Like a Ghost

7-4-98 Sa 12:10 PM
Walking along the garbage-strewn sidewalk of La Brea now.  I walk and write.  Greece's BBQ smells just right for 4th of July.  I wait at the corner to cross the street.  How must I look to the people who drive by in their cars, I, writing and walking at the same time?  I was reading my book before as I walked past the quiet Hollywood bungalows, the hint of scandal hiding behind the fronded fronts.  The carwashes are busy today.  The hip Melrose joints with their chatty queers sipping espressos on the sidewalk along tattooed grizzly bikers and high fashion Asian trendsters, me striding through the suited and yarmulked outpourings of Sabbath-day synogogues with my open book, like some unknown prophet in an age when prophets have long ago succumbed to the preeminence of profits.  I wanted to stop by The Tales Bookshop which should have been open but was closed like it uncannily is whenever I go there.  The sun is not shining through the overcast today, but it's glare burns through dully nonetheless.  Drops of sweat tickle my temples.

A New Leaf

7-2-98  9:50 PM Th
Shirelle and I are finishing up drinks at the newly refurbished Formosa Café.  It's lost some of its old-school charm.  The waitress wants to know if she can get us anything else.  "Just the check, please." 
The food is more expensive now, and somehow better prepared, but blander.  Shirelle's got a chardonnay; I'm having my second bourbon.  They have the 101 proof Wild Turkey here.  Shirelle's trying to plan some Fourth of July festivities.  I'm not helping much.  I don't care.  Not in a bad way.  I just don't have any suggestions or any objections.  "Did you know Cary Grant did a lot of acid?'
"I guess I heard that somewhere."  She's telling me now if I buy the duplex I should rent to a gay couple.  "They're neat and reliable," she says.  We're going to go back to her place and watch that movie "Blood and Wine".  Now she says, "The like handyman came today.  He had a list of names.  Lee, the owner, told him, 'No one works except for Neyda, the prostitute who works at home."  She laughed.  I gave her a blank look.

"I have good BBQs," I say. 
She makes a face.
"Why do you make that face?"

Now she wants me to go to her friends' house to pick up a desk for her.  I ask a few questions, and when I agree to do it, she says, "Forget about it."

I have a muscle spasm or something where my back, neck and shoulder meet.

Everything between us is incomprehensible.  What else?  Now she walked off without saying anything.  Her purse is still here in the booth.  She probably just went to the bathroom.  She's got that wounded confused look.  She doesn't like that my ex-girlfriend, who just got married, invited me to a party she and her new husband are having.  Ex-girlfriend of ten years ago.  Whatever.  She was pained and confused just trying to order off the menu.  Our relationship sucks.  That's the way life treats you.  My fortune cookies says to make business my top priority next month. Why'z everything got to suck?  Nonsense and more nonsense.  She's back with a new glass of chardonnay.  She told me on the porch two days ago that she had given up drinking, was going to turn things around, turn over a new leaf. 

