[a fading photograph looking west from Tioga past tall pines to distant hazy peaks]

3-31-00 F 10:45 AM

There's nothing to say.  Low pressure, clear, blue skies, mild Santa Ana's blow-drying your hair in some 80s New Wave style.  I didn't write this morning.  I finished reading the newspaper already.  It might as well have been blank white paper.  No news is good news, I suppose.  After this, I've got an excerpt from Billy Wilder's "Sunset Boulevard" screenplay to read. Quartz.  Somerset Fry Plangenet's History of the World.  Maybe I'll let the kids see a video after lunch today.  I've got to go to Larchmont to pick up new inhalers.  Told Miss Kendoll I'd meet her for a drink this afternoon.  I've got to work tomorrow.  How depressing.  We're supposed to go to Placentia after that.  Maybe golf Sunday.  What else?  Anna asked me, "What did the banana say to the vibrator?--What are you shaking for?  I'm the one she's gonna eat."  Then she asked the old "How do you make a hormone?"  I couldn't remember.  "Don't pay her."  Oh, yeah. [blue ink sketch of Blake's "The Traveler Hasteth in the Evening]