'Whale' Means 'Beat'

Sun June 21 summer solstice 10:32 PM
Ugh.  I haven't written here since Thursday.  What a lot has happened.  I'm at a Shell station on Central and 16th off the 10 freeway right now.  I ran over something that shredded the right rear tire.  Banged up the wheel pretty good, too, by the time I got off the freeway and found a suitable, safe-looking, lighted locale for changing the tire.  I can't even figure out how to get the jack off it's mount in the trunk, though, so I was reduced to calling AAA auto club to send roadside assistance.  Guess when my card expired?  Today.  I was in Placentia today to golf with my stepfather in honor of Father's Day.  My brother and the Biggers were there.  I shot shit.  We wen to Brian's for beers after.  When we got back to the house I slept on the couch a while.  We BBQed a turkey breast.  Mardis made us watch an inane comedy called "Billy Madison".  At dinner we all of us laughed hysterically and joyously over the way my father used to whale on us. 

[a pencil sketch of the old EZ chair my grandfather gave me] [a sketch in blue ink by D. Cay, aka the Derb, of a naked woman catlike, in repose, on a couch, one leg crossed over the other, the stars and moon large in backdrop and a comic punk of fierce eyes, spiked hair and fangs, female, African, and a logo for Balls Out Comiks]
Th 10:00 PM 6-18
Shirelle's white kitchen table we got at IKEA.  A bowl of bananas sits in still life on a placemat woven of blue and white threads.  Shirelle wonders if you can give a dog chicken bones.  She says she heard you're not supposed to, but that her family did all the time when she was growing up.  I was throwing darts at an earwig on the wall.  Today at school, Dijonia, Marlin, Johvonna, and Leticia piled into my car when as I leaving for lunch.  "We're going wit you," said Dijonia. 
"No, you're not," I said.  "Everybody out." 
Nobody budged. 
"I'm not kidding, you guys.  Out!" 
They laughed.  Modchill was coming out to his car.  I went over and talked to him and Elmer.  "What's up?" 
"Nothing." 
"How 'bout tomorrow?" 
Nattaz walked by.  "Acapulco tomorrow." He asked with a period. 
"Sounds good, " I said. 
"What about today?" Tim asked. 
I said, "I'm going  home and see how much beer I can drink before class tonight." 
Tim said, "I've got dope."
"Kay.  See ya there."  We both knew we were talking about my place.  Elmer was saying he was going to call in sick tomorrow.  I walked back to my car.  The kids were still sitting in there.  All right, I figured, I'll give them a little ride around the parking lot, but when I got in and started the engine, they all screamed and scrambled out of the car. 
They had helped me carry out my guitar.  Mr. Coane, the music teacher had the whole third grade in the auditorium.  He put on CDs and some of them came up to the front to dance but once they faced the audience, they were mostly embarrassed and hiding behind each other, except for a couple of girls who appeared to have futures in the strip club industry.
Shirelle's roommate, Christina, drove up to Yellowstone with Arkansas April.  Might have liked that.  On the way back they hit a deer.  Shirelle says they did a few grand in damage to April's dad's car, and now some bad blood has bubbled up over who should pay for the damages because the car is not insured.  April thinks Christina should pay for half, and Christina says April should have had insurance.  Shirelle's leveling the soil in an indoor potted plant I can't identify.  She had wanted me to pick up the movie "Nine Months" (Get it?), but by the time I got going tonight, I reasoned it was too late, and we'd be busy all weekend; so why not wait until Sunday or Monday to get it and not get stuck with late fees?  She seemed understanding about it for now, but you never know, she may snap over it at some random later time.

