10-14-00 4:40 PM Sa

“We’re in Los Osos, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim calls from the kitchen. The pup was pretty cool during the three-hour drive. We stopped at a little park around Oxnard and she was so excited to be unconfined, she took off running and gave me a nice leash burn on my finger.

Around Santa Barbara, I remembered I forgot my fishing gear, duhr, about halfway through the sports page, which I got to read because Rochelle drove. The dog was climbing around on my head while I tried to read. We heard USC losing to Oregon on the radio, and we switched it to the Cardinals and beating the Mets as we sped past vineyards and orchards.

Once we got here, we took a walk down to the little lagoon at the bottom of Tim and Sarai’s street. The dog seemed to be having a heavenly time of it. I wished I had my camera or camcorder. Canoes decorated a sandbar in the reedy marsh near the lagoon. “We could canoe down to the bar tonight,” says Tim.

“Marriage Breakers?” suggests Sarai.

“I don’t know if my wife’ll let me,” I say.

“It’s not really called Marriage Breakers,” Sarai says. “It’s called Merrymakers.”

We walked along paths intersecting through weeds and ice plant. A white crane speared a wriggling minnow.

We came back from Cuesta, they call the lagoon. We started up the Mystery Machine (Tim’s van) and ran it in the driveway awhile. The house filled with carbon monoxide before we hopped in. The Mystery Machine has a fridge full of beer. We had one to go along with a smoke and rode up into some canyon leading to Montana de Oro. We parked and hiked down a path to a wooden boardwalk over a creek and through a marsh to a jagged, upthrust strata of rock. The dog splashed through tide pools.

We went to the store and got hooks and weights for fishing (Tim had some old poles). Then we went to some place that had wooden pirates our front and bar facing the sun setting into the ocean. I drank beer and wine and an Irish car bomb (Tim’s idea). We ate calamari, zucchini, filet mignon, and watched the Yankees beat the Mariners.

10-12-00 That Kind of Ass is Offensive

 

10-12-00 Th 6:32 PM

I saw a Cadillac with a busted fin under a muscular sycamore writhed like a python in the roseate glow of downtown towers at twilight.

10:06 PM I’m home now. Got some Tom Waits on. “Closing Time.’ Listening to it for the first time. With my Weinstock. Cabernet Sauvignon Paso Robles Mevuhal Kosher for Passover. Whatever. Rochelle has just returned from her sister’s with the rocking chair her mother gave her. She brought the old pirate movie “Swashbuckler” that I enjoyed when I was a kid. Steve had the video in his closet. This wine is nasty. Have some more painting to do. Bills to pay. The f----ty-ass Mets beat the Cardinals. Boo. Hiss. It’s like Dishonest John and Snidely Whiplash have tied the good guys to the railroad tracks, to the conveyor belt at the sawmill. Had a wee smoke this afternoon. I never did write about the menacing pimp at the Del Rey. Someday, I will, but not yet. Shall I put in a post card? Shall I draw the Poky Little Puppy? Yo no comprendo nada hoy. Put your hands in the hand. Rochelle said Tom Waits is depressing. I turned it off. What else? I could go for a smoke, but the wife’s home. Maybe she’s sick of being pregnant. Or maybe she’s sick of me. I was having fantasies that she wouldn’t come home. [crayon drawing of toucans] Grass Green. Mr. Morton is the subject of the sentence, and what the predicate says, he does. Two Israeli soldiers were killed. Some helicopter gunships fired on Ramallah. A suicide bomber blew away a US naval vessel in Yemen. My baby is on her way. Closing in on midnight now. Like to strum my guitar a bit before bed. Read a little of the fatherhood manual. Maybe see the beginning of “Swashbuckler” starring the great film actor, Robert Shaw. What else? When will we go to Pismo? Tomorrow evening or Saturday morning? Got some more trim to paint. Shall I do two more windows right now? I’m sick of Wilshire Hill. I’m sick of Gay Harvard. Elections make me paranoid.

Insomniac

 

I can’t sleep. I don’t know why not. So, I read and typed a while.  [Rana de Ojos Rojos colored pencil sketch Red-Eyed Frog] I still can’t sleep. This is what I’m going to look like tomorrow at work [arrow drawn to frog]. I yawned! That’s a good sign. Urgh. I put one line to Jim. It has started raining again in his Fiat flashback. I’ve got to get him back to his car where I have about a page ready to go. Rochelle keeps coming out to ask if I’m OK. I keep having to assure her that I’m just not sleepy. Reassure her that I’m OK. I have film to develop. Still haven’t tended to my bike. Trim to paint. Should have called Getoff. Supposed to go up to Morro Bay this weekend to hang with Tim and Sara and do some halibut fishing from a canoe. I have to transfer the Costa Rica video. What else? The tacos we made for dinner did a number on my insides. My farts’ll rouse the dead. Still have those gift certificates to spend. What else? I heard a blurb on the tube that it may rain for the morning commute. I should have a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I’ll take that pasta for lunch. I’ll sleep at recess. Won’t have to worry about writing so much tomorrow at least, since I’m getting it all done now. I’ll just have to read the papers is all I’ll have left tomorrow. When I’m done here, I’ll read some more of ol’ queer Cheever’s diary. That ought to put me to sleep. I’ll do my third person when I get home again. I’ve got to walk Jim back to the car. He gets lost.  How’ll I convey the frustration? I should give Grandma a call. We have to do a Test Ready tomorrow, or today, I should say. Journals. I’ll bring a thermos of coffee.

10-9-00 Disappointing Cheesy Holiday

 10-09-00 M 11:37 AM

I typed fifteen minutes last night and read ten pages of the Koran about repentance and the doom of the unbelievers. Then we put on "Sergeant York" and watched about twenty minutes before we got sleepy and turned it off. I dreamed I was a gifted guitar player. Waking up was such a disappointment. We had to take the pup to the vet. She says now that her condition cannot be mange; it must be an allergy; keep her on antihistamines and give her thrice weekly oatmeal baths. Ha. Cost: One hundred thirty dollars. We dropped the pup off at home and went to the hardware store for a gallon of "Cutesy Pink" paint and a quart of "Pink Tease" for the baby's room. Got some brushes and rollers and pans and stuff. Cost: Fifty-something bucks--a relative bargain. Now we're home. Rochelle's making waffles and sausage. I still have to try to fix my bike. I think I need a new wheel. When I finish this, we'll eat, and I'll read the newspaper. Then we've got to go up to Crate and Barrell and then to Macy's. When we get back, I'll do a third-person page, and read Mysteries of the Bible. It's a cheesy book, and I'm reading it. Then I've got to work on Jim and figure out what to do with the bike. Should we make that London broil tonight? We'll watch "York." Back to school tomorrow. We're off today for Yom Kippur/Columbus Day. I don't understand how either is a school holiday. Let’s celebrate genocide! Whatever. I feel like a shower. The house is a mess. Ol’ Rawler called to go fishing today, but I couldn’t go because we have to paint. I wonder when the next big earthquake is coming. This place will be a wreck. Nothing is bolted down. I don’t know how to shut off the gas. What else? There’s no baseball today. I want to ask Thing about the “Monster Mash” movie. Our sofa is filthy because Rochelle thinks it is cruel and unusual punishment to keep the dog off of it. She’s up here now with a dirty chew toy. I can’t get her, Rochelle, to keep the doors closed, either. I just give up, but you can see how some men beat their wives. Yeah, right.