1-31-99 2:58 PM Su
9:35 PM Listening to Rimsky-Korsakov.  "Sherazade."  It's big. It's beautiful.  It lends my life an air of high drama as opposed to the kind of bullshit drama it really is. I woke up at four in the morning and came to my desk and realized what a really bad writer I am.  Oh, well--what else am I going to do?  Watch more tv?  Watch that "Change of Heart" show? Elmer picked me up about three today.  We drove past the Key Club on Sunset, but there was a line to get in, so we kept driving.  We went to Dina's on Orlando and Blackthorn.  They had Tecate and BBQ ribs and chicken.  The Super Bowl was a real yawner.  We played some nickel poker.  I won it all, a whole three dollars and sixty cents.  We came home.  I watched "The Simpsons" and cleared a three-month pile of junk mail off my desk.  Shirelle came over.  She's not happy.  She went to bed. Geoffrey is getting ornery.  There's not much else to say.  I was reading a journal from August of 'ninety-six.  Worthless gibberish.