11-29-98 Su 12:58 PM
We're going downtown, east on Olympic.  Talking about Spain last night.  That's the fourth-funniest thing I've heard today.  I tell 'em I have ESP.  It looked like a dangerous neighborhood.  I can still drink pretty good sometimes.  Look at these hoods.  We can't find an ATM.  The air is poison.  There's some large-scale police coordination going on today.
11-30-98 M 9:45 am
The kids are reading from their journals.  We have conferences this week.  School ends at 12:30 today.  I'm expecting three or four parents this afternoon.  I should be done by about 1:15.  I'm going to have to go by LACAS to drop off last week's attendance and pick up this week's.  The sky is perfectly blue today, but I heard it's going to rain.  What else?  I read more Ezekiel today.  He prophesied the desolation of Egypt.  I didn't quite understand.  God had destroyed Israel because His people were not following His laws, but the Egyptians didn't have any covenant with God, so I didn't understand why they were getting screwed, but what else is new?  Also he elevated Nebuchadnezzar and the Assyrians, but they weren't practicing Hebrew law.  Whatever.  What else?  I have so many leftovers at home.  I'm going to have to skip lunch and not eat until I get home.  I have to make a flyer for Jeopardy at Q's next week. What else?  I'll be glad when I finish Into the Wild.  I promised Sean I would read his novel.  So I better read Julia's, too.  I want to read Last of the Mohicans next, too.  Man, what else?  There's so nothing to say.  Too bad I left my sack at Shirelle's.  I'll not get another puff of that.  What else?  Crap, we have to do the holiday bulletin boards.  I need to get butcher paper.  What else?  We need to write what our holiday wishes are.  What else?  There's nothing to say.  Walking around school, everyone asks how was your Thanksgiving, and our answers to each other sound like Charlie Brown grown-ups:  short, meaningless muted-trumpet snorts.  Wonk wa wonk wa wonk wonk wa.  What else?  The kids are dull and sluggish.  They came to school enthusiastic about their weekends, but now that I'm trying to teach them about thousands, their brains have reverted to post-turkey, sit-on-the-couch, mental vacuity.  I'm so-not getting through.  What else?  I'm ready to get home and fix up some grub.  Man, this has been hard today.  What else is there to say?  My third-person page is supposed to be about a body part that talks.  What part?

Some Souls

11-27-98 F 8:30 AM
I'm at Shirelle's.  She's crying because I want to go home and write.  She had a chance to make some money today working for her father, but she called him and said she was sick.  Now she's acting like we should spend the day walking around at the beach or something.  Whatever.  I didn't write here yesterday.  We went to Shrielle's friends', Kim's and Clifton's house, the people she babysits for, and had a couple of beers.  Whatever.  Shirelle took it upon herself to tell my family we were getting married, which silently enraged me, seeing as I haven't asked her.  Whatever.  I got to see Carlos and Christie's new baby.  He's colicky.  Seems like some souls are dragged into this world against their will.  Vanessa is happy as could be.  She's learning to talk and playful and affectionate.  Mac barely showed up in time to eat; in fact, he missed the blessing of the meal.  What else?  Today I've got to make some phone calls.  Write some letters.  Maybe I'll go to the movies.  I guess I'll walk home from here, stop and read the paper somewhere.  What else?  Shirelle is watching "Good Will Hunting" for the umpteenth time.  She has a complete set of "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" figurines on her desk.  Lots of pictures of people in water.  Me in Lake Havasu, her in a pool at a Vegas resort, Christina and April in an apartment pool, a chorus line of "Baywatch"-extra bimbos in bikinis, toes in the surf at Santa Monica.  A postcard is taped to the wall of one of the new VWs with an "I Voted" sticker stuck to it that she took off one of my ties; she didn't vote.  Next to that is a picture I took of a covered bridge in Oregon that she took from me after she fell in love with that dumb-ass "Bridges of Madison County" movie.  Whatever.  I read some more Into the Wild this morning.  Yada yada yada.  I should go to the cages, the range, and shoot some hoops today.  Maybe see "Antz."  What else?  I need to read Julia's, Sean's, and Smitty's work if I have any integrity.  Call Ford.  Ugh!  What else?    What else?      "Trust is the most important thing in a relationship."  I'm getting hungry.  Sneezy, Grumpy, Dopey, Sleepy, Snow White, Happy, Bashful, Doc.  What else?  She's got a Chevy ad of some half-naked cowboy pouring water over his musculature.  A watercolor by John Bayless, the Colorado cult figure.  Whistle while you work.  Fuck a duck, Chuck.

