5-7-01 9:00 PM M

I should get a haircut soon. I have an appointment at the DMV to get my driver's license renewed next Wednesday the siteenth. I've got to take the written exam. Whatever. Ther was such a beautiful girl at Muse sitting against the wall alongside the band, bored. A runty guy with faux blond hair approached her for a dance, but she refused. I know she wanted me to ask her. What would have been the point? I have been haunted by this for two days. I know it'll go away soon. Yo siento nada para mi esposa, and she doesn't deserve that. Why must I subvert my passion and instincts? How does decency outweigh truth? Ugh. Whatever. As soon as I woke up, the girl was in my head. I shook it off. Pissed. Fed the dog. Got my baseball shit together and drove up to Bob's Big Boy. Had some eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, toast, waffles, French toast, biscuits and gravy, coffee, and water. Wrote a third-person page on the laptop. Paid the bill and drove the Olds to Balboa Park in the Valley. I had a so-so game. I felt clumsy and struck out and popped up, but I walked, stole second, moved to third on a ground out, and scored. I handled everything hit to me in left. When I got home, Rochelle still had not arrived. I wondered if she, too, is affected by other men. I wondered if she kissed any. She had gone out with "the girls" and spent the night in Orange County. They were going dancing. When she came home, I had no desire besarla. I kept doing the dishes. I made some chicken wings and we each drank a Corona Light. I stayed up to see the Kings win a double overtime squeaker against Colorado. Ha ha! I read the news and the Koran and about Herod's Tomb this morning. I typed fifteen minutes. The kids seem to have learned nothing this year. They've even forgotten things I taught them just last week. Why should they care? Whatever. Senorita Villa makes overtures of friendship or something these days. I don't know how to interpret that. It matters little now that I am a eunuch. Whatever. Argh. I took the dictionaries to LACAS and changed them for ones with the pages in order. I picked up a load of English books. The only exercise I got was a bike ride to Wilshire Hill and back. Rochelle went to class. I gave the baby some dinner and a bath. She's asleep in her crib now. Maybe I can finish Barleycorn tonight.

 5-5-01 Sa This watch is broken. I don't know what time it is. It's around three and I have to pick up my mother from the airport at six. I'm in Lakewood. Ball's latest place. The tops of pool slides peek over the sand brick walls. I'm obsessing over not drinking too much and on my brother's situation. "Lime ones. Right next to the salt and vinegars." 4:51 I'm at the park-and-ride MTA train station near where the Wild Goose is. I had to pull over and piss, and there's a train going by about five miles per hour. It's still going by now, five minutes later. I got out and looked around. There are some people on the elevated platform but none in my immediate vicinity. I whipped it out and started pissing. Then, I noticed a chick in a car talking on here phone, looking at me piss. It was a long one. I hae maybe time for one beer at the Goose. That would be unwise. Shoudln't I meet my mom at the gate? That's something you should skip a titty bar for. It is right there, though. The train finally passed. What else? If I meet my mom curbside, I can save some money on parking and save enough time to visit the titty bar. She can't have too many bags. She's fifty-four years old. Can she make it to the curb alone? Well, I should finish these pages first. I could write them in the titty bar. Or at the airport lounge. I atre some carrots and broccoli and chips and salsa at the Balls. Had a Tecate at the pool at Rochelle's mom's condo. Carol held a cup full of beer to the baby's lips, and she gagged on it. I could have choked Carol. Ugh. I had about four more Tecates at the Balls'. And half a Sierra Nevada. And a couple of wee puffs. Titty bar or mom? She's coming back from visiting my brother in the Baltimore Supermax Federal Penitentiary. I'll read some John Barleycorn when I get a chance. I'll try to call Todd when I get back to my house. Maybe I'll drive out to Pasadena. Maybe I should stay home and write. There are some cops driving around the parking lot. Maybe the chick on the phone called them because I was pissing in the parking lot. They drive slowly by.

