10-14-99 Th 4:35 PM

I’m at Rita Flora on La Brea.  I’ve got an iced tea.  I rode up to Genessee and Willoughby to check out a shit-hole I may live in so I can break it off with Shirelle.  We are so obviously star-crossed.  I feel doomed either way.  I had a steak sandwich from Subway at lunch.  I did not sleep well last night.  Shirelle decided that she was terribly unhappy, and she took great pains to impress that upon me.  She was crying and getting all emotional.  I truly do not understand what her unhappiness has to do with me.  It got to the point at which all I could think of was moving out.  She’ll freak before she lets that happen, mostly because she would lose face in her social circles.  I’m sure I would be intensely unhappy if we split, but only temporarily.  Shirelle bodes permanent cyclical unhappiness.  I resisted this idea at first, but she convinced me:  our relationship sucks.  There’s no respect.  I don’t care enough either way.  We’re plagued by my indifferences and her irrationality.  I keep thinking, too (mistakenly, no doubt), that if I break with her, I’ll be able to work out something more secure with someone like Anna.  I’m trying to be realistic and not factor that into the equation, but in actuality, she is possibly the driving force behind all of this.  Shirelle got up and made breakfast.  She toasted a bagel and put out a bowl of cereal in an attempt to backpedal from how “bad” everything is.  I was not fooled.  She had been talking of the old “love vs. in love” semantic game.  I almost admitted that though I love her and always will, I’m “in” love with Anna.  Lame.  I’m lame.  Then she asked, at one in the morning, if she died, would I still live in that house?  I couldn’t bear anymore foolishness.  I went to the couch to try and sleep.  I psyched myself into moving out and believing that everything will be better if I go for Anna, who loves books and is calm and sensible.  The shit-hole is about a twenty-minute bike ride from Wilshire Hill.  It’s just a block from Fairfax High; I could probably transfer to teach in their adult-ed unit.  It’s right off Melrose where there’s lots to do.  The Yanks and Bosox are about to start.  I have to go to LACAS.

What Do YOU Think About at Boring Meetings?

10-13-99 W 1:30 PM

I’m at the Wyndham Gardens Hotel in City of Commerce, desperately searching my mind for a way out.  I don’t want to deal with all this bullshit.  I should be at the bar watching the Braves and the Mets. I was having a weird dream (What other kind are there?) There was water again, like there always is in my dreams.  Someone was chasing me again.  I woke up.  I could tell right away by how light it was that the alarm had not gone off.  I went to the shower and turned on the hot water before sitting on the toilet and farting a few times while reading about the Interstate Highway System in 1968 National Geographic.  I didn’t shave.  I didn’t put on a tie today either.  My back hurts.  I skipped breakfast, figuring they’d have bagels here.  They had muffins.  I cut off half of one, got a coffee, and found a table near the middle of the room.  I read the paper while I listened to the baloney.  Wilt Chamberlain died yesterday.  The US sells more weapons than all other countries of the world combined.  The Treaty to Ban Nuclear Tests will not be signed by the US.  And the Red Sox may win the series.  Whatever.  They had sandwiches and salad and cake for us at lunch.  You had to wait in a long line.  My lower back is killing me.  I never wrote after school yesterday.  I fell asleep reading in bed.  Drove to night school.  Ate Shirelle’s Golden Bird scraps for a second consecutive day.  Ana Gloria brought me about five pounds of pupusas.  I saw the Braves beat the Mets thanks to Greg Maddux.  I finished another chapter of Caribbean.  I start the Rasta chapter today.  I went to bed at ten last night.  I’m going to have to sneak out of here early.  I can’t take it anymore.  What else?  How good or bad would I feel if I go to the bar and have a whiskey and watch the game?  I’m supposed to write about pain for my third-person page.  What else?  I keep picturing the women here nude.  I imagine f-----g them.  There’s a fine mixed b---h right next to me whose ass pouts out of the space between the seat and the back of the chair.  Like to stick my d--k there.

