Sat. 2:17 PM 11-14-98
Today's my grandmother's birthday.  I have bunch of letters to write today.  I've got #11 Nebraska leading #12 Kansas State on the radio while I switch between #3 UCLA's lead over Washington and Arkansas' lead over #1 Tennessee.  At halftime everything's shaping up for a UCLA ascension to number one, but there's a lot of football left to play.  Man, am I feeling worn out.  I typed fifteen minutes when I got back from Shirelle the fibber's.  Thing loaned me his car to go to the market.  I bought over a hundred dollars worth of stuff and some Golden Bird.  My gut embarrasses me.  My cough persists.      What else?  I have to call Q's.  Send in my ucla shit.  Call people to invite 'em to see "Jeopardy!" with me.  I should finish this book today, but I don't know if I have enough to say.  What else?  I should shoot some baskets today.  What else?  I have a little weed.  Shall I smoke some?  Will it give me enough to write to finish this book?  The clock needs to be wound.  Gip called.  He said, "I just got back from In'N'Out.  Did you guys go fishing?" "Yep," I said. "Yeah, I couldn't get up," he said.  "Yeah, we pretty much decided you're a worthless turd," I said.  "Thanks a lot," he said.  4:40 Now what?  Fucking Tennessee and fucking Kansas State came back and won their games on bullshit calls.  The TV is off now.  I need to get some more exercise today.  I've got the radio on now.  I bought a twenty-pack of Budweiser at the market.  I've got one with me now, but haven't opened it.  What else?  The sun is down now.  Maybe Rawler's band isn't playing til next Saturday.  What else?        I finished this book in exactly one month.  I think there may only have been one day that I didn't write here when I was in Carlsbad at Putrid's.  What else?  Cold air is beginning to come in the window.  What else?  What else?  Still have to do my third-person page, but not until I've written letters to Idaho.  What will I do tonight?  Walk up to La Brea?  Read all night?  Work on pathetic Jim?  Call Kathleen Ford?  What else?  There's nothing to draw around here.  I wish I could go to the batting cages or the driving range.  What else?  I guess I can go sear this fucking wart. What else?  What about tomorrow?  Cereal and waffle, Bible, and BBQ wings, read and write, rent a movie.

ugh

11-13-98 9:00 AM F
It's payday.  Yesterday, Ralph called across the playground, "Hey, Zurn, when we gon get some basketball goin' atchyo house?"  He made like he was shooting an invisible ball.  I said, "How about tomorrow?" forgetting this whole Ralph Steadman thing, and El Coyote, and the margaritas I had planned.  Zannat asked me about it this morning.  I said, "Oh, yeah, I can't .  I forgot about this book-signing I'm going to."  But I guess I actually can do it;  the signing isn't 'til seven tonight, so I guess we could play for an hour or so after school--except for all the oil Carlin's fucking car has left all over the driveway.
Whoa--!?  I just got a wine craving.  I forgot to bring Fear and Loathing with me.  Now I'll have to walk all the way back home before walking all the way up to Beverly--another reason to play basketball--but what about the oil?  Those guys are out of my league anyway.  They're like the Harlem Globetrotters and I'm the New Jersey Generals.  I'm better off drinking--that's what I'm good at.  What else?  Did fifteen minutes before night school last night.  Did a third-person page after night school.  Reheated my fried trout.  10:50  Gabbed a bite with A.V.  Sigh.  Estoy enamorado.  La noche pasada, Shirelle me pregunto si pienso que estamos diferentisimos por cada otro.  Yo dije--a veces.--Que pienso que es verdad por todos relaciones.  Pero mi responsa significo para ella que yo quiero re-evaluar nuestro relacion.  No es que dije, pero si es que yo pensaba.  Atras de todo, en mi mente, es Anna Senorvilla.  Pero yo he hecho esta misma cosa en el pasado, a querer alguien quien conozco, y siempre quiero alquien nueva.  Pero todavia quiero invitar a Anna a El Coyote despues de escuela hoy, pero no tengo los cajones hacerlo cuando Shirelle estara alla.  Ahora quiero invitarla a almorzar al restaurante China, pero ella parece critica, y preocupo que le gustaria la comida alla.  Oh, well.  Mi Espanol es mierda hoy.  I think Demona is going to meet us at El Coyote tonight.  What else?  I started Richard Ford's introduction to The Granta Book of the American Short Story.  He tries to refine O'Conner's definition of the short story, "an organization of words," to include the rigid narrative requirements of 1950's sensibilities combined with experiments in which narrative plot sometimes vanished into tone, mood, or atmosphere as was the hallmark of 1960's writers like Barth and Barthelme.  I only read about half of the intro so far, so maybe that's why I sound like an idiot.  It could likely just be that I'm an idiot.  I have no desire to read the newspaper today.  What else?  It's lunch time!  I'm going to abandon this lost cause to go eat!  Yippee Skippy!  Whatever.  What else?