Whoopee Cushion of a Conversation

6-17-98  W 7:00 PM
In class again.  Just like yesterday.  Wondering how I'll ever come up with three pages of bullshit.  Sheryl was saying I should go into film school.   She's a jolly figure.  She has a round jolly face.  Apple-cheeked, for sure.  She said they only accept twenty people a year.  I said, "Why would they ever accept me?"  She said, "That's what I said before I got in."  Yeah, but she had a seven-minute 8mm student film.  She said, "You could submit your book."  Then I went off on one of my tangents.  "I'm Salieri," I said, "I don't have enough talent."  That let the air out of our little whoopee cushion of a conversation.   I have a mosquito bite near my sideburn.  What are the Jim ideas?  A sidewalk traffic altercation.  Ugh.  I can't even think about it.  Why does God drive me to do this when it's all crap?  Or am I driving myself?  What would I be doing if I didn't write?  Acting?  I guess I would just read a lot more.  Or I could exercise more.  Get in shape for Chirst sake.  For the love of Mike.  Got a little sniffle.  The air conditioner kicked on.  It sounds just like an air conditioner.  The Angels are in first place.  The piece-of-shit, Fox-owned Dodgers got beat by the Padres last night.  That was cool.  They suck.  Their trades suck.  Corporate sports suck.  farther explode extra merchant improve  What else?  Gabina is going to take all night to finish this test.  I won't get out of here early at all.  I should have told them there was a time limit.  What else?  They keep talking during the test.  It's kind of pissing me off.  I said, "Mencione que ustudes tienen que acabar el examen en una hora?" (Did I mention that you have to finish the test in an hour?)  They all gasp.  "Si, hay no mas que cuatro minutos."  "(Yes, there's only four minutes left.)  They gasp again.  "No.  I'm just kidding."  I smile.  They know by my voice that I'm kidding.  Maybe I should correct these tests myself.  I'm telling the students that the last person done with the test yesterday was done by now, in Spanish.  Then I just went ahead with the implication, "Why are you guys so slow?"  "You started early yesterday," Juan of them takes up their defense.  "No, we started at six thirty," I say. It's clear they are worried about doing poorly and I try to explain again that it's merely diagnostic nothing to worry about.  If they haven't shown any improvement, the only person who needs to worry is me.  Urg ack ick ugh.  Juan wants to know about student ID cards.  I don't know anything about them.  Some of the students ask.  I think it helps them establish residency, but our school doesn't issue them.  Juan argues that the school does issue them.  "We can ask in the office," I tell him.  Juan y Juan have left.  There goes Edmundo.  I'm just waiting now for la vieja Gabina and for Lydia.  Lydia's on the last page, but like I said, Gabina will keep me here all f*cking night.  That multiple-choice sheet is totally foreign to her.  I showed her how it worked, but I might as well have been teaching her the structure of Wookie DNA in Klingon.  It's weird; I don't think she doesn't understand; she just firmly believes in her doubt that she will.  PLUS she came in a half hour late.  I should have told her it was too late to take the test.  I might go out with the GIP tonight to a Beverly Hills girly show.  Who knows?  And there's always the Shirelle question.  Aruugk. 

Not a Laugh to Speak of

Tuesday June 16 6:55 PM
At night school class again.  My students are taking their final exams.  I'll be giving the same test tomorrow for whoever couldn't make it today.  I don't know what we'll do Thursday.  Have a party, I guess.  Watch a video.  What else?  I already typed for fifteen minutes about the dull events of the day.  Hard to believe a whole day can go by with so little of noteworthiness occurring.  There wasn't a laugh or remarkable moment to speak of.  I sat grimly through it.  Filled out report cards until I got sick of it.  Did a whole six of them.  I'll have those and cumes to do for each student before the week ends, before the school year ends.  What else?  I don't really feel like writing, don't want to bother with the details.  I'm not great thinker.  I didn't have the balls when it came down to it.  And whenever I had the balls, I didn't have the determination.  Always one elusive ingredient.  The students are starting to bring me their completed exams.  It's getting a little noisy.  What else?  I have to call Shirelle when I get home.  Half of me thinks she's bad news, and the other half thinks love is too hard to find to risk losing her.       Round and round the mulberry bush the monkey chased the weasel.    I'm not breathing too well.  Father's Day is coming up.  What else?  There's no way I'm going to think up enough stuff to fill in these three pages.  I wonder if they have that Artist's Way sequel at Borders.  I was there the other day to get a gift certificate for my T. A., but I didn't think to look for it.  I almost bought the All the Pretty Horses follow-up, but I decided to wait.  I walked around the CDs, but there was  nothing I desperately needed to have.  Got some taco gas.  I pour a little olive oil in a pan and then I add some chopped onion, then I put in a tortilla and let it sizzle and turn it over and sprinkle on some cheddar and garlic salt and cayenne to melt into the cheese, put on the diced chicken, turn down the heat, scoop the onions onto it, take it out of the pan, put in spinach leaves, Pico Pica sauce, and sour cream, and mmm mmm good, got that crunchy, flaky shell. 
It's taking me so long to do this, I'm not going to be able to read any Augie March.  Only one person is left still taking the test.  I'll probably get out of here about a half hour early.  What will I do tonight?  Got some Jim idears baking, but I don't think they're ready to come out yet.  That's what I should have been writing about. 

