12-16-98 11:25 AM W
Is it really only Wednesday?  I bailed on fishing this morning.  I don't feel like writing.  I don't feel like reading.  I feel like being with you being with you being with you.  1:57 PM  Aurora is reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  She's got a little spaghetti-strap backless tank top on right now.  It hardly covers her melons.  Ouch.  "You think sucking my boy up into your fudge room is some great big joke!" reads Aurora.  I start thinking she ought to suck my boy up into her fudge room  She said her boyfriend might be coming.  He's on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" she said.  I wish I could go out to PE and hang with A.V., but I guess it's just as well...I have to call those diamond dealers when I get home.  Fuck.  Do the Bahamas thing.  Type that stuff for Gibson.  Tomorrow I'll have to walk to Blockbuster and the post office.  I'm hungry.  What else?  What should I give for homework tonight?  My cock's quivering.  What else?  Ugh.  I need a beer.  I have got to walk to Pio Pico tonight.  Catch up with the Mohicans.  What else?  Ugh!  What the hell else?  In that song "Up on the Housetop," Little Will's stocking has a hammer and tacks and a whip that cracks.  What the F is up with that?  Looks like I won't get my AV fix today.  Oh, it's not "Buffy the Vampire Slayer."  It's "Sabrina, the Teenage Witch."

Tu 12-15-98 4:52 PM
I'm watching "Surviving Picasso."  It' s like "Henry and June," and "Vincent and Theo" and "Il Postino."  They seem like the same movie.  I could go for a puff.  I wonder why Candoll and--who else was it?--so recommended this movie  Women getting off on a glimpse of greatness?  Can a woman be great?  Great like Picasso?  Like Washington?  Like Babe Ruth?  How do you measure a woman's greatness?  The same as a man's?  Joan of Arc?  Eleanor Roosevelt?  Marie Curie?  Babe Didriksen?  Earheart?  They're all over-shadowed by greater men in their fields.  Is sex the measure of a woman's greatness?  --The writer's though--Morrison is great.  I think Proulx is great.  Flo-Jo?
"I shall always be first and the most important with him."     Right, like two women actually fought over him in the studio while he was painting Guernica.  What else?  "Nothing but drink and girls like his father."  Beethoven.  Mozart.  Are there any female counterparts?  Eve.  Now there was an ass-kicker.  Sheba.  Cleopatra.  Elizabeth.  Here's Shirelle now.  9:45 PM  I'm at Pio Pico.  Sheryl is showing videos to her class.  I'm waiting to hitch a ride home with her.  I fast forwarded through "Picasso."  So apparently he was a real bastard who destroyed women who loved him, but never had any problem attracting new ones.  Was it a condemnation of him or the women or both or neither?  Lots of women just want to feed off of a man's greatness.  It gives me ideas.  If caigo en amor con mas que una mujer, por ejemplo, sabemos quien, debo hacer que quiero hacer, sin culpa.  Tal vez preguntare a Senoravilla para su direccion en Delaware, para que puedo mandar un a carta a ella para la Navidad.  Whatever.  You look at the news these days--the only way women are generatin' any fame is through scandal--Lewinsky, Tripp, Jones.  Motherhood.  Maybe that's greatness.  Whatever. 

Mon 12-14-98 9:30 AM
The class is writing in their journals.  I asked Olga to remove us from the Christmas program.  Now I feel bad about it.  Miss Senorvilla suggested we do it together, sing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" that is.  "You mean the big, fat man with the long white beard?"  I brought a bag of carrot sticks to school with me.  I have to call the drug store to renew my prescription.  I have to call the doctor to get a check up.  I have to call the travel agent about the Bahamas trip.  Should we do the song with Ann's class?  I'd have to tell Olga.  I'll go see if Ann wants to practice.  We would have to figure out which version to do.  What else?  I only looked at Jim for a few minutes.  Something was bumming on me.  I don't know what for sure.  Ugh.  I have to write a critique for Coydogs.  Have to go to LACAS after school.  Didn't get out of bed early enough to do my fifteen minutes this morning.  A fucking helicopter circled the house for about twenty minutes last night.  The dogs barked for another hour after that.  I was awake until about three AM.  Thanks to the good old LAPD.  I started thinking the fuzz was buzzing me.  The FBI saw me on "Jeopardy," reopened their files, intercepted drug-related e-mails, decided to give me a little midnight wake-up call.  What else?  My boss wants to see the "Jeopardy" tapes.  What else?  These carrots aren't exactly hitting the spot.  I ate a lot of pizza and other artery-thickening shit this weekend.  I ought to go vegetarian the rest of the week.  Got nearly no exercise yesterday.  12:00 noon.  We tried to rehearse for the Christmas show.  I don't think it's going so well.  Miss Mahoney invited me to her class for some reason.  She is so hot, I don't even think about her.  She's impressed by "Jeopardy," though.  I went in and stammered like an idiot about whatever.  She wanted to know about teaching night school.  Wants me to drop off a resume for her.  Whatever.  I said I would help her.  I felt like my words were hollow.  What else?  We're going to practice again after lunch.  Maybe I'll wait until tomorrow to stop by LACAS.  What else?  I wish I was on page two hundred fifty of Jim and not just fifty.