 5-3-01 Th 10:02 AM

I got drunk on rum last night and watched the Kings lose. My mom took a redeye to DC to be there for my brother's hearing today. I had no hangover this morning. I ate a bagel and drank some coffee and some vinegar and water. I packed no lunch and rode my bike. I'm intent on losing about ten pounds in the next three weeks before I interview for that "Jeopardy!" job. I have to call to schedule my appointment. The number has been busy so far. Checked the kids' homework this morning. Did some test practice. Went to music. I registered for some training that I hopefully won't need if this "Jeopardy!" thing comes through. 11:16 AM What else? When I'm done here, I'll read the news, I guess, and then write a third-person page. Then I'll read some more Barleycorn. I've got to hit redial all through lunch for the "Jeopardy!" thing. I've got to make change so I can buy dictionaries while Jose, the book guy at LACAS, is at jury duty. Apparently, he is the only person in the universe authorized to open the cash register. Maybe I'll ride my bike to Hoover. I'm supposed to go to John Ball's tonight. Redial. Redial. It's hard to think and redial overand over again. What else? Our baseball game is noon Sunday at Balboa Park. I got through. May 25th at 11:30 at Sony Pictures Studios. He's going to email me, Tony is. I'll have get together a three-minute speech. The Genereal Sherman. Carlsbad Caverns. The Sears Tower. I'd run the Boston Marathon. Angel Falls. What else? I have the hiccups. Pedro Estevez is not worht a turd. Eleven thirty. That's perfect. And then the callback is at 12:30. Ideal. I'm going to get this thing. Termperatures on the moon range from -200 degrees F to 200 degrees F! Who knew it go that hot? I'm hungry. If I get past the next round, then I'll have to go again June 18th and 19th. So, let's see. Out of 4,000 tapes, I'm one of 400 to get to the next round. Top ten percent. From 400, I need to one of twenty to move on. So really, I just need to be better than twenty other people. One out of every twenty. Easy. Then I just need to be one of five, and the job is mine. I'll take a leave of absence at school. Ha ha. I hope I survive the background check.

5-1-01 Tu 5:25 PM

Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! I'm going down! She's breaking up! I can't hold her! Actually, my life is boring as shit. A DESPERATELY hoped-for phone call hasn't come, and every minute that ticks by makes it more and more likely that I will not be paroled from my lifetime sentence of drudgery. 

I feel like it was something dependent on cosmic balance, or astrology or something, and my perfectness for the opportunity this phone call would offer is not as universally important as what some judger had for lunch. ~~~~ My faith evaporates. I suspect my fairthlessness also figures in the equations of lucklessness I suffer. A thing that feeds itself: faithlessness begets lucklessness begets faithlessness...

Ergo, faith begets luck! and when I get home tomorrow, the call will come. Tomorrow the call will come. 

My faith is hollow. My negativity is fuller and more real.

I do believe I'm perfect for the job. But what's RIGHT is a nonfactor in reality. Whatever. I'm at Molly Malone's. I've written here before. I forgot to grab a new comp book for this three-pages exercise. If I get out of here quick enough, I can grab one on my way home. It would be better to just get one while I'm there tomorrow, but I don't trust my memory.

CBET funding has been frozen. My cynosure doesn't look so sure anymore. Again, I'm not surprised that my luck should run out. Was it my lack of faith or my realistic perspective?

I'll read a chapter of John Barleycorn when I've finished these three pages. Then I'll stop by Hollywood Video with these coupons and rent some videos. Then I'll go home. 

I typed fifteen minutes on the laptop this afternoon. I stopped by the house looking for the paperwork I need to give the bugman for my salary points and couldn't find it. So, I drove over to LA High and climbed three flights of stairs, but the bugman wasn't there. I brought books into LACAS, but the bookman wasn't there either (My faithlessness is fed). So, I came here to Molly's to read the news. I'll throw some darts maybe here when I I'm done. The wife'll be wondering where I am, though.~~~ I've got to call Sheryl and Getoff and Rawler. New Jersey is losing. Deion Sanders homered against the Dodgers in his first game after being called up from the minors. Last I saw, the Blues were losing to the fucking Texans. I'll have to try to work on a third-person page when I get home. What else? King game tomorrow night. Rochelle will be at class. I hope the baby cooperates. Two guys are playing darts who I've played before. One's a curator at the Page Museum. I've got to pick up the pace on Jim. I wrote only four pages last month. Ugh. I wonder what's for dinner tonight. Should I call Rochelle? What else? This notebook has more lines on a page than the comp books I usually use. I could go for a smoke. Fuck a duck, Chuck. Molly's is obviously an Irish pub. A patron just echoed my thought. The walls are wood-paneled and faux-bricked.