"And the Award for Excellence in Bullshit Goes to...."/Flesh

6-13-98 9:45 AM Sat
Shirelle's frying bacon and sautéing spinach and onion for an omelet.  We've just come from the market.  I'm sitting at the kitchen table by the big window looking east toward the city.  I just stirred my coffee with this pencil.  I might like to plan a fishing trip tomorrow; they're bringing in tuna--albacore, yellowtail and bluefin.  They're not even going out very far.  It's the el nino.
I didn't write here yesterday.  I already typed about yesterday this morning.  I'll not reprise it here.  My back and ribcage muscles are still sore.  Mark McGwire hit his thirty-first homerun yesterday.  He's halfway to Roger Maris' record, well-ahead of schedule.  Maris had only twenty-six after sixty-five games.  There are still a hundred games to go!
What else?  The Thing's got "Superman II" on the tube.  I said, "You're a movie slut.  You'll watch anything." He laughed, and his glazed-eyed gaze went right back into the movie. 
Guess I'll do this while I wait for that computer to boot up.  Sores in my mouth.  Could be from oral sex.  I need a new toothbrush.  [pencil rendition of stylized Thank You from, say, a dinner check, another of The California Credit Union logo, and a fairly-detailed, half-page impressionist pencil sketch of State Street in Chicago from the cover of Augie March]
6-14-98 Su 8:10 AM
Roscoe's again.
6-15-98 M 6:14 PM
All these things in the convertible coming down Pico.  What were they all?  Late, naturally.  Should be teaching by now--that's probably why there was so much to say: no time to write it.  One thing was flesh--flesh for Jim and how he has no will power against the urge for it.  Will power must be mentioned.  More on the cooking angle as well.  Oh, there was so much more.  My class is waiting on me, though, and that's all I can think of now.  Once I get a chance to write, I won't remember what I wanted to say. 

Flesh.  Overwhelming urge for a burger on the way.  Tink's a vegetarian but crazy-sexual.  This was it--you've got to kill to affirm your own life.  Even vegetarians.  I wish I could remember it the way I had it remembered in the car.  I should go back and read in the Book of Moses about killing, cooking, and eating animals. 
I puffed before school this morning.  When I got to school we had our early morning assembly.  I was on my way to class when Leticia's mom asked me what time the awards assembly was.  I had forgotten all about it!  I called over to Holtz as we were crossing the playground and she said nine.  By the time we got to class after the morning assembly, I only had fifteen minutes to fill out awards before the awards assembly.  I couldn't get the principal's signature.  Then I had to stand before all the children and parents and stutter my way through how proud of us all I was, and bullshit and bullshit and bullshit and hand them out.
I had Burger King for lunch.  Double Whopper with cheese.  One good whopper deserves another.  Then, even though I would be late for night school, I drove through Carl's Jr. and got a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger with mayo instead of BBQ sauce, and because the picture on the ad in the drive-thru looked so good, I got a Swiss Bacon Chicken Ranch sandwich, too. 
That's what got me thinking about Jim and flesh.