Shirelle Wants to Go to Vegas and Get Married

6-30-98  Tu 7:02 PM
I'm at St. Agatha's church on Adams and Mansfield.  My neighbor, Lorelei Hughes, directs an "at-risk" youth theater group.  They're performing their own plays and poetry this evening.  I was thinking of bringing Lorelei some flowers, but I was running late.  Lunch with Shirelle turned to sex, naturally, so I guess that's back on again.  We decided to see the movie "Out of Sight" from the Elmore Leonard novel, starring George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez.  We had some time to kill after we picked up a new battery for my car before the movie.  She wanted to go to her house and put on more comfortable clothes.  So we boned.  After the movie she brought me back to my place.  I put the new battery in the car, and then we went upstairs and boned again.  Then I cooked up a couple of rib-eyes in the broiler, and sautéed some seasoned diced potatoes with onion, and steamed some broccoli and corn on the cob and the green beans Fumi gave me from her garden.  By the time we finished eating and cleaning up, there was no time for the flower idea.  Lorelei is pretty and smart and directs original plays and writes poetry and invited me to this thing, and I boned Shirelle today, so there goes that, I guess.  What else?  It cost ten bucks to get in here, so maybe I ought to keep that in mind when I consider my invitation.  There must be thirty or forty people in here.  "Ones [sic] you do something its done," says a teen-written slogan on the wall.  Another says, "You can always start over." 
July 1, 1998 1:30 PM Wed
Shirelle and I are sitting at the bar in Dublin's.  I went to her house after the play.  I rented the movie "Suburbia" so she could see Steve Zahn, the actor she liked from "Out of Sight".  I read the Times and did the LA Weekly crossword in bed after a hump and a shower.  Shrill was switching the TV between 'Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman' and Venus Williams' match at Wimbledon.  I told Shrill that 'Dr. Quinn' was Gramma Vera's favorite show.  Venus lost to Novotna.  We walked up to Thai Beer.  I had the garlic chicken.  Then we walked up to Blockbuster.  We rented "Blood and Wine" with Jack Nicholson and Jennifer Lopez, Hitchcock's "The Man Who Knew Too Much" with Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day, and "The Manchurian Candidate" with Frank Sinatra.  And now we're at the bar.  The Mets are playing the Blue Jays.  The new Viking-looking waitress is telling the bartender she's just arrived in LA from Minnesota.  Shirelle wants to go to Vegas and get married.  She's on her second Rolling Rock.  It's steamy in here.  My beer is nearly empty.  I'd like to shoot a game of pool, play some darts, read some more Augie.  Got to get home and type at some point.  What else?  The bartender did a commercial in Florida.  What else?  Haggard-looking guy comments on the change in the Blue Jay's uniforms.  I can't resist.  "They look like Mexican softball league uniforms," I butt in.  "Yeah," he says, "they're orange."  "No," I say, "I think they're red--you know--Canada, Maple Leafs, the whole red thing?"  The bartender says, "Yeah."  The haggard guy insists the uniforms are orange.  Shirelle's debating aloud with herself wedding vs. elopement.  If she elopes, she laments, she'll get no wedding gifts.            I say to Shirelle, "I've got to get to the bottom of this page.  What should I write?"  She says, "Oh, I can think of a whole bunch of stuff."  "Go ahead," I say, but she says nothing.  Bitter Minnesota rodeo-boy-turned-stunt-man bitches about cutthroat Hollywood.  I should have told him he was acting like a bitch and to just quit whining about everything.  But I didn't.  Shirelle says he's nothing but a liar.  Bunches of people are coming in inquiring about jobs.  "There was an ad in the paper, one hopeful candidate with a cool scar on his cheek tells me. 

Ugh

3:40 PM M 6-29
I'm at El Coyote.  I ordered a Pacifico.  I'm not particularly eager to drink it.  I've just come from India's Oven.  I had samosas and some naan with minced lamb and some chicken vindaloo and a Flying Horse 22-Oz. beer and a Kingfisher 12 Oz. beer.  Sheryl Powers called the house just as I was leaving to walk up here.  We're going to be teaching three-hour evenings instead of the usual two and half.  I invited her to join me for lunch.  So she met me.  She's gone now, though.  Shirelle stopped in this morning, sobbing, to deliver a card filled with misspelled love platitudes.  I agreed to have lunch with her tomorrow at the Heights Cafe.   Ugh.  I typed for a while this morning, but didn't work on Jim.  Augie has decided to return to the States.  My mom said the Zrbts invited me to a BBQ at their son Richard's house.  Kristy Ann will be there.  I'm tired.  Where will I go Where will I go?  Where will I go from here go from here?  What else?  Bobby Valentine's on TV.  Ugh.  I'm full.  I'm bored.  I'm brain-dead.  I've got a little weed to mix with my tobacco.  Should I walk to Dublin's after this or go home or something else?  I could go for a nap.  Maybe I should lie in a park and sleep in the grass.  What the Fcuk else?  I found two blank pages back in this journal.  I'll have to draw stuff there.  This blister on my finger makes it a little hard to write.  What else?  I could grab some videos on the way home.  [ink sketch of a jowly man wearing round eyeglasses and a tie, hair parted down the middle]  The bartender had to go and feed his meter, he said.  What the hell else?  What else?  A matador fights a bull on the wall.  A woman rolls out masa.  A boy looks up from [a cointreau add showing a bottle drawn in thick dark lines "IT'S NOT A MARGARITA WITHOUT COINTREAU] under his sombrero.  One of those dorks with the short bleached hair and two hoop earrrings--you see them all over now--is cuddling with a pretty redhead who is more proof that women have little sense.  Three coyotes howl over the bar and a brahma and a little burro haul loads of faggots.  I haven't read  a newspaper today. Should I go somewhere and do the crossword?  Almost done here, finally, and still don't know what to do next. 

