5-16-00 12:07 PM Tu

My golf game pretty much sucked. I cut stinky farts. The guys in my group gagged. “That’s the Stardust buffet,” I said. When we finished, we lay up at the 18^th green and waited for the other groups to come in while we drank beer. We went back to the Luxor and showered and changed. Peach talked about our Dominant Male Baboon days. We took cabs to Harrah’s and went to The Range for our steak dinner. Reagan passed out at the table during the soup, and when the main course arrived, Peachtree sat next to him and held his head up by his neck, and tried to get him to eat. Reagan puked on the floor. After dinner, Josh, Garth, Scott—who I had called Rob all weekend before he corrected me—and I walked along the strip past the pussy peddlers to Mandalay Bay where I took out a hundred bucks. I lost it in about ten minutes of ten-dollar blackjack hands. I split off from the guys and went up to the suite. Jerry seemed to think that I owed him for a share of the suite, even thought I hadn’t stayed there. I should have told him to fuck off, but it didn’t seem worth the hassle. A prick is a prick is a prick; telling him doesn’t make it any different. I took a cab back with a pervert cabbie who seemed to think I would be interested in the ways he mistreats prostitutes he hires. He said he was a UNLV student studying computer business and that he operated a pornography/prostitution website. “Oh, you’re a cyber pimp,” I said in mock admiration.

“I prefer the term ‘entrepreneur’” he said, “but, yeah, basically.” I paid him and walked up to the room. It disgusted me that guys like that are getting rich. I, then, am a chump, a sucker, a rube. I collapsed onto the bed without taking off so much as my shoes. The air conditioner was pumping out the accumulated second-hand smoke of the decades. Dino, Frank, and Sammy’s stale smoke. I tried to breathe and tried not to hate life. Thing staggered in. “You want to go downstairs for a drink?”

“No,” I said. Boy, did I mean it. The curtains were open. The strip blinked on and off below. I slept.

 

Mon 1:40 PM 5-15-00

After I played poker, I got a bacon cheeseburger and a chili cheese potato, and I sat in the sportsbook with a couple earring-wearing New York skinheads with a vested interest in the outcome of the Knicks playoff game against Miami, which was in overtime.

I went back to the Luxor and found the guys at the sportsbook. My parlay fell apart when the Chisox fell to the Twins in extra innings. The bachelor party seemed to be in the grips of some kind of malaise. Most were married, and their enthusiasm for this kind of thing had been sucked out of them. They were like me: confused identities, unable to coordinate their obligations back home with the barrage of temptation, feeling trapped in an ultimately pointless situation, a situation of which the pointlessness would not end once they were home again, but at least would not so blatantly be clutching their balls, tearing their eyes, arresting their hearts, and sucking their souls. We ordered pizza. ~~~

I snuck away from the bachelor party. I crossed the street and waited for the bus with some New Age spiritual healers coming from a convention with stickers on their chests that had their names and positions like MARILU SPIRITUAL HEALER. I went back to the Stardust and ordered a porno and wanked off a couple times before I got into the rollaway.  Soon, Thing and the geek returned. The first thing Thing said was, “John, you’re not watching pornos in here, are you?”

“Not anymore,” I said.

The geek was aghast at how lame pornos are, but he watched and went in the bathroom after Thing left and he thought I was asleep. I couldn’t sleep, so I went downstairs and donated a hundred bucks to the blackjack dealers’ retirement fund. Then I sat at a lonely bar and played video poker with Thing until the sun shone outside. It was lonely and boring. We went to the buffet and greased our insides before going back up to the room.  I arranged a nine-thirty wake up call. Peach called first. Thing whimpered in his sleep. The geek thought I was Thing and asked a lot of stupid questions. I took my clubs down to the front and caught a cab back to the Luxor. I met the guys down by the elevators. We drank beer on the shuttle on the way to the Legacy golf course. We had about an hour and a half to kill before tee time.

