Sa 9:58 AM 5-19-01 

I wrote fifteen minutes drunk last night before bed. I had been shooting pool at Barney's Beanery. I woke up around four with a headache, a tossing and turning discomfort, and gas. I took some Tylenol and a crap and drank some Alka-Seltzer and smoke a bowl and went to lie down on the couch, accompanied by feelings of dread, grief, and self-recrimination. My Stanford 9 tests have supposedly disappeared. I left them in my room. Forgot to turn them in. The next morning, they were gone. Maybe some kids got into the room through Fedeline's class and took them? Not likely, because none of the Pokemon cards or computer games were missing. More likley, Nora Colbert, the coordinator noticed they hadn't been turned in, came and got them, and now want to make me sweat. Colbert wasn't there yesterday. God, I hope this "Jeopardy!" thing comes through. I better start practicing my speech.     "We're going to a birthday barbecue at my mom's today. My mother-in-law's is today, mine's Monday, and Kristie's is next week. My baseball game is tomorrow at El Sereno.

The Devils and Penguins are on. Rochelle's worried about her mom. We were supposed to go down there around eleven, and she's been calling, but no one's answering. It's afternoon now. The baby's in the bungee chair. Sheryl Crow's singing on the stereo. I'd like to booze it up some more today, but I don't want to suck at my baseball game tomorrow. There's no sun today, just a glowing white sky.  What the hell else? I should make [blue ink New Jersey Devils logo with horns and barbed tail and the word 'fire'] a tape [blue ink Pittsburgh Penguins logo with penguin and hockey stick and the words 'and ice'] for Father's Day. Rochelle is calling the old forlks home where her grandmother lives. She thinks her mother may be there. I hear only the esses, she talks so softly. My grandfather died on my dad's birthday. It suggests that we take our parents' lives. I'd like to play a little guitar if I ever finish this page. Read some more History of the Ancient Orient. Try to type a third-person page. Reade the paper. Looks like I won't be checking out any towyards today.

 5-16-01 12:12 PM W

[drawing of a doorway leading to another doorway leading to another doorway.... beside a horoscope: You could be part of exciting mission. As result, you gain recognition will be more secure financially.] This refers to the "Jeopardy!" job. I think I'll shoot a little pool up in Hollywood today when I'm done with the Dept. of Malicious Vexation. Rochelle has to go to class tonight, so I'll have to be home at six and not too drunk. The Blues have to beat the Forsberg-less Avalanche in St. Louis, or they are done for. Unless something wonderfully horrible happens to Patrick Roy. Where can I shoot some pool and watch the game? I should start practicing my speech. Again, I'm dreading the third-person page. I'm way behind on Jim progress this month. Ugh. Should I read Rimbaud after this or The History of the Ancient Orient? I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich today. I'll have to play some more basketball. I've gotten slack. I have to fill out some crap on the Stanford 9, like the highest educational level reached by either parent. Oh, how I hope I get this job. I hope it pays well. I hope I have a month off before it starts so I can on a serious drinking binge. I'm hungry. I wish I had some of that tarragon rice the wife makes [photograph of husband and wife in front of Staples Center] Here's the wife and I before a hockey game this past St. Patrick's Day. Look at that face she's making. That's the "Oh-God-I'm-stuck-in-a-marriage-where-I-never-get-any-sex" face. Whatever. What else? We have a birthday party to go to for the mother-in-law on Saturday. I have a baseball game on Sunday. I've got to try not to be hungover. I'll thirty-three on Monday. Man, do I want a drink. Maybe I can take my driver's test drunk. That would at least be funny. Eight of my kids are complete imbeciles. Eight out of twenty; what are the odds? Is that representative of the world at large? That seems about right. Forty percent of people are fucked in the head. None worse than me.

 5-15-01 Tu 12:43 PM

Ten days until my hopefully career-changing interview. I typed fifteen minutes this morning. Woke up late. Showered quickly. Dressed. Put on a tie in hopes of the kids taking their testing a little more seriously. I rode my bike to school. Typed fifteen minutes on the laptop. Administered today's tests. The Big Beef Burrito Supreme Court ruled that medical marijuana is illegal. I become more disillusioned with the law. I see that you need a city permit to have live music in Newport Beach. Whatever. I had Taco Hell at recess. That's going to have to be it. Joshua the Jesus Freak is coming to take over my class so that I can have some "planning time" from 1:15 until school ends. Maybe I can go for a smoke. Maybe I should correct some math tests. I have to call students from LACAS to fill our classes. Or I can just have Mitzy do it. I'm dreading the third-person page. My imagination is dormant. I need a Mt. St. Helens-sized eruption. The Pens and Devils are on today, at four or five. I forget. I'd like to read some more Rimbaud. Lord Jim waits in the wings. I know so little French history. Are the dead soldiers Arthur sees from Napoleon's army? I tried to bring up Napoleon on the CDROM encyclopedia, but there was a disk error. Yes, those were the Napoleonic Wars (I got the disk to work in a different computer). No. Rimbaud predated Napoleon. Rimbaud turned queer, gave up poetry by the age of twenty, and became a gunrunner in Africa. I wonder if "A Season in Hell" is in this book I have. Yes, it is. I have to crap. And call some students. And do that dreaded third-person page. I'd like to shoot some pool. Ugh. What else? ~~The shitter. Again. It doesn't give that much more to write about. Plop. ~~Back in the class. I talk to Reggie about home prices and private schools. "Teachers work for love, not money," and I think, "Fuck off." The metal screen looked like transparent dragon scales. I've been trying for over three hours now to write these three pages. Is my life that empty? Is that what this means? I want to get a book called The Tortilla Curtain. I sent a book called Ice Brothers by Williwan Sloan to my brother.

