a fine view east and north of downtown and Hollywood. Her father and her boyfriend are both artists and her place is colorful and homey. We smoked a j and drank some wine in the backyard. Then we walked up to LACMA and met up with her dad and sat at the tables in the courtyard talking and listening to a woman do scat jazz. I said we needed to put the chill back in children and everybody laughed. I think Mr. King was trippin' on me because I was so high and drunk and trippin' on the handle-less faucets at the bathroom sinks with no hot or cold knobs that with a light sensor that activates the water when you put your hand under the spigot, hi-tech, but you can't control the temperature. Tim and I went back to my place when Candoll went home with her dad. We were going to go to Renee's in Santa Monica, but we both passed out, I discovered, when I woke up on the couch at 1:30, Sahara-dry. I drank a gallon of Gatorade and went to bed.
The next morning Tim went to his class, and I read the paper and went to Bob's Big Boy. Cathy Howrad was coming. I bought juice, vodka, Clamato, flowers, a fern, crackers and garlic herb spread at the Ralph's at Third and La Brea. I bought an iron and some Drum tobacco at Sav-On. Howrad and my mom and John and I went up to the new Getty. It was a perfect day. Crystal-clear 360 of LA, Catalina, snow on the San Gabriels, Santa Monica Bay. The location and company were superb, the collection is good, the grounds, I thought, so-so, though everyone else was raving. Witty repartee, stories of what a jackass I was in college. Mexico trips Howrad and I have been on. How she was the one who got me good and drunk for the first time. After, we went to the Bel Air Hotel for drinks. Kahlua and coffee, couple of Jameson's. Toured the grounds. Catherine took my arm while we walked.
My folks dropped us back at Keniston and left. Howrad and I smoked a j. She criticized my roll and began to complain about the cold. I called a cab, but I didn't know where to go. We tried Jack's Sugar Shack, but it was lame. So we went to Bob's Frolic Room, but it was scary. We took another cab to Tom Bergen's. Edginess and silence and confusion fell in on me. I couldn't understand our relationship. I think I made her uneasy.
In my classroom. The kids get out early this week because we have parent conferences. I already have two no-shows. After work on Friday, Tim and Candoll King and I went up to El Coyote for margaritas. I had three and a half doubles and a beer. Then we went to Candoll's place on Orange, a few blocks from my place, on the little hill the other side of La Brea with a fine view east and north of downtown and Hollywood. Her father and her boyfriend are both artists and her place is colorful and homey. We smoked a j and drank some wine in the backyard. Then we walked up to LACMA and met up with her dad and sat at the tables in the courtyard talking and listening to a woman do scat jazz. I said we needed to put the chill back in children and everybody laughed. I think Mr. King was trippin' on me because I was so high and drunk and trippin' on the handle-less faucets at the bathroom sinks with no hot or cold knobs that with a light sensor that activates the water when you put your hand under the spigot, hi-tech, but you can't control the temperature. Tim and I went back to my place when Candoll went home with her dad. We were going to go to Renee's in Santa Monica, but we both passed out, I discovered, when I woke up on the couch at 1:30, Sahara-dry. I drank a gallon of Gatorade and went to bed.
The next morning Tim went to his class, and I read the paper and went to Bob's Big Boy. Cathy Howrad was coming. I bought juice, vodka, Clamato, flowers, a fern, crackers and garlic herb spread at the Ralph's at Third and La Brea. I bought an iron and some Drum tobacco at Sav-On. Howrad and my mom and John and I went up to the new Getty. It was a perfect day. Crystal-clear 360 of LA, Catalina, snow on the San Gabriels, Santa Monica Bay. The location and company were superb, the collection is good, the grounds, I thought, so-so, though everyone else was raving. Witty repartee, stories of what a jackass I was in college. Mexico trips Howrad and I have been on. How she was the one who got me good and drunk for the first time. After, we went to the Bel Air Hotel for drinks. Kahlua and coffee, couple of Jameson's. Toured the grounds. Catherine took my arm while we walked.
My folks dropped us back at Keniston and left. Howrad and I smoked a j. She criticized my roll and began to complain about the cold. I called a cab, but I didn't know where to go. We tried Jack's Sugar Shack, but it was lame. So we went to Bob's Frolic Room, but it was scary. We took another cab to Tom Bergen's. Edginess and silence and confusion fell in on me. I couldn't understand our relationship. I think I made her uneasy.
Labels: Lowlife LA Literature
posted by johnz at 11:31 PM
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