 F 5-13-00 1:50 PM

I'm on the twenty-third floor of the Stardust. I was looking out at the strip through the window, but I've got some nasty five-AM soup pouring out of my ass, so now I've got a fine view of the bathroom door. I didn't go to work AGAIN yesterday. I waited around for Thing who didn't show to 'til the rush hour traffic was thick as the thighs of all the fat old ladies wallowing around down at the pool. We went over Angeles Crest for kicks and got here about eleven thirty last night. I read a little Fante to Thing while we drove and was struck by how much Jim seems to rip-off The Road to Los Angeles. Like that gal at UCLA said a few years ago, what can you do? We ate McCrap on the way here, and I drank bourbon in my iced tea. Checked in, washed up, and went to the Algiers bar for which Thing has some retro fascination. It was dark and inhabited by dark-souled people, it seemed. We walked to the Luxor, but the guys weren't in yet, so we wandered over to Mandalay Bay. I won eighty-one dollars playing six-deck blackjack. We found ourselves outside the Rio at three AM watching the parade of sex freaks leaving the club. A drunkess approached our table and said, "Can't I just get a piece of ass once a month?" She offered a dollar for a cigarette. "We don't give it away free, now, right?" she asked. Tom gave her a cigarette and we watched her go to work rounding up a fat mutant John to buy her a drink. We took a bus down the strip. I talked about the monster coming out of the wall which was a childhood bedtime fear I had after an episode of "Night Gallery," and I had strangers on the bus laughing. We took a cab back. I slept about five to ten. I had to get up and wash the air of this place out of my mouth. Even the sidewalks ooze butt-filled liquid. I went down to the sports book and filled out some parlay cards for today's ballgames. Lounging by the pool, I read whatever they call what passes for the local newspaper. I guess I should take a nap and try the Luxor again. Play a little poker maybe. The World Series of Poker is being played downtown right now. Called Rochelle this morning. I ought to find some vitamins and take a shower.

 5-10-00 W 11:22 AM

My nose is drooling snot. Non-stop. It makes me feel helpless and suicidal. I took a double dose of Tylenol allergy caplets. They were totally ineffective. I don't know how it could be worse. I guess I'll walk up to the post office at lunch and try to cash those bonds. I'll have loser money in the city of Lost Wages, Nevada. Narcotics are looking like a no-show for the trip. Ugh. I feel like shit. We're going to El Coyote for the last Teacher Network meeting. I'd like to take Rochelle to see "Gladiator" tonight. I feel sick. My ear hurts. Maybe I'll have to take the night off from night school. Fuck. I started reading John Fante's Road to Los Angeles. It's funny. More funny and entertaining than Jim. 12:32 PM I walked the bonds up to the post office and waited in line. The clerk said the post office doesn't cash bonds. Said they didn't have the interest tables. I showed him the back of the bond which says it CAN be redeemed at the US post office, but he was unswayed. I walked to Bank of America. They can cash the bonds. If I fill out some forms, they'll mail them to me after forty-eight hours. Swell. I walked back to school leaving a snail trail of glistening snot. Lambert said Skelley wants something in writing as to how to administer the STEPS test. Biotch. It will be more work for me, but it will be fun to illustrate her idiocy to her. I'll advise her not to leave the tests on the floor by the trash can overnight. I'll advise her not to allow students she suspects of kleptomaniacal tendencies unsupervised access to the test. I'll advise her that most people respect people who are accountable for their mistakes. I need to piss. I feel like piss. The sun is coming out. I wonder if this is a cold or allergies. My skin is clammy. What else? Xavier chewed the ears off his Mickey Mouse pencil. The Lakers are on tonight. Kevin Brown faces Randy Johnson in Phoenix tonight. Johnson is 7-0, the best April a pitcher has ever had.

