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.