9-14-99 Tu 1:50 PM
Ashyadee is reading "The Emperor's New Clothes" to the class. The class is not really listening.  No they are, though, because the just heard that "stupid people" cannot see the tailor's clothes.  I ate a Fi-Bar and some celery and peanut butter after I finished typing this morning. I drank some apple juice and coffee, took my vitamin, and rode up to school.  I stopped by the newspaper stand by the donut shop on Olympic and La Brea. Someone had left an LA Times on top of one of the stands. So, I got La Opinion for a quarter and saved ten cents.  A gang of kids followed me as I walked across the playground with my bike. "I didn't know teachers could ride bikes," said one little girl.  I wanted to read some of the paper before class, but Antwon was here buggin'.  "Why don't you go bug your new teacher?" I said.  "She's mean," he said.  "Well, so AM I!" I roared, and he ran out of the class.  The bell rang before I'd read much, and I went out to get the kids.  Ms. V.S. looked especially lovely this morning.  When we got to class, we spelled "Tuesday" and discussed tropical islands.  I showed pictures of Dominica, Haiti, Java, the Caymans, and Trinidad and Tobago.  We discussed what makes them tropical, and we talked about the equator and the Earth's tilt as it revolves around the sun.  After that, we did some phonics.  Paco Vireya has some sort of processing deficit.  My assistant, Toya, brought me some mail from the Salary Allocation Unit.  I've gone up a step on the pay scale.  It says I've been placed on schedule 23T whatever that means.  Maybe someone at the staff meeting will know, or I can ask Phylicia.  I had to Xerox some math worksheets at recess.  We studied the properties of addition and checked the homework.  I made Jaleeza cry when I gave her the homeless speech in stern tones for note doing her homework.  Florelle said she may work at LACAS.  We're going to the office after school today so I can introduce her to Claudine, the principal.  Scully said she liked my tie, green on green.  I went to Taco Bell at lunch.  Spent $4.19 on a burrito, taco, and iced tea.  Finished the sports page.  Since then, we've been reading, but now we've got to go over our social studies.  That's all for now. 

3:13 PM M 9-13-99
I'm at class again.  A couple of my students from a couple years ago, Dijonia and Jovanna, are in here rummaging around.  It's a breezy day.  I read the newspapers, La Opinion and The Times.  I went to Tam's Chinese Garden at lunch and had a plate of kung pao shrimp.  There's not really anything to eat at the house. I gave the kids journals to write in this morning.  Jaimee told me about a dream she had with a tiger trapped in a park.  Jaleeza has just returned from Louisiana where she says she hunted bears with her uncle and shot one and ate it.  Then we did some phonics and went to recess.  Whatever.  When I'm done here, I'll sign out, ride my bike home, and do a third-person page.  Then I've got to go LA High and pick up my roster and ride to Pio Pico.  When I get home tonight, I'll have to sit in front of Jim for an hour or two.  There's a staff meeting after school tomorrow.  Thursday, I meet with Holzt to talk about mainstreaming one of her amputees into my class.  Friday there's a meeting of the safety team during lunch.  Friday is payday.  Saturday is Steve's sister's wedding.  That night is the De La Hoya/Trinidad fight.  I'll watch it either at Pablo's in Pasadena or Carlos' on Mullen. We have a game Sunday.  In yesterday's game, I grounded to first, then to third, hit a soft liner to right for a base hit and scored from first, popped up to first, and struck out with the winning run on third in the ninth.  Ouch.  We lost six to five.  What else?  I should draw on the next page.  [black ink sketch of three girls in their school uniforms] I can't think of anything decent or thoughtful or creative to write.  Profundity escapes me. 

"I slept like a log--I had a woody all night."

What else?  No school Monday because of Yom Kippur.  I have an appointment for a physical with Gorlitzki, and I'm supposed to golf Woodley with Kayo.