12-13-98 Su 5:08 PM
My house.  Shirelle's pouting on the LA-Z-BOY.  Thing's doing a load of wash.  Shirelle and I have just come back from Blockbuster Music where I finally got "Mele Kelikimaka" and now have exactly one day to practice for the Christmas show.  Ugh.  Then we went to Blockbuster Video.  I wanted to rent "Surviving Picasso," but they didn't have it.  I got "The Drowning Pool" with Paul Newman.  Then we drove to the Larchmont Blockbuster and got "Surviving Picasso."  It smells like lighter fluid around here.  One of my neighbors must be barbecuing.  What else can I write?  I had trouble typing fifteen minutes.  After this I have to trip on seven chapters of Ezekiel.  What else?  That's the refrain.  This place is its usual mess.  I have to treadmill.  I'm writing all the same boring things I already typed.  What should we do about dinner?  Steve Martin said he only writes when he wants to, said you shouldn't when you don't feel like it.  I subscribe to the "grind it out" school of thought:  write even when you don't have shit.  What about Coydogs?  I don't know what to say about it.  Make more of the earthquake.  Add minor connective tissue.  Shirelle seems to have fallen asleep.  She wants too much.  She does way more fantasizing than thinking.  Schemes more than plans.  Whatever.  How am I ever going to get to the bottom of the next page?  Carlin is listening to Christmas music downstairs while she cleans up after her dinner party.  Thumpity thump thump Look at Frosty go!  I've got to do a load of wash.  What else?  Shirelle says she's leaving.  Not much I can do about it.  She's gone.  Whatever.  What else?  I have to leave for Idaho in ten days.  There's a Frank Sinatra documentary.  I've seen it.  I changed the channel.  "White Christmas" is on.  I could almost go for more pizza, but I probably ought to just have some cereal and a banana.  I changed the channel.  Now we got some Dirty Harry.  "Magnum Force."  What else?  I should call Mariachi.  What else?  [Z High Performance  High Output] I'm pretty horned out today.  What else?  Harry, I'm just wondering why you've never made a pass at me.

12-11-98 3:54 PM F
Ugh.  I just watched a tape of my stupid ass on "Jeopardy."  Everyone says I make funny faces except for the old ladies who tell me how good looking I am.  I could totally kick myself again for not saying Oprah.  After I won the first game I prayed to God to let win whoever needed the money most. Maybe that's why I blocked it.  Whatever.  I'm going to shoot some baskets after this.  Then I'd like to get on my treadmill for half an hour while I read Last of the Mohicans.  Then I'll shower and smoke the rest of my --I can't think of the word-- oh, yeah : shake and write my third-person page.  Then I'll make a drink and read some Coydogs.  Then I'll give a little something to Jim.  Then I'll head out to that party.  Tomorrow I think we're going to Redondo with Tim and Susanna.  I'll have to take it easy on the booze so I can read the Bible early.  I was busy profaning the Good Book in party conversation the other night.  Seems like maybe all Hell is breaking loose.  The vicious Republican majority on the House Judiciary Comedy had brought impeachment charges against the president.  It makes me sick.  The biggest lie of all is to deny the fallibility of man, to not forgive the trespasses of others.  I need to get busy on Jim.  What else?  Thing's truck is going to impede my plans of basketball.  They may be back soon enough for me to play.  Demona just called to talk about diamonds.  That also makes me sick.  Like the thirty-thousand-a-year settlement my mom's cousin got from her now-ex-husband after walking out on him.  Bullshit.  I'm setting myself up for the same.  What else?  The sun's just about down already.  The shortest day of the year is nearly here.  How can I move Thing's truck?  I've been feeling lately that I won't live a very long life.  I feel like the seeds of cancer are in my lungs and liver already.  I'm such an idiot.  What else?  Whatever.  Maybe I'll be able to think [black ink drawing of a playing card a seven of clubs, with dice showing seven in the upper right hand corner, unfinished and scribbled out]  more clearly once I get some exercise.  I've been playing a lot of ball with the kids.  Ms.  Steindinner said she wanted to "hear" the Jeopardy tapes.  I'm not so sure that's such a good idea.  Whatever.  Whatever.  So I watched the tapes again.  It's a trip to watch yourself.  I keep trying to zero in on some expression which shows the truth of my soul, if you can believe such nonsense.    Brain freeze.  Shit.  Melekelikimaka