11-25-98 W 5:49 PM
I'm a bad boy.  I no longer have any integrity.  I'm supposed to be at work, but I cancelled class.  I just ate a chicken thigh and two tortillas with butter.  I walked to school.  We had meetings all day.  No children.  I knocked back a glass of merlot before I went.  Newspaper sat stacked outside the office door.  I was about to grab one when Principal Stein said hello.  I said hello.  She was going to be leading our meeting in a few minutes.  I thought I better not let her think I was more interested in the paper than in her.  I told her I was bummed I missed Leadership Council, said I wanted to hear more about Action Learning.  She said they didn't talk about it.  Whatever.  She showed a video.  It was boring as hell.  We had to get into groups and record what was positive about the lessons we saw taught in the video.  Whatever.  Whatever.  Lunch at Hot Wings.  Sat next to the Village Chief's daughter.

A Holy Giant with Radar and Half a Haircut

11-24-98 Tu 12:50 PM
Let's see.   What then?  I'm at school.  The kids have been watching "The Jungle Book."  The social committee put out turkey fixin's for lunch.  I've been working on report cards.  The kids aren't coming to school tomorrow.  I don't have to be here until 8:30.  Too bad I have to work tonight.  We're going out to play some basketball after this.  I worked on Jim last night.  I handwrote a paragraph.  I have to type it tonight.  Some of it is awkward.  Natch.  I'm going to begin Into the Wild today.  Q's is supposed to call today.  I told Shirelle I'd cook her some lambchops tonight.  I need to get some cinnamon and apple sauce.  I wish I didn't have to work.  Now the kids are cleaning their desks, getting their work folders ready for parent conferences.  What else?  I typed for fifteen minutes before walking to work this morning.  I had a cup of coffee and a bagel for breakfast.  The newspaper looked pretty boring except Susan McDougal was acquitted.  I have to get a little gift for my step-nephew, Nicolas. Maybe I can go out after work tonight.  I have to do my third-person page when I get home.  7:25 Night School.  I did a page about grandparents.  Watched "Whoreo."  I'm giving that thing back to Shirelle tonight.  Made a peanut butter and jelly.  Ok'd with Q's.  It's all set.  Began reading Into the Wild.  Sounds like Candless was an idiot.  Without a candle to see by.  Or the sane one in a world of idiots.  I feel no respect for him at this point, though it's early in the account.  I walked up to LACAS reading.  Got my paperwork.  Walked along the kiddie-filled sidewalks, past Queen Ann's Park, reading, onto dirty ol' Pico, reading, a holy giant with radar.  A woman on the street bummed sixteen cents from me, complaining about the ferocity of her asthma attacks last week.  "They're killing us all.  Aerosol is more important than asthmatics," I told her.  I crossed the street to a Oaxacan barber shop.  There were two barbers and three customers, plus me.  I sat down to wait.  I had fifty minutes.  I kept reading about this McCandless idiot.  The TV was in Spanish.  One barber finished and walked out the store.  The other guy was taking a hell of a long time with the guy's hair he was cutting.  I wondered if they had some anti-gringo sentiment.  The guy who had left came back with a Snapple.  I stood up, and he indicated that the other barber would cut my hair.  I waited until finally my turn came.  I was wondering how to ask for a trim in Spanish when the barber asked, "How would you like your haircut, sir?" in English.  "Just a regular cut," I said.  "Una corte regular?" I said with inflection asking if I'd said it correctly, "como una pulgada?"  "One inch," he said.  I said, "Yes."  While he was cutting my hair, the two barbers talked to each other in Spanish.  I was reading, not paying much attention, until I heard the word, "pistola."  I listened.  They had just been robbed by two men with guns that afternoon.  Soon two cops showed up.  They interviewed the barbers in English and the barbers answered in English.  $590 was stolen.  Seven customers were robbed, too.  My barber stopped cutting my hair to answer the questions.  A third cop came to dust for prints.  I needed to leave, but I only had half a haircut.  Finally, the guy finished cutting my hair.  I walked to work.  It was dark by then.