Nothing of Value to Say

6-11-98 Th 10:30 AM
The kids don't care to listen.  I don't care to teach.  What came first, the chicken or the egg?  Ugh.  Nothing of value to say.  Strict reportage.  Just the facts, Ma'am.  We've got a softball game today.  Fifth graders against teachers.  I'll have to run home at lunch and put on some rubber soles.  What else?  I have to teach tonight.  I guess I have to take Shrill out cuz it's our "anniversary".  I don't know what to do.  I just spent a hundred bucks on dinner at Stinking Rose last Saturday.  She wants a ring, etc., etc..  I continue on, though the issue of fairness is not resolved.  I read about Sinatra in the New York Review of Books, and also an article debunking the alien-abduction rage as pure business.  Read the sports page at breakfast.  Going to try to knock off another twenty-five pages of Augie March.  Drizzle drizzle.       This pencil's pretty short.  It's less than ten centimeters long.  We're doing a chapter on the metric system in our math books.  What else?  4:31 PM Good afternoon.  4:40 PM Got to leave for work in under and hour.  For a while this afternoon it seemed like I had a wealth of time.  Naturally I squandered it.  I'm wearing the USA BASEBALL Olympics workout short my brother got from Fick who was invited to tryout for the national team.  Our softball game today was drizzled out.  There's nowhere good to play at that school anyway.  It's been rescheduled for Monday.  Ron Wilson, the deposed Anaheim Ducks coach, has led the Washington Capitals to the Stanley Cup Finals in his first year with them.  Corporate sports suck.  I ate two PB&Js today.  Some mad classical piano today.  Got the Writer's Program Quarterly open, as well as The Adventures of Augie March (p. 187); that NY Review of Books is open to an ad by UC Press for American Icons. 
Is this the third page yet?  I've drunk two beers today, from the gift pack Kristen Czech gave to me at the BBQ.  I puffed a little, too.  Ten to five.  I'm prepping my adult ed class for a test next week.  After work, I have to call Shirelle.  Should I wait to eat?

6-9-98 Tu 11:30 AM  Ugh.  These kids are retarded.  I should get Special Ed. pay.  Martin Luther King's daughter is coming to address our school today.  I asked the kids to write questions.  Some examples:  "Do you know Kung Fu?"  "How were you born?"  and "What's your favorite animal?"  The best one we came up with was, "What's your favorite book?"  I wonder if she feels her father's dream of racial equality has been realized.  I wonder what she thinks of the abolition of Affirmative Action.  I wonder if she thinks English-only initiatives affect racial equality.  I wonder if being the progeny of a well-known historical figure, even one as saintly as MLK, makes your opinions more valid.  I wonder how haunting it must be to lose your father to an evil assassin.  I wonder if she believes J. Edgar Hoover conspired to murder him.  I wonder how much he was in her life.  I scratch at scabs. 
We have a staff meeting after school today.  I guess I better get some lunch now so my tummy doesn't growl through the whole thing.  I typed for fifteen minutes this morning.  I'll do my third-person page between jobs tonight.  I gotta go to the LACAS office to get tests and dictionaries.  I'll work on the comp book and check my e-mail and spend an hour with Jim. 
6-10-98 W 4:24 PM
The grind of an edger along the sidewalk, metal scrapes concrete.  Mel's trimming his lawn.  Violins going crazy.  It's beautiful.  My kids aren't retarded when I'm a good teacher.  Yolanda King was inspirational.  Do it with determination rather than resignation.  ~~~This whole domination thing and the battle cave paintings formed in the ceiling~~~I'm proof that determination alone is not enough.  He was waiting for the planets to align.  All was disjointed.

