Everyday Hollywood Nobodies

7-7-98 Tu 10:15 PM
I'm at Shirelle's West Hollywood apartment.  She just brought a bong down.  "Do you want a smoke?" she asks.  "Maybe just a little," I say.  "Nate called me today," she says.  "Oh, yeah?  Wha'd he have to say?" I ask, but I don't listen to the answer.  It's hot in here.  Shirelle made breaded, seasoned pork chops with stuffing and corn and cranberries.  She gave me a beer, too.  I opened a window.  The show "NYPD Blue" is on right now.  I want to take off my shirt, but I don't want to frighten and disgust Shirelle's roommate, Christina.  Shirelle's smoking a cigarette.  Smoking a cigarette seems so ignorant and stupid.  What else?  I watched "Dial M for Murder".  It was okay.  A little hard to follow at first.  The performances were irritatingly melodramatic.  The American League won the All-Star Game.  You can hear music in the building next door.  Cars driving by.  What else?  The characters in Bukowski's Hollywood are thinly-disguised Hollywood luminaries.  But he writes the usual caveat that any similarity is a coincidence.  It's a wonder no one sued him.  I played basketball for a half hour today.  I'm getting better.  We ate KFC today.  I did my fifteen minutes and my page.  Read the newspaper.  Did the crossword.  Taught my class.  That's about it.  More of the same tomorrow, I guess.  Tonight we're going to watch "The Last Tango in Paris," as long as I don't fall asleep in the middle of it.  What else?  Shirelle's got eight candles lit in here.  What else?  What else?  How can there be so little to say?  What the flying motherf*ck else??!!  Three sunflowers stretch from a van on a glass coffee table.