11-12-98 9:20 PM Th
I have to call Q's and UCLA today.  I have to get birthday cards for my dad and grandmother.  I still have to get my LACAS paperwork.  Shirelle's going to meet me after school, and we're going to return them to Larchmont.  Then I can take care of those errands.  Zannat called about golfing yesterday, but I was out on the lake.  Back to work tonight.  I should finish Independence Day today.  I'll read a few short stories from that Ford-selected Granta collection before I start Into Thin Air.  I've got to start inviting people to the Jeopardy party.  Do I need to make a flyer or mail invitations?  Whatever.  Tomorrow I'm going to El Coyote after school and drink as many margaritas as I can before I walk down the street to where Ralph Steadman will be signing his book, Gonzo, the Art.  Maybe I'll buy his fucking forty-dollar book, or maybe I'll just throw up on him.  I'm not sure yet.  I ate a bagel for breakfast.  Drank my vitamin with coffee.  Maybe I'll skip lunch.  Maybe I'll got to Subway.  I shouldn't even think that.  I'll finish I D  ASAP, so I can get a good look at the newspaper.  It's nice and sunny today.  Perfect blue sky.  What else?

The Secret to a Great Day of Fishing is...

11-12-98 8:07 AM Th
I didn't get a chance to write here yesterday because I went fishing at Lake Piru.  That's how this journal got wet.  I drove out with Rawler and his friend from the intern program, Costanza.  We turned off I-5 at Highway 126, The Korean War Veterans Memorial Highway, quite appropriate for Veteran's Day.  The little town of Piru is like going back in time about fifty years.  Quiet fields of strawberries and radishes give way to the town post office, the market, the bar.  We stopped at Sanchez Liquor. The proprietor seemed to have been old Sanchez himself.  Two boys wanted to rent a movie.  "How can I help you, Salvador?" Sanchez said warmly to one of the boys.  "We want 'Simba's Pride.'"  "Oh, the 'Lion King' movie?"  "Part two," Salvador corrected.  I spotted the refrigerated beer through glass doors at the back of the store and tipped my cap to Sanchez as I walked past.  I got a twelve-pack of Miller Lite cans, and I noticed a few shelves of bait and lures and hooks and the like.  I grabbed a jar of yellow garlic marshmallows and took it all up to the counter.  "'ll that be all?" Sanchez seemed like the nicest guy in the world.  "You guys sell fishin' licenses?"  "'fraid not."  "How 'bout up at the lake?"  "Yes.  You can get them there."  "How's the fishin' been?"  "Pretty good.  They just stocked it a couple weeks ago."  He gave me my change.  "Thanks."  We drove up the windy road to the lake.  At first the lake was unimpressive; a puddle in the hills formed by dammed spring water under a dead sky.  We rented a boat and got a tip from the old guy there to trawl with a Super Duper lure #502.  After a half hour or so of the requisite tangles, we got to trawling in earnest, and Costanza, who said he hadn't been fishing in twenty years, hooked up with a good-sized rainbow.  We trawled back into a canyon from there.  I pissed beer off the port gunnel, and Rawler hooked up.  I pissed off the starboard, and he hooked up again.  Every time I pissed, someone caught a fish.  I was getting pissed, though, because I wasn't catching any fish.  I was going to have to piss and hold my rod at the same time.  Then I caught the next four fish.  It had started to rain, but that made it more of an adventure.  We fished right through a two-hour shower and into what you could only call a glorious, multi-hued sunset in majestic clouds, a crown of rays shining up through it all.  We went back to the dock and got another twelve-pack and kept fishing 'til sundown.  It was pretty cold by the time we brought the boat in.  I kept two of my trout and let the rest go.  I cleaned them at home, and Shirelle fried them in corn meal.  It was a great day.