Sa 4:40 PM 6-27
My hands are shaky.  I've got blisters on my fingers.  I went to the batting cages this morning.  I had him turn it up to ninety.  I popped up any I hit.  I'm at Border's Books and Music now.  I'm going to get a gift certificate for GIP's brother's graduation BBQ.  Thing said he's going to move out.  I haven't had anything to drink yet today.  My sister is supposed to be picking me up to go to a club with some of her girlfriends.  Tink material?  Thea left Augie.  A girl by the window makes freaky faces at her laptop.  A not-very-attractive young woman, I guess you call her, is studying a text book. I'm a cad.    Shirelle has been calling and I've not been answering.  Mac stopped by this morning to use the phone and take some of my weed.  I said, "I guess my Mac vacation is over."
"What?" he asked, hurt.
"I'm just teasing you," I said.
"Where are your golf clubs?"
"Yeah.  There in my truck, motherfucker."
I'm amped up on coffee.  All I've eaten is a bagel.  I started to think about explaining Shirelle.  Maybe I shouldn't try.  We drive each other crazy.  Beer.  Bear.  Should I write a page at the BBQ?  What am I gonna wear tonight?  I'll leave time after the BBQ to write my page before Bern gets here.  Gold-painted cardboard stars hang on strings from the ceiling.  One of the blisters, the one on my right ring finger (Is that the wedding-ring finger?) is a blood blister.  A girl in a summer dress just sat down pressing a sigh out of me.  She looked in my direction, stifled a yawn and scratched her nose like a girl.  I avoided eye contact with her.  Beer.  What else?  An Asian couple sits at the table next to me.  I don't understand what they're saying.  It looks like she wants to go, but he's not ready.  He's leafing through a book while she presses her fingers against her eyes.  The summer dress girl has a book called Reading People and another called Diary.  She's sipping at some chilled blended fruit drink and eating some kind of cookie.  She's pretty.  Petite.  I guess I should get up now and get that certificate and go to the BBQ. I don't want to leave because of the girl.   I wish I had the balls to talk to her, invite her along.  What if I dropped a note on her table that said, "If you weren't here, I would have left a long time ago."?  Her skin's a bit acned.  She just stifled a cough.  I got enough problems on my hands.  I stifled a laugh.  She just got up and left.  She didn't look at me.  A black dude with dirty shoes watched her go.  Then we looked at each other and tacitly commiserated.  Time for me to go, too.

6-26-98 8:47 pm f
At the Pizza Show on Hawthorne Blvd.  I like the place, though the waitress was a little persnickety about me changing the channel from CourtTV to the Angel game, and there are three cops in here.  I wanted to order a pitcher of beer, but I thought the old biddy might make some comment about me having a pitcher of beer all to myself that might attract the attention of the cops.  /  9:12 PM  That old bitch put the check down and vanished when I still got dessert coming to me as part of my combo plate.  She charged me a quarter more for my slice than what it says on the menu.  /  After this I'm going up to the 352 Club on 132nd Street.  The other two waitresses are nice-looking.  What else?  Tired again already.  I napped all afternoon.  One of the pretty girls was looking at me.  I said, "How ya doin'?"
"Fine," she said, "How are you?"  She had an accent.
"Fine, thanks.  Where are you from?" 
"The Czech Republic," she said and picked up my check and money. 
"What brings you to America?"  "What?" She doesn't understand.  "Why did you decide to come to America?" 
She shrugs, turns her pursed lips down.  "To see it." 
"For the adventure?" 
"Everyone wants to see America."
Her name is Micah.  Derb and GIP just walked in.
"Is Cindy still anorexic?" GIP asks. 
"She fasted for forty days," says Derb.  [ink drawing of Derb]  Derb's talking about a dog reading a book and kicking a guy's ass for vengeance.  "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." 
10:50 PM
"I don't see you, so don't pretend to be there."  This new bar we've come to has bumper stickers all over.  The bathroom was wallpapered with Playboy cartoons.  The Czech girl was married.  "Down on Main Street".  I thought Thing and I were going to the Bounty.  He said, "Let me just put on some pants," and went in his room and closed the door about forty minutes ago.  I guess we're not going.  What'll I do instead, then, paint?  They deal to one another from the bottom of the deck of promises.  Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet Band "Fire Inside". 