 5-8-00 Tu 10:30 AM

Class. I saw a notebook on the coffee table this morning. I opened it and saw that Rachel had written on the first line that she is sad. I closed it. It seems clear that it was not meant for me, and probably also an indication that she has been reading my notebooks. My journal is Bluebeard's forbidden door. Maybe she's just sad that we're broke. Maybe it's pregnancy hormones. What can I do? Get a third job? Pretend to be happy we're broke? Reality is definitely crashing down on our little whirlwind love story. I figured out yesterday she's not going to be able to work, go to school, and be pregnant, then a mom, all at the same time. I don't know what factor to subtract to balance the equation. I feel like I was grinding my teeth all night. 

I showered and sprayed my crotch rot. Dressed and drank coffee. Ate a brownie for breakfast. Gathered my crap, gave the wife a mechanical kiss, and rode my bike to school. I got a paper on the way. Shaq is the MVP. Did another round of Stanford Nine tests. I have been too depressed to write my second person page. My mutual fund rep came by the house yesterday and talked me into transferring three thousand bucks from my old annuity into a Janus World Wide fund. Who knows how that'll turn out? 

I sat on the couch, a statue with a grimace, before riding over to LACAS to drop off my attendance. Then I rode the three miles to teach night school at Pio Pico. I managed to read some Locust. Faye abuses Homer. A bunch of new students signed up for class, including a bevy of pretty girls. 

After I rode home, Rochelle broiled a steak while I talked to my grandma on the phone. I still felt mechanical. The steak was loaded with salt. She's trying to kill me already. I mumbled something about preferring to salt my own steak. She proposed washing it off. I said it was fine, just in the future, I'd rather salt my own steak. She kept telling me to let her wash it off. I said firmly I would finish it. When I did, I went to bed. ~~~Woke up in the night sneezing and wheezing. ~~Anna said she saw "Gladiator." I wondered with whom. I saw Florelle.  Apologized for vanishing from El Mayan. I have to get working on Jim again. Maybe I'll make those copies after school today. I feel a touch of dread about going home. Got to do a third person. Work on Jim. Read more of R. L. Stevenson's description of Edinburgh. Read more Locust. Call Gil or Mac. Ride to work. Cancel class Thursday. Doctor tomorrow. Class tomorrow. Sub for Friday. Mother's Day.

 5-8-03 M 10:30 AM

I'm in class. The kids are doing a worksheet on elapsed time. I added some lame shit to Jim last night. Whatever. Made peanut butter and jelly to bring to work with a cup of yogurt. I have to cash these bonds, I guess. I have to call Grandma today. Have to call Mac and Gil. Tim. John. I'm forgetting something. Thaliel Montrezel is supposed to come at 2:30. There's some kind of union activity planned for today, too. Should I Xerox some Jim? Ugh. Read the paper already. Got Locust to read when I'm done here. Have to tune my poor guitar. Ate a chili dog last night. Anna's not at work today. Whatever. Ugh ack ick fuck shit. Got to get off work on Friday. Get some drugs before then. Hell's bells. I'm stupid. Got to get Rochelle something for Mother's Day. Get the mom's stuff. I'm broke. Whatever. What else? I suck. I'm in over my head. Bit off more than I can chew. Screw. Whatever. Harry Greener died. Faye has decided to become a professional whore to cover the funeral expenses. I wish I was drunk right now. I have to call my mom about the Chicago voucher. Got to pick up a United flight catalog. We've got social studies to do after lunch. Questions about Pittsburgh steel. We'll probably play some basketball. I have to do a third person. I have to turn in LACAS attendance for last week TODAY. See if they have anymore books. What else? Have to tell night class not to come Thursday. How am I going to keep from being sorry about going to Vegas? Mac brought my newly welded bike up on Saturday. Dad and Joan met Katherine. Who knows what they really though of each other. My dad was complaining about LA's "ambient noise." I wish there was some extra work I could do for some extra money. Ugh. Guess I'll run off some copies of Jim at lunch. Maybe. Ugh. What else? We got murdered in our baseball game yesterday. We played the Panthers, an all black team. Some of them wore Monarch uniforms. I had a two-out, bases loaded, two-hopper drilled at me at third. All I had to do was knock it down and step on the bag, but it ricocheted of my knee into the air and everyone was safe. Then I struck out in my next at bat. [photo of newlyweds around a family friend]

