11:14 AM 5-12-99 W
I was trying to get advance tickets for the new "Star Wars" movie, "Episode One:  The Phantom Menace," but I only want to see it at Grauman's Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, which will be the epicenter of "Star Wars" hype, but they didn't list that theater on Moviefone's 777-FILM line, so now I don't know how to go about it. Lunch is in about fifteen minutes.  I'll go for a croissant.  I have to ask Steinbauer about the bulletin. I skimmed through the paper today.  I'll knock off twenty-five pages of Nin today.  I already forgot what I'm supposed to do for a third-person page.  I've got to do some more on Jim and his GPA and outlook for the future and then get them to K-Mart. More NBA playoffs tonight.  I have to go teach night school.  Night school has put a serious crimp on my drinking.  Ugh.  My writing is so mundane. I have no inner life.  I have no circle of friends.  There is no climate like inter-war Paris for me. What if I quit my night job?  Yeah, right.  Shirelle pitched a bitch fit this morning.  She feels persecuted about something. She -- whatever.  Whatever.  Whatever. Whatever. Too bad I give up so easily.  I really don't have any of the qualities for this.  Who cares?  What else?   11:43 AM  I'm at Lee's Donuts now.  No one's here but the proprietress and me. It's always so busy when I come in the morning. Someone's having trouble with a Rolls Royce out on La Brea.  I saw Lauren on the way here.  She said, "Hi."  Maybe I'll go to Blockbuster.  I was thinking of renting "Kundun" and "The Last Temptation of Christ."  ~~~~~~~~ I feel like destroying myself.  Drinking and drugs.  Slam beers at Papa Rico's, roll up a smoke with what's in my backpack.  There's a poodle in the Rolls Royce.  A butch lady cop is helping push the car to the side of the road.  The driver has long braided hair. He is of African descent.  What else?  Maybe I'll just sit here and read Nin until lunch is over in a half hour.