PBFFFT

6-24-98 8:10 pm W
What should I do?  Bob Segar is singing "Turn the Page".  I love this song.  Thing has just come home.  He's checking his mail.  He hiccups and comes upstairs.  I just puffed a little.  Got to work on Jim.  Thoughts of going out.  "Hi, j," says Thing.
 "What's going on?" I say in my throat.
"Another day, another dollar," he says.  "Shirelle must have been pretty mad at me.  She called me at work."
"Sorry you got to be in the middle of that."  I say.  Then, "I went golfing today."
"Who with?"
"Some kid from the UCSB golf team, supposedly, and an old Korean man."
"Did the kid kick your ass?"
"Naw.  You know, he had his nice bag, and his shirt and towel and everything, but he wasn't that good.  I mean not as bad as me, but the old Korean guy, Lee, of course, kicked the crap out of us either way, even though we had to lend him our putters."

I watched "The Searchers" today--John Wayne in search of Comanche-kidnapped Natalie Wood.  I baked a chicken while I watched it and lay on the couch.  This couch is as dirty as Vegas, but it fits my crooked back pretty good.  It's right under the window.  I cleaned the dishes when I was done and took out the trash.

 Ed was wearing a Kidd Maverick jersey.

"...or could it be because she's a fucking nut driver?"

Got some laundry to iron.  I'm not too bad with irons.  Got some homers to hit.       What about that whole bit in "Searchers" where they have this cute little fight over a bride?     Whatever.  What else?  Kind of want a beer.  I wish I had some dumbbells.  Barbells, actually.  A curl bar, specifically.  What else?  Segar's still on.  I ironed and hung those shirts.      Like a rock standing arrow straight.     Smoked two Drums on the golf course.  She was a conbitch snowjob.     

"How about dumping me off in Hollywood somewhere?"  I said to Thing, who was on his way to some event in the hills.

What about tomorrow?  Type in the morning.  Bacon and eggs for breakfast.  Go to the store and get an onion and some garlic.  A jug of water.  A bottle of vitamins.  Wine maybe.  What if I go to Hawthorne?  Rozelle's to plan canoes at Tim's with me and Gabina.  She mentioned Gay Adrian.  Should I go out to a bar?  Go out for a beer?  I could read Augie.  I could stare at Jim.  What about the fire inside to go outside? 
"What else do you want broken? "  My inner left ear is itching.  I wish there was a cool bar I could walk to with friendly people.  What if there were ants in there?  Isn't the immune system an amazing thing?  Your body produces little creatures that attack little creatures that make you sick.  Where would I go tonight?  I could call the GIP.

"How's Your Tuna?"

Mon June 22 6:25 PM
In class again, night school that is, Adult Ed English as a Second Language.  I'm drunk.  I've just come from El Coyote.  I've just come from El Coyote.  Gay Adrian and I had about six or seven drinks each.  I asked the class to take five minutes to write every English word they could think of.  I'm going to walk around the room now. 
Tue June 23 1:49 PM
Rita Flora.  Got water.  Waiting on coffee.  Guess I'll order the spinach pie.  This is too expensive.  I'm across the street from the place where I want to open a bar.  Got a newspaper.  I already read some of Thing's sports page before he took off with it this morning.  I'm on vacation.  Well, tonight's the last night I have to teach until July sixth.  What will I do in that time?  Camp?  I don't know if that car will make it very far.  The radiator leaks.  Okies could make it.  What else?  Duh.  Duh.  A pretty girl just sat down by herself next to me.  She looked fierce and intelligent when she walked in, but now she fusses with her hair a little.  She looks a little like that "Allie McBeal" chick.  That's probably what she's going for.  What the hell else?  After this I'll go home and put the wheel on the Chrysler and then do that comp book page as embarrassing as it is.  Should I finish the paper before I go?  Should I talk to the fierce, intelligent, fussy, beautiful girl who's sitting by herself next to me?  Couple of guys in muscle shirts walk in.  She scratches her ankle.  I sip my cabernet.  Now this is intriguing, isn't it?  I know I won't talk to her.  Another girl rests her chin on her fist.  She's bored with her boyfriend who has no command.  Another lady holds her finger to her temple.  What could I say to her?  "Hi, how are you?  I couldn't help but notice how fiercely intelligent you look?  What's your name?  How's your tuna?" [Drawing in red ink of a girl, 'not her']
The waitress gave me ten dollars too much change.  I informed her of her error.  As she walked back to the register, she picked up two singles from my table, assuming they were her tip, I guess.  They were, but I don't think she should have assumed until after I had left.  I don't think the girl next to me would have done anything like that.