 5-5-00 6:14 PM F

Cinco de Friday. The Fannie Mae Foundation can kiss my ass. Should I put tequila in my lemonade? What would you call that? Crudo amarillo? Whatever. I didn't type today until I got home from school. I even had a wee puff. The Jazz and Sonics are going do-or-die. The Lakers'll do the same at 7:30. Elmer called about watching the game. Ralph said he'd call. I won't be surprised if I don't hear from either one of them. Maybe I'll eat a can of tuna. ~~ I did dropped a couple dollops of mayo on the tuna, just a pinch of garlic salt, and splash of green Tabasco and ate it with a pickle and my crudo amarillo. Now I'm having coffee with brandy and Bailey's and remembering that Alisia Shulman was talking to me about orgasms at the teacher's luncheon today. Burt Lahr had it all wrong. I'm the Cowardly Lion Baum envisioned. Pops wants to be the star of his own show. Never gave a damn about anybody else's show. 

Mardi Method and Friend, New Millennium: [pencil line sketch of two young women on party horns]

Still a page to go. Only occasional pangs at this point. My neighbor is a shit-head, if you don't mind me saying. Looks like Jerry the Freak just made Mardi Method a ridiculous proposal. [color photo of Mardi Method and Friend, New Millennium]

 5-4-00 Th 1:23 PM

Got that crying feeling behind my eyes.  I worked a few meaningless lines into Jim this morning. I didn't do my fifteen minutes this morning. Wrote Rochelle a check for fifty-two dollars. That about breaks me. Twenty-two days with no money. This never happened before I got married. I fell like a mule. I withstand a constant inner monologue of negative feelings. Blah blah blah.  6:04 PM I'm at Pio Pico now. I walked here. I made chili and a quesadilla before I started out. I read chapter 12 of Locust. The Greeners invaded Homer Simpson's house. My students are taking a test that I wrote on the board. Where does love come from? Within or without? I have to do a third-person page when I get home. Deseo que no he casado. What can you do? Tomorrow is Cinco de Mayo. La esposa va a ir  al Condado Orange otra vez para el cumpleanos de mi madre. Y yo? Quiero ser con Senoritavilla, pero tengo que olvidar este deseo. The Lakers are on. Maybe I'll just sit around the house and watch it. Some people are going to Luminarias.  Some are going to Mexican Village. Others said El Coyote and others, Dublin's. I wonder what Senoritavilla's gonna do.  No, I don't. Ugh. I hate myself. The Blue Jays are beating Cleveland. Chuck Finley struck out Raul Mondesi. Ha ha. How can I get myself out of this? I feel hot and sweaty. I'll have to shower when I get home. I read the news today, oh boy. I started printing a copy of Jim. Whatever. Having no money makes it worse, but having money would not end the fundamental problem. I feel like a monster. I've turned into the worst thing I can think of. All I can is pretend everything is okay and maybe it will be. Mujeres son la maldad del mundo. Pero la vida que imagino con Senoritavilla es la que...

Supe! Yo supe! Acoste en la cama de mi esposa antes que casamos, montanas de ropa en el piso, y supe que este dia iba venir. Pero, por que me dio el hombro frio la Senorita Senoritavilla? Mujeres son la caida de hombre. Soy idiota. I wonder if your dreams come true after you die or do you just not care? I hate this page. I hate this entry. I hate my pathetic self. Ugh. How do I get clear of this? Hypnosis? Psychoanalysis? Bash my brains against a wall? Fuck.