Su 9-11-99 3:20 PM
I'm at Red Rock on Sunset.  I rode up here on my bike.  It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.  I got a Lite beer and a bowl of chili.  Seventeen-year-old Serena Williams of Compton just defeated defending champion Martina Hingis in the US Open Tennis Championship on one TV while on another TV, Purdue's Drew Brees dukes it out with Notre Dame's Jarious Jackson.  I can't believe I haven't written in here since Wednesday.  That night, Ann--I forgot her married name--the sister of Gibby who we met at the wedding in the Bahamas called and we took her around some Hollywood nightspots after I got home from class.  We ate at Mirabelle.  It was full of hot women. Right.  Then we went over to Bar Marmont.  After a drink, we went up to the Garden at the hotel and had another drink and then crossed the street to Dublin's for another before recrossing the street to Miyagi's for a nightcap.  Then we dropped here off at the Argyle.  We should have gone into the Argyle to check it out, but it was late so Butt and I took a cab home.  It was after two.  I thought I would be dead at work the next day, but I wasn't. The kids worked on summer vacation essays.  I stayed after reading the paper a while before I went home.  I tried to nap, but it was sweaty and fitful.  I was supposed to go to the Bounty with Crazy Slim after class, but I had to postpone it 'til next week. I went home and went straight to bed.  The next morning, I went to the donut shop and got a paper and a croissant.  I spent most of the day helping the kids type their papers on the computer.  After school, Elwood and Carlos came to the house and we played poker for change and drank Tecates until Shirelle got home.  Then she and I went across town to Phillipe' to meet Pablo and Sanyo before the Dodger game.  The traffic was terrible.  They had streets closed at rush hour downtown for a film shoot, plus there was a big Deiciseis de Septiembre celebration at Olvera Street.  We sat field level as the LA Dollars beat the Mets.  We're supposed to go to Tim's this afternoon.

9-8-99 W 3:20 PM

My desk at Wilshire Hill. I’m tired and thirsty. The water in the fountains is brown with rust and/or lead and/or raw sewage and/or something. I tried to work on stupid-ass Jim this morning to no avail. I ate cereal and drank coffee but left without drinking my juice and vitamin. I got La Opinion and the Times but haven’t had a chance to read them yet.  Today was the first day of the 99-00 school year.  Only eleven children showed up.  We talked about the class rules, and we introduced ourselves and made posters of our favorite things and did a math lesson. I had Taco Hell for lunch. Since school has been over, I’ve read a few more pages of the sparring between Drake and Ledesma at Cartegena. Now I’m doing this.  I can’t wait to drink some non-rusty water. I’ll have leftover fish for dinner. I’ve got to do a new third-person page. I’ll read the papers at home. Five’ll get you ten I’ll fall asleep. The to night school. Hopefully, a sentence or two will give itself to me for Jim. Then get a good night’s sleep and start all over again tomorrow. I have to figure out how to get my insurance to cover me with Gorlitzki. I’ll call the number on the back of the Blue Cross card when I get home. Tomorrow night I’m supposed to go to the Bounty with crazy Slim Jim Phantom.       We have the Dodger game on Friday.  I’d like to check out that cornfield maze this weekend. I think the Dan Castellaneta show wraps up next Wednesday.  It’s too early for me to be missing night school classes. Tomorrow, we’ll do summer vacation essays. I’ve got to clear off this desk. What else? Seems like I’ve been writing for hours and not saying anything. [green ink drawing of an elaborately windowed patio] It was mostly clear skies today. I can’t wait to have a drink. What’ll we do Friday?  Do a morning of self-selected reading? The new principal said she’d come by in the morning.

Tu 9-7-99 1:55 PM
I'm at Wilshire Crest.  I just got back from Carl's Jr. with Maria and Florelle.  Ugh.  I've got to straighten out a few things here, and then I can go.  I've got to call the DMV and Gorlitzki.  I thought I brought the phone numbers with me to call from school here, but I put them in the teleportation device that is my backpack, and they must have made the jump into the fifth dimension.  I never read the Bible Sunday, so I've got to read the first seven chapters of Corinthians when I get home.  I wrote a pantoum this morning.  I'll type for fifteen pages after my Bible reading.  There's a faculty meeting for adult school at four thirty.  Then I've got to ride over to Pio Pico to teach night school.  Ugh.  I was reading a 1968 National Geographic about passion plays in Czechoslovakia.  One was about the devil trying to tempt Jesus on the mountain.  It was funny because the guy who played Jesus got lots of chocolate and sausages from the nuns, and the guy who played the devil got nothing.  The new principal seems cool.  We'll see.  I read the newspaper today.  I should try to put together a lesson plan for the next three days.  We won't get our lesson plan books til later in the week, though.  I have to cut my fingernails.  I have to return this cart to room one.  I'm fat.  I've got to put a couple of lines to Jim.  I could go for a smoke.  What else?  The sky is pale and dull today.  I've got to take some of the Bahama negatives to be enlarged.  I should try to write a travel story for the Times or something.  What else?  I hope I get good kids [pencil sketch looking out the window of an airplane at the wing above the clouds and their shadows on ocean] tomorrow.  Smart ones.  I can't think of anything else except that I want to be done with this so I can work on other things.  Tomorrow, we'll go over the class rules.  Make apples for the calendar.  Pass out books.  Make "Who Am I?" posters.