 5-15-01 M 11:51 AMI typed fifteen minutes this morning. Ate a little bagel. Drank some coffee. Dressed. Brushed my teeth, my hair. Drove to work. Read a Surah of the Koran called "The Angels." More warnings. I hate be so flippant, but that's about all it is: Warnings of doom for non-believers. I'm skipping lunch. The kids bombed their subtraction test. I pray that I get this other job. I'll read from that Mysteries of the Bible book when I finish writing these three pages. Then I've got to type a third person page. The tow yard. Then I'll read some Rimbaud. Then I've got to try to get Jim to page one fifty-eight. Then I'll read the newspaper. I have to bring some more fucked-up, out-of-order dictionaries to be exchanged at LACAS. Buy some more Expressways books. Get some exercise. Work on "Jeopardy!" speech. Have a smoke. Take a crap. Rochelle has class tonight. I think she has a test. There's a hockey game on this afternoon, too. I'm not sure which one. What else? Do I need a new suit? I'm in the shitter now. The bell just rang. I've got to get online and send my brother some books. What else? [blue ink line sketch of Assyrian winged bull with human head] Sacrilege. [blue ink line sketch of man under a tree with a girl in his arms and a bottle in his hands] Rimbaud, passed out under a tree with a bottle of wine and a like-minded girl. I'll read a story to the kids today. I'm hungry. What else? Fuck. The tow yard. Are the keys in the ignition? Does he have to go back? Should I play basketball today? The principal gave us a book called Teachers are Special. If you read between the lines, it's actual title is Teachers Have Low Self-Esteem, and Some of Them Are Dumb Enough and Desperate Enough Not to Feel Like Losers If You Butter Them Up with Enough Condescending Platitudes. I need some acupuncture. The shades are drawn. I can't see the sky. Can't write about the weather. The Teachers Are Special book has a heart-shaped apple on the cover. Maybe I can make some fish tacos when I get home. Jose is look at a book about Paris. He wishes he could live in the Palais d' Luxumbourg.

5-11-01 7:12 PM F

So, I’m on Wilshire thinkin’ I’m all grown up now, mature and wiser because I only roll smokes at red lights now and not while I’m actually driving. [A page written with a pen with no ink in it that cannot be read at all, though the impressions of a few words can be deciphered] I think I left my composition book at school. I’m home now. The baby’s fussing on the floor. I put her in the big chair. She likes it there. Rochelle went to the gym. I opened a dialog when I got home to try to talk about what’s “wrong.” Whatever. We didn’t really get anywhere. We went to bed and watched the beginning of “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” before falling asleep. Heard rain in the night. Woke up about seven. The baby has been mostly playful, blowing a lot of raspberries. I need to get something for Rochelle for Mont3er’s Day. Her mom is coming up today. We may go to a place called Cha Cha tonight. This guy Eusebio who started at Wilshire Hill is a drummer in a band called Cuba Libre. He says he’s toured with Eric Clapton, Bob Seger, and George Harrison. He said George Harrison used to have a pet dragonfly that followed him around, and one day, Clapton said, “Hey, George,” clapped the dragonfly between his hands, and killed it.

              “A pet dragonfly? Was it on a thread or something?” I asked.

              “No,” Eusebio answered. “It just used to follow him around. I don’t know how—he was all into that Hindu mystic stuff.”

              Hunger. Rimbaud. Third-person page. Jim’s on his way to the tow yard. Police escort. Read the paper. Look online. Do I have enough money to buy a scanner and burner this month? Where are those guitar strings I ordered? Should call Grandma. Sen that letter to Mac. Order him some books. Got a little bossa nova on the radio. Ada had some mashed sweet potatoes for breakfast. A drawing would be good now, but I’m too lazy. I need to go for a bike ride. What else? It’s overcast today. The skies are leaden and dull. Baby’s got some toast now. She’s hanging from the doorjamb in her jumper, bouncing around. I’ve got to look in the phone book for health spas, masseuses, masseurs, facials, manicures, pedicures, etc. What else? Stanley Cup Playoffs are on at noon today. Lakers killed Sacramento last night. Four more lines. What else? The people on this game show are stupid.

 5-9-01 W 12:35 PM

I typed fifteen minutes this morning before riding my bike to school. The kids had Stanford Nine tests to do, so I read the news. Bush will fuck the whole world over to make his pals in the oil, gas, and coal industries even richer. The Kings have to beat the Avs. I ate a Taco Bell burrito at recess. Just one. Maybe that can be all I eat today. We were on lockdown for forty-five minutes or so while the police helicopter scoured the area for fugitives. I've got to play a real sweaty game of basketball today. Got to call LACAS and Holly. The Devils dule to the death with the Leafs is this afternoon. I'll bring books to Hoover tomorrow. I'll get a haircut tomorrow. I have to call Sheryl Powers. Third person page. I need to quit deferring the decision on the keys. I'll do a practice page today with some general mayhem, rather than detailed, prolonged mayhem. I've got Rimbaud to read. I've got to put Barleycorn back on the shelf. 

Augh. What else? It feels like there's an ice pick lodged in the back of my neck. I have no muscular control today. What else? I cut out a picture from the paper of the multi-hued hills around Gorman where the poppies and their friends are abloom in spring splendor. I feel arthritic. A drink would do wonders. A puff: marvels. I need some double A batteries for the remote control for the TV here at school. I need some coffee or something. Or a nap. It's time to go play some basketball. My horoscope said to stick to my diet and exercise plans. [color photo] Here is a park in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. My father told me that the people in the community came out, pitched in, and built it themselves in a day. I believe his point was that back in LA, some city workers would have spent nine months doing it.