The Day the World Population Reaches Six Billion

10-12-99 Tu 1:05 PM

I’m at Tam’s Chinese Garden. Still having trouble shaking my disgust with the human race. Ironic, today’s the day the UN has pegged as the day in which the world population reaches six billion.  It really doesn’t seem like all that much.  2:55  I’m in a really boring teacher workshop.  I think the instructor just said we all look stoned.  She’s talking about homo- and heterogeneous reading groups.  Whatever.  I typed fifteen minutes this morning.  Ate some warmed-over pizza.  Picked up the newspapers.  Etc. Etc. Etc.  So on and so forth.  Blah blah blah.  The kids read their rain forest papers out loud this morning.  What else?  I can’t think.  No.  Miss Villasenor sat down next to me on a bench where I was sitting with the newspaper waiting for the bell to ring this morning.  She’s going to Evenings for Educators at LACMA tonight.  Too bad I’ll be at work.  She said she has some materials from the Museum of Radio and Television that she’s going to give me.  3:50 PM   Whatever.  Shirelle says she’s about to cut ties with everyone she knows because everyone she knows treats her like she’s a dumb joke.  My bike has flat back tire.  I called her to ask if she’d come give my bike and me a ride to the bike shop to get a new tire.  We’re at the King’s Road Café now, waiting on the bike.  I’m tired.  Caribbean is really bogging down.  Shirelle went to the Oriental Silk Shop.  I feel like some decisive action is necessary.  There was an article in the Times about gold salvages in the Caribbean.  It was boring.  There was an article in La Opinion that talked about how couples who think of marrying should make sure they understand each other’s values.   It was in the “Negocios” section.  Business.  I’m doomed.  I have to go to LACAS again today.  Find out about payroll, get attendance sheets and registration forms.  It seems like I haven’t hated humanity this much in a long time.  The Braves and Mets are supposed to begin game one of the National League Championship Series in Atlanta tonight, but they say it’s going to rain all over Georgia.  I guess that bike must be just about ready by now.  I’ll have to go and get Crabby from the Oriental Silk Shop.

No, I'm a Fool

10-11-99 M 2:20 PM
I have to go to the adult school office right after school today if I want to get paid.  I'm on the playground writing again today.  Benjamin just went to get my Norton Simon book from Anna.  Lucky kid.  Ugh.  I typed fifteen minutes this morning.  I ate an oatmeal bar and had mug of half milk, half coffee.  I put on my necktie and pedaled to work.  After I locked up my bike, I walked across the street and picked up the newspapers.  A dozen or more kids waited in front of my room.  I sent them back to the playground.  "You're a movie star, Mr. Zurn," the kids said.  "No, I'm a fool." I told him.  They wrote in their journals while I took care of some paperwork at my desk once class had started.  At recess, I went and picked up more forms for more paperwork and went to make copies for math homework, but the machine kept jamming.  Villasenor was in there.  Ugh.  We talked about odd and even during math time.  I had to go to a grade-level meeting at lunch.  It was just as frustrating as ever.  The group decided to mix for math.  No one seemed to understand what a pain in the ass that will be except for me.  Zannat really wants to do it; I really don't, and no one else cares.  I just didn't feel like fighting.  There's too much stupidity to withstand anymore.  F--k it.  Let 'em learn the hard way.  There's a Leadership meeting after school today.  I wonder if I should go.  Florelle wants to talk about her DUI.  I've got to get over to LACAS.  The Sox and Tribe go do-or-die at five tonight.  I'll be at work.  Got to do a third person when I get home.  Read Caribbean.  Work on Jim tonight.  Two kids are fitting their skinny little arms through the chain-link fence to a hand a ball on the other side up to each other.  Their determination is almost ingenious, but when they reach the limit of their height, they have been unable to toss it over from there.  They tried twice before they gave up.  The bell rang.  My kids left.  I have to shut the windows.  I guess I'll finish skimming the Calendar, and then I'll walk to Florelle's.

5:47 PM Su 10-10-99  I'm sitting on the bed.  Boston is fighting Cleveland for their lives.  Trot Nixon just hit a clutch two-run double of the wall.  Jose Offerman followed that with a homer over the Monster.  I typed fifteen minutes this morning and read most of the newspaper before Butt and I went to Cava in the Beverly Plaza Hotel on Third.  I had chilaquiles and a couple mimosas and worked the Sunday puzzle while Shirelle gossiped with Demona who met us there.  When we'd finished eating, Butt and I went up all the escalators you gotta go up at the Beverly Center to get to the movies.  We saw "Three Kings" about some soldiers at the end of the Gulf War who go across enemy lines for a treasure in gold bullion but become entangled in a refugee situation.  It was a tense and exciting film.  When we got back, I finished the paper and now I'm here.  I just ordered a large Canadian bacon an onion pizza from Numero Uno.  After this, I'll read some Caribbean, and then I've got to do a third-person page.  I've got to go get my guitar from Getoff's.  I've got to return this video to Blockbuster tonight.  Boston's up seven/two now, but you can't count out the Cleveland sluggers.  Big Richie Sexson is up  against Rich Garces.  I didn't go to our game today.  Sexson struck out.  Now Jim Thome is down 0-2 to Garces.  He grounded to first.  Now it's a commercial.  It's hot today.  Maybe I'll have a little smoke after this.  I'm into the twentieth century in Caribbean now.  I can't find my "Pussies of the World" tape anywhere.  Mac swears he didn't take it.