11-10-98 Tu 8:18 AM
So now what?  I'm going to have to put Caylika under the "sad face" because she was waiting up by the classrooms though I've repeatedly told her she needs to wait on the playground with the other students.  My nose is sore.  The kids are proofreading sentences.  I called some numbers for Myshay.  I finally got someone who said there was a death in the family.  They had to fly out of town.  It sounded unconvincing, and then she repeated it as if trying to firm up the lie.  I don't know why it sounded like a lie; I can't imagine what they would be trying to cover up.  I had cereal for breakfast.  I'm already thinking about lunch.  Ricky and Daniel are sitting at a satellite table apart from everyone else.  It looked like they were straining to see the board.  I said, "Why don't you guys move to one of the big tables with the other kids.  Maybe you can see better."  They declined.  I said, "I don't blame you.  Those other kids smell funny, huh?"  They nodded, crinkling their noses.  They're the two kids that come to me from Mrs.  Holzt's disability class.  Ricky has a bullet in his brain, and Daniel was born with no left ear.  They're two of the smartest kids in the class.  I pretty much let them sit where they want.      We have a staff meeting after school today.  It will probably be a long one.  I have half a mind to go out and do something like spend money on alcohol tonight since there's no school tomorrow, but I better just go to work, stay home, watch "The Boys from Brazil," and write into the wee hours of the morning.     The kids argue over who finishes an assignment first.  One will finish and announce, "First," and two more will say, "Second."  "No, I was second."  "No, I was," while another kids says, "Third,"  "No, you're not.  He's third."  "No, I'm second.  You're third."  "Fourth."
What else?  I could go for some Roscoe's.  Having a So. Pas. Gus's flashback.  Jack Jack Jack in the Box.  Feel like a beer.  Thirteen minutes to recess.  I have to call Q's.  Enroll in that UCLA lit conference.  Someone from the library is coming to visit my class today. What would I get at Jack in the Box?  My lips are a little chapped.  What can I get that's healthy?  Where can I go?  What else?  We're going to see a video called "The Prairie Chicken" today to support out study of the Great Plains.  What else?  Maybe I'll get a chicken sandwich.  I better not have no Ultimate Cheeseburger.  Uh-oh.  My heart stopped...   ...   ...   ...   ...   There it goes.  What else?  I'm a cholesterol junkie.  Shirelle says she's going to put me on a Slim Fast diet.  There's that deaf kid across the way again who doesn't realized he isn't knocking on the door loudly enough.

Whoreo and Other Tragedies

11-8-98 9:06 pm Su
I'm at Shirelle's.  I walked up here.  The sky was bright and the clouds silver on a moonless night.  A whale cloud floated over Hollywood illuminated by a Klieg light.  We're lying in bed watching the previews before the video "Homegrown."  One's for a video called "Whatever."  I thought I owned that phrase.  I did my 3pp and my 15 min but prolly won't get to work on Jim unless I edit what manuscript I've got here.  What else?  Whatever.  Shirelle made spaghetti for dinner.  We watched "The Simpsons."  I took a shower.  I read seven more trippy chapters of Ezekiel.  More of god's wrath prophesied against the idolaters of Jerusalem.  I hope I can read some Independence Day before sleepy time.  What else?  It might have been light enough on La Brea to read as I walked, but I thought I might get some ideas or clear my head--cross-purposes explaining why neither occurred other than a few fantasies about living in one or two of the houses for sale that I passed.
11-9-98 8:59 AM Mon
It's windy this morning.  The kids are sharpening their pencils so they can write in their journals about their weekends.  Shirelle took a video from her father called "Whoreo."  We watched a little of it.  I ate cereal for breakfast.  Drank some coffee while Frank Bascombe hit on the Deerslayer Inn's chef.  I only have fourteen students today.  And already it's time for a what else?.  I've got to e-mail Sheryl today.  Call Alaska Airlines.  Write to my uncle and his wife.  Pick up my Adult Ed paperwork.  Call Rawler.  The Packers and Steelers are on Monday Night Football.  It's the first Monday night game I've been interested in all season.  Too bad I'll be at work.  I wasn't at home this morning to do my 15 minutes.  This is the three-year anniversary of my daily writing start, when I read Julia Cameron's Artist's Way and finally dedicated myself every day.  I bought my computer the same month and was on the road to Cabo.  Maybe I can say I've only been writing three years.  When I look at it this way, I don't feel so bad that I write like a three-year-old.  Whatever.  Hope I can add a few more lines to Jim tonight.  May as well have Aaron wake up.  Ugh.  I felt this urgency to get it going.  I'll send in the paperwork for that UCLA conference today.  Payday is Friday.  By this time next month, I should know how much the IRS will take from my "Jeopardy!" winnings.  Shrill put too much sugar in my coffee.  What else?  I'm not going to read the newspaper today.  I wish I had the nuts to be a real writer, a real sleep-in-the-park poet.  A real shot-at novelist.  A real shoot-up tripper.  Recognized genius-about-town.  Shit.  Maybe next year.  I'll have more time next year.  Got to figure out a way to save more money.  What else?  Should I stop here or go one more page?

"Mr. Zurn," Yadira says, "Jessica said she had another brother and sister, but they died when they was babies."  "Oh, that's so sad," I say. "That happens sometimes."  I figured they were stillborn tragedies of an undernourished, Central American, war-torn pregnancy but Yadira says, "One of dem die because she eat pins."   Yadira wiggles her fingers on her chest.  Jessica nods.  "Oh, that's terrible," I say.  It is.  What else can I say?  "Do oder juan die because she was playin wit scissors.  She thing they are a toy, but she cut herself here."  Yadira stabbed herself in the heart with imaginary scissors.  Now my mind turns to a more gruesome explanation, poverty-induced infanticide.  "Mr. Zurn, can we use the computer?"  "Yeah, go ahead."
[ink sketches of children's heads]