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.