3-3-01 Sa 11:34 PM

We’re on the old Ten east, heading down to Orange County. I’ve got the idiot dog on my lap. She managed to close the window on her neck a minute ago when she stepped on the button. The wife barked at my like it was my fault. Whenever the dog screeches, the wife does, too.  I typed fifteen minutes yesterday morning. The dog has gone to sleep now and is serving as a pretty good desk.

~~Had to take an emergency shit at a scary gas station bathroom on Alameda. I’m on the shitter now. There wasn’t ever time to put a sanitary seat cover. I’m going to have the graffiti scratched onto the toilet seat imprinted on my ass. I’ll read forward in the mirror. The sign on the door read OUT OF ORDER, but I had not choice but to sit down and blast away anyway. In the nick of time, too. I don’t know if this slop is gonna flush through or if I should even try.

~~~Back in the car again. Lulu ate an old, moldy hamburger at the gas station. Rochelle got it out of her mouth once, but then she got it again. ~~So, Harvard came by to evaluate me yesterday. I won’t go into detail, but suffice it to say I have to do it over. In the post-evaluation interview, we lied to each other: she said she wasn’t “picking on” me, and I said I didn’t think she was.      After school, Elmer and I wert up to Dublin’s. Jackie and Florelle met up with us. I lost a game of pool and talked like a dumb drunk. I went home around six. Thing came over and we played Scrabble and watched “Young Frankenstein.” We’re at my mom’s now in Placentia. I’m going to put on UCLA/Stanford and read the paper and fall asleep.

 

7:15 PM 2-28-01 W

[Pencil sketch of Seattle Kingdome]

The Kingdome, Seattle, Washington, 1997, from a train trip on ‘shrooms when a guy got run over and an earthquake struck, and a bridge went out.

8:50 PM  Whatever. Let’s see. I haven’t written anything in over twenty-four hours. The fucking Blues let fucking Edmonton win. I met with Harvard yesterday morning. If she were hit by a bus, my unhappiness vis-à-vis my career might improve. She was wearing some kind of yellow thing wrapped around her head. Whatever. She asked if I had the memo because I guess she didn’t remember what exactly she wanted to talk to me about. So, she said she wants the educational posters I have up on the blinds taken down. Wants me to teach my kids in groups rather than the whole class. I told her that I don’t like groups. While you’re teaching one group, the other groups fool around and get in trouble. Whatever. Who cares? There was a bunch of other crap. I smirked and nodded a lot. She probably just sees me as some privileged white male asshole like the kind she must have despised growing up in Mississippi. I was angry when I left her office. It was hard to teach. Whatever.

We’ve decided it would be insane to try to go to Ireland. So, I wasted a bunch of money on CDs, and I bought a bulletin board and hung a world map in the dining area of the kitchen. So, what should we do for spring break? Lassen? I didn’t write last night. I was still pissed in the head, and Rochelle was trying to study for her math test and the baby was demanding someone’s undivided attention. Luckily, she likes when I play the guitar. I’m getting a lot of practice. I have to start expanding my repertoire, though I’m having a caguama. When I’m done here, I should do a third-person page, but I think I’ll take a book to bed.

Su 2-25-01 8:40 PM

I’m in bed watching a recording I made of the great giant ant movie, “Them!” What a treat! I read about Josephus, the Jewish historian of Rome a little bit ago. He sounded like the negative stereotype of the self-serving-- Whatever. My brother and sister rang the phone four different times between two and four AM. Trippers. I added about twelve lines to Jim this morning, and then I accidentally erased them. Ugh. I rewrote it from memory tonight, but naturally, I didn’t like them as well.

Sa 2-26-01 7:01 AM
I’m at the kitchen table, coffee brewing against the bleak atmosphere beyond the walls. I’d like to zip through this and read a surah of the Koran before I go up to school. Once I get to school, I’ve got to put the standards on the bulletin boards. I’ve got to get the math tools from Horowicz. I’ve got to enroll in a class. I’ve got to return the keys. Got to write my lesson plans. There must be something else.

At LACAS today, I’ve got to get paperwork for the keys. I have to remember to bring in the pledge cards and file folders and a boxcutter or some kind of knife to open the box the cabinets came in.

What else? The wife managed to pick up a couple of parking tickets in front of the house here this week. That’ll cost eighty bucks.

There is so little to write about this morning; I doubt I’ll get to the Koran before I leave for school.

Tomorrow morning, I’m supposed to meet Harvard.

I need to read that Ireland book. I called a number to have tax forms sent to the house. Maybe I’ll prepare them myself this year. It’s already time to go. I haven’t even eaten any breakfast. For the last ten minutes, I just vee staring at a map of the U.S., looking at all the roads, imagining a motor home. Then I thought I need a gun, too, in case you run into any thugs from movies like the “Deliverance” hillbillies or something. 9:11 AM I’m at school now. I’ve written lesson plans for the week. When the kids are done with their journals, I’ll send one to pick up the math tests. When I(‘m done with this, I’ll make the sign of the standard for the bulleting boards. Then, I’ll read a surah.