8-27-99 5:30 PM EDT F

The hurricane canceled our booze cruise and snorkeling. Yesterday we ate breakfast at Water's Edge, a sort of pavilion with high glass walls overlooking a shark-filled lagoon into which a waterfall tumbles. I ate bacon, eggs, sausage, waffles, French toast, a bagel, orange juice, and coffee. Shirelle complained about the restaurant being too cold. Afterward, we walked around the grounds on rope bridges over tropical streams and through glass tunnels into aquariums teeming with grouper, barracuda, triggerfish, tarpon, and hundreds of other species of fish. We went to the beach and swam across a lagoon (not the shark-filled one) to another waterfall and a set-piece portcullis supposed to evoke a palace of fabled Atlantis. After our swim, I lay on a chaise-lounge and read The Miami Herald while Shirelle complained that I was reading. I battled my hangover with a gallon of water and two fruit punches. Then we came up to the room and showered and dressed and walked down to the wharf to see about a charter. We got some numbers and then walked over the bridge from Paradise Island to Nassau proper. Shirelle was crazed with fear because there are no sidewalks on the bridge, and you have to walk along the side of the road with rum-drunk bus drivers flying by, but the locals walk along fearlessly. We saw a picturesque old stone church with a graveyard overgrown with Caribbean-looking jungle. The walk was longer than I thought, and Shirelle's bitchiness compounded with each step; that the streets were filled with lusty-eyed, beer swilling negroes pushed her to the brink of terror, never mind that she is black herself. We finally found a pub called The Drop Inn and went down the dark stairs, got her a soda, and me a beer. We argued about what a vacation is and is not supposed to be, and the difference between safe and dangerous. I insisted we see more of the town, and we set off in search of Rowson Square and The Green Shutters Pub, Shirelle walking grimly behind me. We found the old building, and inside met a couple who said they saw us walking on the bridge. They were agog over the fact that we were there as part of my "Jeopardy!" winnings and offered us a ride back to the Atlantis. There was more I wanted to see of Nassau, but I knew Shirelle would go berserk if I turned down the ride. They were there to get married and invited us to their wedding after a few more drinks together. They were from Newport, Rhode Island and obviously wealthy. He looked like he had a good chunk of Teddy Roosevelt in his bloodline. We stopped at a liquor store on the way back, and I got a case of Kalik beer and a bottle of rum. Back at the hotel, we had a fancy seafood dinner alongside a big tank on which lobsters were pulling a sex train in the sand along the bottom. Back in our room, we drank and farted around and watched dire predictions of Hurrican Dennis's path across the Bahamas. It had already started raining like crazy and the wind was blowing, but we decided to go out to the famed Zoo Cafe, Nassau's hottest night club, according to Fodor's. It was a sixteen-dollar cab ride and ten more to get in, and the place was bumping with tropical humping. I was the only white boy in the place, and Shirelle was freaking. Rain was dripping through the roof in places, and women angled to dance under it. I shot pool with a toothless old cocaine gangster while Shirelle tried to get the brute bartender to poor her champagne in the rowdy madness. We stayed a couple of hours but left when Shirelle's fear hit a boiling point because a guy hit on her while I was at the bar. We caught a cab to the Crystal Palace at Cable Beach where I drank and played blackjack while Shirelle played the slots. I started with a hundred bucks and cashed out two twenty-five an hour or so later. Yippee. Shirelle lost as much. I found a cab driver and told him we had to go because my girl was getting cranky. He understood the nature of that beast and sprang into action. 