June 8, 1998 Monday 9:11 AM
We're in class.  I told my third-graders whoever wrote the most in their journals could use the computer the rest of the morning.  They want to know if they have to write real things or can they make stuff up.  "Yeah.  Do whatever you want," I say, "as long as you keep writing."  Marlin, though, is showing off his karate moves.  "Okay, Grasshopper, si'down now."  "Mr. Zurn, Alana keeps talking about my dead grandmother," says Mitchell Maiden.  "Okay," I say, "the next time you see Alana standing by a big mud puddle, push her in."  "Mr. Zurn, can I write an action story?" asks Marlin.  "Sure.  You can call it "The Man with the Flapping Mouth."  "Mr. Zurn, I fell off my bike this weekend."  "Did you get any cool scabs you can show us?"  "No."  "Why not?"  "I don't know."
I was punting footballs to the kids last Friday.  My back has been aching ever since.  Only two weeks of school left.  Woo-hoo! 
1:15 PM
After school today I'll have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I'll write a letter to my aunt thanking her for the balloons she sent for my birthday.  I think I'll bail in for that Zurn history.  Got to go to the LACAS office before night school.  Got to type for fifteen minutes, do my one page in the third person, transcribe a page from my comp book, and spend an hour with Jim.  I'm not reading the newspaper today.  It has been overcast all day.  I'm hungry.  I have to piss.  Augie got laid.  Einhorn took him to an apartment brothel.  What else?  Will I smoke and drink beer between classes?  I haven't spent any money since the hundred I dropped on dinner at the Stinking Rose Saturday night.  I've got enough food at home that I don't have to spend any money on food probably until Friday.  Eleven days from today is pay day.  I guess I've got about seven hundred bucks in my checking account 'til then.  What else?  I have to take the movie "Network" back to the Blockbuster on Sunset.  Wasn't Faye Dunaway's acting superb?  and Ned Beatty, and Peter Finch and Bill Holden?  And hasn't its assessment of the future of the airwaves twenty-five years ago proven prophetic?  What else?  I didn't much enjoy "The Truman Show."  It left too many unanswered questions.  It would be tiresome to go into why.  Well, how can we close out with a bang the first entry of journal #25?  By the time I'm done with this one, I'll be on summer vacation.  Should I sub my ass off or write?  Will I be living with Shirelle by then?  Terrifying.  What else?  What more?  The kids are watching "Home Alone 3" right now.  And people have the nerve to complain about the quality of public education. 

Ouch

6-5-98 11:45 AM F
"Everybody OUT!"  I hollered at the children because it was lunch time, and they were driving me nuts, and I didn't care how disorderly their exit was as long as it was immediate.  "But Mr. Zurn, I don't want to go out into that hot sun today," said one Adam Michaels. 
"Adam, life is not about what you want," I said.  "Remember that always."
"Okay," he said.
Su 6-7 3:00 PM
In the backyard.  Just grilled a hot link and ate it.  Got some watermelon, too, n****h.  I put the pot pot under the sprinkler.  A police helicopter flew over head.  What else?  Finished chapter 6 of Augie March.  I underlined some stuff, but I forget now what it was about.  Didn't pay much attention to the newspaper today.  I typed for fifteen minutes and read some more boring shit in Isaiah about the fall of nations.  Dodgers are beating the Mariners.  Cubs beat the Sox--Cubbies are in first!  Atlanta manhandled Baltimore.  NBA Finals action tonight, as well as Mets/Redsox.  Went to Exposition Park yesterday with Modchill and Shirelle.  Modchill and his buddy Tim came over on their break from intern classes to smoke pot and drink beer.  Then the had a field trip to the African-American Museum.  Shirelle and I hitched along, even though I wanted to see if the Trojans would win the College World Series (They did.), and would Real Quiet win the Belmont Stakes to become the first Triple Crown Winner since Affirmed 20 years ago (Real Quiet lost a photo finish by a nose.).  Thing is an apparent future millionaire based on his investment in a zeolite deposit in Arizona.  "They mix it in concrete," he informed me enthusiastically. 
"What are you tearing up the desert for?" I asked.
"There's nothing out there," he said.
"Save your soul," I said. 
"Stick to teaching."  He grinned.
Cathy Howrad called.  "What are you doing?" she wanted to know.
"Drinking beer, watching the College World Series, smoking pot with Thing and Tim and Todd--"
"And Shirelle," Shirelle chimed in.  "Tell her I'm here."
Fuck.  "And Shirelle," I blew through my lips.
"Oh, is that back on?"
"Pretty much," I admitted.
"Okay, loser."
"Yup."
"Bye."
"Ouch."
Whatever.  Shirelle and I saw the 3D IMAX film "Into the Deep".  Before the show was a preview for some 3D animated film that made me giggle like a tickled kindergartner.  Shrill and I walked to Margarita Joe's for margaritas, and we argued about when we would move in together again.  Afterward we hooked up again with Tim and Todd and strolled through the Natural History Museum.  Tim revealed he wrote Reagan's position on NAFTA that appeared in the Wall Street Journal.  "So Reagan's just a brand people write under now."
"That's how it works."
I thought of sparring with him, but fuck politics.
I'm out of journals after this.  Where will I get more?  You can't just walk into the supply room and get them at Wilshire Hill you could at Pierce.  I used my pencil to pick seed out of my watermelon.  Thing's brother, Doc, went into Rehab.  I have to write my aunt today.  There ain't no life nowhere.  The birds and the breeze are a boring old trick.  Dull like my pencil.  I feel too primitive to sketch the falconer on the wine label in front of me nor can I do the Chrysler in the driveway.  What shall I do? for exercise today?
Out. 

