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.
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.
Labels: edgy, gritty, Hollywood, Los Angeles Literary
posted by johnz at 6:14 PM
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