The Arawak were a peaceful people, by all accounts, living in an island paradise until the Caribs arrived and bludgeoned, raped, castrated, and ate them. These were the people Columbus stumbled upon, ha ha.

The Arawaks had a legend of their lonely chieftain, who could find no bride, until, guided by frogs, he was led to a beautiful maiden in a lake. They lived happily ever after, and now Bahamian gift shops peddle souvenir frogs for good luck. Like it worked for the Arawak. 

What would Joe Campell make of the similarity between the Arawak tale and that of the princess and the frog? Of course, it's possible Bahamian merchants cooked up the story just to sell junky frog statues.

8-31-99 Tu 12:55 PM EDT

We’re on a 757 out of Nassau bound for Atlanta. Hardly wrote at all. When we woke up, we went to the Marketplace for eggs benedict and biscuits and gravy. It was Friday morning, and the winds blew hot and fierce. Our scuba lessons were scrubbed because of the hurricane. I don’t remember what we did. We sat in the bar and watched radar images of the cyclone converging on the Bahamas. A lot of tourists were checking out in a panic to catch early flights home before the brunt of the storm hit, but the Bahamians were shrugging it all off. We ate that night at the café in the Hall of the Great Waters beside a huge aquarium full of fish and faux ruins of Atlantis. We had fried lobster and rack of lamb. Then we took a cab through the driving rain to downtown Nassau and paid twenty bucks to into the local-filled 601 Club, a hot, sweaty, crowded place with a live band and one white face: mine. The roof was leaking rainwater all over the dance floor. It was cool. We met a guy named Larry who worked at the Atlantis. We bought each other beers. I talked to a girl I’d seen at the Zoo the night before. We left in a cab with some Germans from Club Med. Shirelle asked if they were Nazis. It was a sad, horrifying moment. The woman is an imbecile. We went to a really great bar called The Waterloo, a lakeside bar with pools and bars and pool tables and dancing and live music. I won both my games. Butthead and I danced until I was utterly drenched in sweat, as if I’d gone for a swim in the lake fully clothed. At four in the morning, the place shut down and we went back to the hotel. I got a hummer in the shower. From an imbecile.

I woke up bone dry Saturday morning. The seas were still too rough to go anywhere. From the balcony, we watched waves crash and explode upward off the rocks like fireworks, and the palm trees doing the limbo. We ate at Water’s Edge. I ate fruit and cereal to try to ease the cholesterol attack I’d inflicted upon my bloodstream thus far, but it wasn’t long before I was drunk again and gambling. We watched Penn State spank Arizona. The Pac Ten can’t tackle. After that, we went to John and Gibby’s wedding at 200-year-old St. Francis Cathedral. We walked from the church to the Buena Vista Club. The weather had calmed. I didn’t know if we were in the eye or if it had passed. We drank on the veranda and watched a Bahamian funeral procession pass by with a band and dancing. Dinner was at Mama Loo’s. We had giant tropical drinks and a five-course Chinese meal. Then we walked over to the other side of the compound where the wedding party was staying and drank with them by the ocean. It was dark now, and we watched a lightning storm like it was a battle of gods raging over the sea. The Murphys invited us to stay with them in Newport, letting us know their mansion had thirty-five rooms.  After the party, I went to the casino and gambled away a hundred or so dollars before going to sleep.

Sunday was booze cruise day: All the Bahama mamas you can handle, snorkeling around and offshore island and reef, then on to another secluded island for a beach BBQ, then you limbo home. I took some X because I thought it would make the reef even more incredible, but the reef was weak, and I dove down to a brain coral and when I came back up, I could not catch my breath. The current was strong and dragging me away from the boat. It was a monumental struggle to get back to the boat. I really should have called for help, but my pride was too great. I apparently would rather have drowned then be the guy on the boat who needed help swimming. I finally made it to the anchor chain and hugged for a long-ass time waiting for my heart rate and breathing to allow me to get to the platform at the sterm.

A couple from Jersey came back to our room with us. We drank Kaliks and rum on the balcony overlooking the pools. That night, we had a drunken sushi dinner at Five Twins. Then I went up to the room and passed out. Monday, we fished. Spectacular. Caught twenty-some fish: barracuda, bonito, yellowtail, a strawberry grouper, and a needlefish. We brought back more fish than any other fishermen on the wharf. I sold some. The guy that bought them didn’t want any barracuda. He said eating them makes your hair fall out. I had the yellowtail and bonito packed with dry ice in Styrofoam container wrapped in duct tape (It’s flying home with us while I write). We ate in the Bahamian Club that night—last night—and when we got back to the room, we ordered a porno and boned to it. We checked out this morning. Florida is below me out the window. I’m bummed I lost my journal and haven’t kept a more detailed account of this trip.