End-of-the-World, God's-Wrath-Type-Stuff

2:00 PM 10-7-99 Th

I want try to get down to see "The Iron Giant" today.  I don't know if the bus will get me there before it starts.  Maybe I can get someone to give me a ride and then I can take the bus back.  We're out at the handball court again today.  It's sunny.  I read La Opinion and the Times.  Latin America is plagued by storms, floods, quakes, and volcanoes.  It's like the end of the millennium is bringing end-of-the-world, God's-wrath-type stuff.  I didn't write this morning.  I smoked last night and didn't get out of bed until seven.  I showered and ate a bowl of cereal.  Cut up some celery and brought it to school with some peanut butter I'd scooped into a Tupperware container.  I ate it for lunch with some Triscuits.  I'm wearing my Spiderman tie.  The kids are having a heated debate about whether or not "bouncies" should be allowed in their handball games.  We proofread sentences with our vocabulary words this morning. Tomorrow we have a test.  Their math lesson was about fact families.
We had music in the auditorium after silent reading.  Benjamin was just dancing around and stomped an orange juice carton that was on the blacktop, and it squirted out and hit me directly in the eye and splattered all over my clothes.  It's already coagulating into a sticky coat.  I've suffered this week. [orange juice stains on the paper]

The sky is the off-white of non-fat milk

10-6-99 W 1:29 PM

I’m on the playground with my third graders.  They’re playing handball.  The sky is the off-white of non-fat milk.  It has been a typical day.  I typed a boring fifteen minutes this morning.  I ate an oatmeal bar and drank a cold cup of day-old coffee.  Rode my bike up to school.  I had been thinking of confronting Miona Jones with what a b----h she is, but I decided to just f—k it.  I did the register this morning while the kids worked in their spelling books.  At recess, I hustled over to Taco Bell and swallowed a couple chalupas.  On the way back, I picked up the cums so I can do the ELD levels—a jerk off.  Xavier, the class prick, poked a hole in our handball with his pencil.  We did our math lessons.  At lunch, I stayed in and read the papers.  After lunch, we did silent reading and then we did a lesson on the importance of forests.  Then we talked about writing paragraphs with main ideas and supporting details.  And now here we are. Before I go home, I’ve got to talk to Miss King about horseback riding on Friday.  I’ll read some more Caribbean.  Hopefully, I won’t fall asleep.  Then my third-person page.  I should try to catch Peach at work.  Tomorrow is the last chance to see “The Iron Giant.”  I’ve got to make a tee-time for golf Saturday.  We’ve got a baseball game Sunday.  Nest Wednesday. I’ve got to go to some dumb conference in Commerce.  Shirelle’s off next week, so I should be able to use her car.  Geez, what else?  Maybe I can draw a picture on the next page, but of what?  A steak is thawing out at home.  I think the Braves and ‘stros will be on when I get home.  I’ve got to take these videos back to Blockbuster.  I’ll get “Dark City” next and maybe “Very Bad Things.”  I also want to see “Anatomy of a Murder.”

10-5-99 2:05 PM Tu
We have a staff meeting today.  I got page ninety on Jim today!  Woo-hoo.  I warmed a couple of tortillas over the open flame of the stove and ate them with butter.  I rode my bike to the newspaper stand and got the papers.  I have to call Peachtree and Kendoll. There has been a lot of paperwork crap to do today.  I haven't been able to read La Opinion.  The F----t-ass Mets beat the Reds in the Wild Card playoff.  There are a bunch of games on today.  The 'stros and Braves'll be over by the time I get home.  I'll be able to watch one hour of the Yanks and Rangers before I go to teach night school.  I think the Rangers may pull off an upset in that series.  By the time I get home tonight, I should be able to see the last half hour of the D-backs, kicking the queer into the Mets.  I have to type for fifteen minutes.  Read Caribbean.  Do a third-person page.  4:55 PM  I'm at home now, in the living room.  Felix was here.  He had replaced the florescent tubes in the ceiling light in the kitchen, fixed the outlet in the office, lit the pilots for the heaters, and was under the sink fixing the leak when I got home.  I offered him a beer and told him how shitty the meeting was while we drank.  I don't want to write about how shitty the meeting was.  F-ck the meeting.   F-ck Miona Johns.  F-ck the
f-cked-up decision making.     I've a hunch the Yanks might be in trouble.  Too bad I have to go to
f-cking work.  I had an oatmeal bar for lunch.  I don't know what to do about dinner.  I keep thinking about Capitol Burger.  But I'm so fat and my cholesterol is so high, and I don't want to leave here early and miss any more of the baseball game than I have to, so maybe I should just get something from the kitchen.  F-ck that meeting.  The sun's shining in my eyes coming through the window.  Ugh.  I still have fifteen minutes to type today.  I need to take those movies back to Blockbuster.  Palmiero is hitless in eleven at-bats against El Duque.  F-ck that meeting.