6-2-98 Tu 6:40 PM
In my night class, the students are doing a written exercise.  I finished chapter three of Augie March.  I've got a smelly roach in my breast pocket.  I thought of puffing it before class, but I didn't.  Might go by El Coyote tonight to Maria's birthday party and to meet with Shirelle.  Went to the California Science Center today.  It was too crowded and too noisy.  The Dodgers released Hideo Nomo.  A--what's the word I'm looking for?--An inglorious ending to a promising beginning.  Ain't that life? 
She asks me if I have anything to write.  The only reason she would ask me this is if she wanted to get away from me for a while. 
6-4-98 10:40 AM Th
After school yesterday I had a glass of 101 proof Wild Turkey Kentucky Bourbon with ice and a short puff, and I added five lines to Jim Crack about carnivorism and the lust for flesh.  Then I walked to work, toting my black bag full of books.  A guy in a pickup called out to me as he drove by, "Hello, good Christian!" and put his arm out to wave.  I waved back.  It looked like he had the disassembled clapboard siding off a carnival ticket booth in the back of his truck.  I was bummed when I got to school and discovered I didn't have my journal.  The class went quickly enough.  I called Shirelle when I got home.  She wanted me to bring her pizza and beer and come over to her house to watch "Soul Food" a hackneyed, predictable melodrama.  It looked insulting to black people to me, as if infidelity and fucking around and stupidity were the norm.  I mostly held my tongue.  We boned around a little this morning, Shrill bent over the bed, me standing behind.  At lunch today, I've got to get up to the market and get a card for my stepmother's birthday which was two days ago.  I've got to get milk and bread and tortillas and sour cream and salsa and bagels and juice.  What else?  I'll go see if Rohman wants this Dodger ticket.  What else?  Read the LA Times and most of the LA Weekly.  Going to read Augie March next.  What else?  Variable cloudiness today.  Got to work on Jim after school.  What else?  What should I have for lunch?  Will I have time for lunch?