 2-23-01 F 1:18 PM

Ugh. Let’s see. I typed fifteen minutes on the laptop this morning. It was raining when I left the house. I picked up a newspaper. Blake was traded to the Colorado Avalanche. 7:03 PM Waiting for Coen. He’s got tickets to the Laker game. It would have been wiser to turn down the invitation. Rochelle was sad. She took the baby to her mom’s. The game starts at 7:30. Thing’s chronically late to leave for things.  I rolled my last smoke. Blake’s already got an assist for the Avalanche. I wish Thing would have gotten here early enough for me to go down to the store for some flowers. And toilet paper. And milk and shampoo. There he is now. Do 8:24 We’re at Staples. “Which one’s Shaq?” I joked when we sat down. A guy a couple of seats over looked at me like I subscribed to Playgirl. I left a chair between him and me, but a family arrived at our row, and I had to move over next to him. “There goes our elbow room,” I said. I put my beer under the seat until the guy pointed out the cup holders on the backs of the seats right in front of us. Duh. I said, “Oh, well, we usually sit up in the luxury boxes. We don’t have to worry about it up there.” He didn’t say anything. At halftime, Thing and I wandered the arena. I got a little outfit for Ada. It’s got a Laker logo on it. We went out onto a cool patio with a view of downtown. Now we’re at Windows, a bar and restaurant on the top (32^nd) floor of the Transamerica building. It seems like the kind of place to order a martini, so I did. They got one on the menu called “The Last Worthless Evening.” It’s got bitters and dry vermouth. Today, I was thinking a brandy and coffee could be called a “Cujo.”

I started reading Cities of the Plain. So far, it seems to have started off randomly, but now it’s building up to a meeting of John Grady and Billy Parham.

I hope the wife and baby are okay. When I called down to the OC, the kid was screaming bloody murder.

“He musta been driving drunk.”

“Either that, or he had an aneurism.”

Looks like the dark angel is trading numbers with the bartender while her beau is in the bano.

 2-21-01 W 7:55 PM

[photographer's hand curled around a beer on a bar where, under glass, a long row of various mini liquor bottles lay flat from one end of the bar to the other]

I can't thing because I'm so sick of Wilshire Hill. I hope the baby is not picking up my bad vibes; she has been crying and crabby since we came home. Maybe the flight gave her an earache. The Grammys are on. Rochelle skipped school to pick up her sister and brother-in-law at the airport. They were returning from Jackson, Mississippi. I got no exercise again today. I need to sort out some CD-ROMS. S0. What? I had no desire to get out of bed this morning, but I did. I just wet my hair and brushed my teeth. Forced out a fifteen-minutes. Gathered my shiet [sic] and drove up to Wilshire Hill. Phylicia gave me a note from Harvard who wants to see me about all this stuff. Whatever. I typed up an angry letter in response. I can't decide whether to give it to her. Whatever. I'm sick of that fucking place. Whatever. We did our phonics. Did some exclamations and commands. Wen to an assembly for the math-a-thon. At recess, I read the sports page. The Kings are done for. After recess, we counted back change. The kids struggled with it for a second day. At lunch, I worked on my angry letter. After lunch, I read them a book about gorillas. Then we did the first half of our Navajo review in our social studies books. We had a little time for some handball. I ate a little leftover beef and broccoli for lunch, but there wasn't any broccoli in it. Looked over the front page. Some guy named Hanssen got busted for spying. Whatever. As I was leaving, Welsh says the only reason the LEPs did well was because of the Korean kids. Colbert showed me a bunch of crappy scores for my kids from last year but didn't she me off their scores were any better or worse before I got them. I'll try to harass the c--t about tomorrow. From there, I drove to LA High. Talked with Leah. Picked up dictionaries. What else? Drove over to Hoover. Talked to Vela. She says she'll give me keys tomorrow

 

Su 2-18-01 8:23 PM

On the potty, taking a Red-Bull-induced poopoo in advance of heading over to the Gaylord to try to cheer up Thing whose girl has just split on him. I guess I’ll drive and if I get drunk, I’ll take the bus or a cab and ride my bike to wherever the car is tomorrow, except that I wonder if I can move the stroller into the front seat to put my bike in the trunk. I typed fifteen minutes and read the Sunday Times. Then we drove out to the Graves’ in Hacienda Heights. 9:30 Over at Thing’s. He’s playing Johnny Cash, trying to toughen himself up against the girl-gone blues. I’m having a scotch and water. Out the window, the red neon sign of the Prince glows noirishly down the street. Maybe we’ll go to the Bounty and Brass Monkey or Tiki Tai or Cheetah or maybe we’ll just stay here and finish this bottle of scotch. It’s smoked Laphroaig. Tastes like drinking from an ash tray.

Thing has just presented me with a copy of The Curse of Lono.

We’re reminiscing about the novelization of Escape from New York. And the movie.

We can neutralize the charge with x-rays.

“Okay, so what’s the plan here?”

“First, we’ll go to the Bounty and have a beer. Then we’ll go to the Brass Monkey and have a beer. Then We’ll drive up to Tiki Tai and have a cocktail, and then we’ll got to Cheetah’s, and then we’ll go to jail.”

“Do they have a bar there?”

“Yeah, a whole bunch of ‘em.”