8-25-99 W 11:10 AM EDT

We’ve just topped the cottony clouds bearing south southeast out of Atlanta for Nassau. My nose is runny. We should be there in about an hour and half. Last night, we left on a midnight plane for Georgia. There it is down below, all green. Everybody at Hart Field Airport seemed to know everyone else, but other than that, you couldn’t really get a feel for the Peach State in that sterile environment with its recirculated air chilled and piped in. I read the Journal-Constitution and The New York Times while we sat there for three hours. CNN is on the TVs at the gate. Hurricane Dennis is gathering steam and whirling toward the Bahamas but not as fast as we are. Shirelle keeps complaining about the cold. Chenault caused a riot stripping at Carnaval in St. Thomas and had to be left behind to be willingly gangbanged, presumably. You could just see the downtown Atlanta skyline through the haze while we sat on the runway before takeoff. I’m writing with a stubby pencil from Brea Golf Course. My ears just popped. Our next challenge will be finding transportation from the airport to the Atlantis. I expected there might be attractive young partiers on a plane bound for the Bahamas, but it looks like the Loser’s Lounge in Laughlin in here. I ate some airport crap with coffee and OJ, took a Dayquil pill, and shat. There were five guys waiting to use five stalls when I went into the bathroom. Here comes the drink cart. Hmmm.

8-26-99 10:40 AM ADT Th

I cannot fucking believe I lost another journal. Just like in Baltimore. I feel worse about it than I do about losing a hundred bucks at blackjack last night. Fuck. And I lost my sunglasses in Atlanta. And a hat I don't care about. FUCK. When I'm done with this, I guess I'll grab my backpack, go downstairs, grab a paper, and eat. I want to arrange a fishing trip except that Hurricane Dennis is all but a certainty, so I'm not sure what day to arrange it for. I should walk down to the wharf and to downtown Nassau. Shirelle went to the hotel beach. I can't find rolling papers anywhere. The drinks here are about six dollars each.

9-3-99 F 3:27 PM
I'm at Flame Chicken and Mediterranean Food on La Brea waiting on a schwarma plate.  The Paolina Boxing Club is across the parking lot. I feel sick from [outline of a boxer] drinking bourbon at The Bounty last night. I was hanging out with Gus, who was a correspondent in LA for a Mexico City newspaper. He covered the RFK assassination across the street. We talked about union/mafia conspiracies. He's of the belief that Marilyn knew too much. 
9-6-99 M 6:43 PM
I'm downstairs at Walchak's at the old Keniston place. He's trying out some songs on me. I mostly like them. He asks me for advice, but I feel kind of useless because my leanings are so absurd and his so earnest. Mac, Thing, Shrill, and I went to a BBQ at Barbie Duke's last night. I Q'd some of the bonita I brought back from the Bahamas and got good vibes for it. A few of the photos from the trip were well received. Duhr. Shirelle and I went to see "The Thomas Crown Affair" today at the Beverly Center. On the way, we got an ironing board from Kmart, and after that she said, "We are living in a cesspool of shit."  From what she said afterward, I gathered that it had occurred to her for the first time that we are slaves in a comsumer/capitalist economy, and she had concluded that if she is ever to have children, she will end up working only to pay for a babysitter. 
Getoff's playing Kris Kristofferson songs. I'm thinking we ought to go up to the original Micelli's and get a pizza.  School starts for teachers tomorrow. The kids come Wednesday.  I drank a bottle of chardonnay at home, and I've had two bottles of beer here. I wrote checks for all the bills on my desk today, and called Fleet and got all the AOL late charges rescinded. I've got to call the DMV tomorrow. Ugh. Got to call Dr. Gorlitzki about physical and try to figure out about switching my insurance. Got to get copies and blowups of the best Bahamas pictures. The sun never came out today. Read more about Drake and Ledesma in the Caribbean. Got to do a third-person page when I get home.