That Thing's Gonna Get Me Thrown Outta Here

8:30 AM F 5-29-98
We were going to watch some saccharine orphans-meet-pony movie, and I asked the kids beforehand what they would do with their own pony.  Vetina said, "Feed it."  Jen Jen said, "Brush him."  Carlos said, "I would ride him to school," and Alana said, "Boss him around."
9:30 AM Sa 5-30-98
I'm at Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles.  I just invited Laura Leigh and some girls at her yard sale to come up to the house for the BBQ.  I have to wash my car, fill the pool, set up the ping pong table, and go to Big 5 for ping pong balls, darts and a basketball.  At the market, I'll get burgers, and dogs, and fixin's, more beer, ice, and stuff for margaritas.  Then we should be ready to go, I figure.
Slept at Shrill's last night.  She said she had a bad dream that my family hated her.  What else?  Got home from school and sipped Wild Turkey on the rocks and smoked a little and saw Miami beat Long Beach State in the first round of the College World Series.  I put on some music.  The Angels won.  The Dodgers lost.  Larry Bird's Pacers pulled off a dramatic win over Michael Jordan and the Bulls.  Shirelle and I had an emotional talk over what was fair.  Blah blah whatever whatever.  How are we going to cut those steaks with plastic knives.  I just dropped a stink bomb.  That thing's gonna get me thrown out of here.  We need some extra tables.  What else?  I've got to shower.  Should I shave?  Ready for a smoke and another whiskey shot.  The waitress here is adorable--color of creamed coffee, bright happy face.  I hope she doesn't smell it.  Marvin Gaye sings "Mercy, mercy me..."  I'm the only whitey in the joint.  Everyone's gonna suspect me.  I pored over the New Times looking for open-mic nights to check out in advance of trying to put together a standup routine.  More.  More.  What else?  USC plays LSU in the third game of the College World Series today at 10:30.  Put your thirst on ice.   [pencil drawing of cartoon rooster against a back drop of a waffle]  You got your RED ROOSTER Louisiana Hot Sauce on each table.  You  got your candy machines at the door.  What else?  What more?  [WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE] Now shall I head for the door?  [pencil drawing of a tabasco bottle]  Who knows?  Who cares?  Why bother to carry on airs?  When all is said and done I'll be gone.

Ahh, LA

5-28-98 Th 3:05 PM
I'm sitting on the sidewalk at Larchmont.  Le Petit Greek or something.  I'm on my second glass of cab.  The food is exquisite.  Exquisite, yeah.  Pretty girls walk all up and down the sidewalk.  Girl Greek butt has an unmistakable imperfection of proportionality of width and fullness compared to waistline that's growing on me, a fondness right under the napkin on my lap.  Whatever.  A pretty redhead walked up to examine a menu.  I should have invited her to join me.  Should have said, "Would you care to join me?"  Life begs us to take part and we spurn her all the time.  The waitress is gorgeous.  The girl with the unmistakably Greek butt has sat down beside me with a boyfriend.  She asked what I'm writing.  A waiter walked out with a flaming dish.  I said, "Whatever I can think of."  She said, "Are you a screenwriter?"  Ahhh, LA.  I made my embarrassed "heh heh heh" laugh, yes, the three hehs, and I pursed my lips and said no, I was trying to write a novel.  I may as well have been confessing I have a sore on the tip of my pecker from having gotten it caught in my zipper.  She formed an O with her lips and raised her eyebrows.  I shrugged and nodded.  "What's it about?" she asked.  "It's about this fucked-up guy," was my sage synopsis.  She nodded knowingly. 
Between bites I read passages of Augie March.  You have to indulge Bellow here more than with Herzog where he is an experimenter more than a master.  I have about ten minutes left on my parking meter.  Greek-butt and boyfriend sigh contentedly over their Tzitziki or whatever it is.  "I want to live around here," she says. 
What else?  Have to make invitations for the BBQ.  Make phone calls.  Smoke.  Do all writing exercises.  Walk to class again tonight.  "I'm going to take you to my guy.  He's going to wash your eyebrows," says Greek-ass to boyfriend.  What else?  Yovonne Dizillespie had my proofread a paper for her.  Mrs. Walker had me write a recommendation for Chase to enter a performing arts magnet. 
The newspapers blare the death of bilingual education.  You can buy the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal on Larchmont.  My fingernails are dirty.  A white mom is taking her white son and his black girlfriend out for lunch a little too amiably, as if to prove her progressiveness, but the show--the consciousness she seems to have of her largesse, there is some flamboyant stage play at work here, Look Who's Coming to Lunch--seems to belie her actual lack of comfort.  Speaking of black girlfriends, Shirelle was full of energy last night while I was taking her to pick up, and paying for, her pictures from Havasu, but when it was sex time, she was tired, pulling the old Is-that-all-our-relationship-is-based-on? routine.  In the night, I had an asthma attack and couldn't find my inhaler, so I had to go home.  It wasn't there, either.  I drank quarts of water to try to loosen the phlegm and cough it all up.  Slept fitfully.