11-23-98 M 11:55 AM
Papa Rico's.  Waiting on a turkey sandwich and coffee.  What else?  [Switch to new pen]  I'll call Q's when I get home.  Do my third person.  What else?  Read some Dalai Lama.  Could that be why I'm feeling so passive about my writing?  Could that be where these intense feelings of aggression come from?  No.  Just trying to think of something to say.  I'll have to do some redecorating before parent conferences.  I have to walk to LACAS and get my attendance.  Should I take Wednesday night off?  Tuesday?  Leslie, the speech therapist, came by just now to pick up Shawn.  Shawn sounds like a cross between Mickey Mouse and Elmer Fudd.  Carlos pulled me aside the other day and said something sly about Leslie liking me.  I mostly discounted it.  It made me feel bad, though, when I saw her just now.  What else?  There's the Village Chief's Daughter.  Thrill.  Whatever.  Got some variable cloudiness.  Got to get back to work on Jim.  Lower your standards and keep going.  Got to get the skeleton before I can put any flesh on the bones.  The guys keep coming by with high-fives for basketball on Friday.  What else?  A puff when I get home?  "Whoreo"?  Special friends?  How can I widen my guitar repertoire?  What on Earth else?

11-22-98 Su 8:32 PM

"...the gray twilight that knows not victory or defeat."

Shirelle and I saw "Everest" today at the Imax theater in Exposition Park.  It was okay, but it lacked  the suspense and and drama of Krakauer's account.  Possibly out of respect for the dead, they glossed over the disaster of that season.  Little was made of the deleterious affects of high altitude.The photography was excellent.  Whatever.  I read the paper today.  I read more on Ezekiel's whoredoms.  Typed for fifteen minutes.  Now what?  This.  Shall I have a puff?  Will that stimulate any brainwaves?  I'm listening to KUSC.  I made quesadillas and chili for Shirelle and me for lunch.  Watched "The Simpsons."  Homer raised a lobster.  Lisa cheated.  I still haven't made any arrangements for a party to watch "Jeopardy."  My fingertips hurt where the nails ripped from opening all those beer cans last night.  What else?  Haven't had any dinner.  Maybe I have tuberculosis.  Maybe I should try to find a picture to draw.  I haven't read any of "A Policy of Kindness" since Thursday.  We get a short week this week.  I can't believe Thanksgiving is already almost here again.  I talked to Josh on the phone this morning.  I have to do report cards this week.  Send home conference notices.  Call Q's.  Got no exercise today. What else?  Don't stop.  Will I do a third-person page?  I didn't yesterday.  I was thinking how mediocre I am.  Whoreo.  Sheez.  What else?  I need to sort my photos.  Should I eat tonight or just go to bed?  I've got to at least finish this; get to the bottom of the page.  I'm totally empty.  Empty.  You can hear the knife scraping the bottom of the jelly jar.  Can't believe it's back to work again tomorrow already.  I don't even write as well as a semi-bright teen.  I guess when you avoid the main issues in your life, it leaves you with nothing. [pencil sketch of Self-Puppet/Portrait with Girlfriend--Half a heart, no stomach, no balls, no legs}

11-21-98 Sa 6:39 PM
"Live from the capital of Liberia..."  I'm in Monrovia with the GIP, Phil, Robbie, and Rawler.  Ol' Peculier is playing in the old Route 66 Hotel.  I called Gip at eight this morning and pitched a plan:  Let's go out to the Rose Bowl for SC/UCLA tailgate festivities.  Rawler lives right by the Rose Bowl.  It seemed like a good idea since we were going that way anyhow.  I told Gip I would buy him breakfast, and we could go into Old Town Pasadena and watch the game on TV in the 35er or Q's and hit on some co-eds after the game before coming here to Monrovia.  But fucking Gip showed up an hour and a half later than we should have left.  We got stuck in game traffic.  Gip was getting mulish on me.  He wouldn't listen to me as to the most desirous route to take, even though I lived in Pasadena a year.  All around us buses full of drunken sorority sgirls quirming on the laps of frat boys sloshed beer and ass out the windows.  We waited a surreally long time to get off at Lincoln.  We tried to go up Hammond but were stymied by a rent-a-bitch in a uniform.  We found our way up the very next street, however, thereby rendering her existence even more inane.  I bought eighteen beers and a pizza.  It was too late to get to the stadium, though, so we settled on the couch at Rawler's.  After about one play, Rawler said we had to go to his mom's--What the fu--?  I told him and Gip I would report them to the House Unamerican Activities Committee.  I called them both soccer fans.  No one offered to chip in for the beers or pizza.  Gip and I got wrangled into being roadies, and moved amps and equipment instead of watching the game.  Then we had to leave before the game was over.  It didn't matter, I later learned.  It wasn't much of a game.  UCLA blew out USC.  Then there was some weird shit where we drove to a liquor store, but no one got out of the car.  I had already paid for pizza and beer.  I felt like Jim Crack.  No one did anything, and we left.