 1-29-01 M 1:26 PM 

I can't find my journal. I must have left it at Molly's. Ugh. I almost don't care. There wasn't anything good written in it. I typed fifteen minute4s this morning. Actually, it was only about four minutes because I was running late. Drove the car. A shame. Got a newspaper. Wrote out the lesson plan for the week. Kids journaled. Read about the worst Super Bowl ever. We've started studying counting money. I skipped the crossword. Had a Maria Callendar's microwave chicken potpie at lunch. All I've eaten today. I ate so much crap this weekend, though. I need some exercise but when? Oh, I had an orange today, too. I guess we can go out for some physical exercise after this. I'd like to knock Henry and Paul's heads together. Have that film to pick up. Should I stop by Molly's? Read The Crossing. Check my mutual funds. At LACAS, the banners need to be ordered. Have to see if Hoover has a key for us yet. Take an inventory of the toys at the daycare. Write a third person. Is there a homeless man under the bridge with Jim. Check the net. Work on Jim. 

So, where do I go first? Get the film? Check on the journal. Make some peanut butter and jelly. Get pencils. What else? He felt fingers around his wrist. Bony fingers.  He didn't even feel like drinking.

Laptops were on sale at Fry's for $1787. Maybe he could check them out soon. He wore sunglasses. I wonder if the eleven percent pay raise will affect my coordinator's pay. I haven't had a smoke since Thursday night. Have to check that "Shot in the Dark" tape. Figure out what to do with my taxes. What else? Henry is the dumbest kid I've ever worked with. A real Forrest Gump. I guess that's it for now.

 

3-6-01 Tu 2:11 PM

We’re out on on the yard. The puddles from the latest storm have nearly all ascended to the heavens. It’s sunny to the west, but ominous clouds are mounting in the north, and the spindly tree branches quake in the same wind that buffets or faces. I’m up next to play handball. We have a staff meeting after school today. I’ve half a mind to point out any absurdities that come up. Whatever. After that, I’ve got to get over to Hoover. First, I’ll read some of that tax book. I’ve got to try to get Veyla to sign that permit. Ugh. Write a third person. Should I bring the laptop or go home and do it? I read a few pages of Cities of the Plain this morning. Jim is no worse. McCarthy has an annoying habit of keeping his reader in the dark about which character he’s writing about. ~~In the auditorium now. Won wonk wonk is all I hear. 4:47 I pulled off Pico at a place called Mike’s Hideout BEER POOL. Two bums lay passed out on either side of the street where I parked. The place was soulless except for a fat old woman wiping down the bar. The woman had lit some fragrant candles in glasses, adorned with images of La Virgen de Guadlupe. I asked if they had liquor or only beer. “Only beer,” she said. She must be wondering what I’m doing here. A Spanish-language soap opera plays on a TV on top of a refrigerator. Christmas lights hang from the bar. St. Michael banishes Satan in a framed picture. She gives me my bar with a paper picnic napkin. The jukebox awaits coins across the concrete floor. Elephant curios line a shelf in the back. And old Mex-Asian guy looks at me disapprovingly. Two calendars with topless women hang by a phone. Decorations for a baby shower hang from the ceiling including a paper stork dealing a bundle of joy and a mobile of rattles and rubber duckies. The round wood tables have red cloths and clear plastic over them. I imagine it's a frightful place Saturday, midnight.

3-8-01 Th 11:42 AM

I typed fifteen minutes this morning. Forwent a shower. Ate a bagel. Rode my bike to school. Bought a newspaper. The price of the times has doubled to fifty cents. I’m reading this tax planner book. It’s not helping much. When I’m done here, I’ll look at the paper. I’m tired behind the eyes. Rochelle and the baby are going to OC tonight. They’re going to meet up with Uncle Terry and my mom. I get to stay home because I have to work.