4-20-01 F 8:50 AM

I'm at Wilshire Hill. I've brought my guitar. I'm practicing "Ode to Joy" on two strings. I read a Lamour short called -- I forget. It was the second story in Valley of the Sun, after "We Shaped the Land With Our Guns." It must have had some similarly garish title. I hate to be a snob, but I'm bummed that this guy's juvenile drivel is so wildly popular. What does it say about the reading population? I guess that they prefer simple things. I suppose life is complicated enough. I think this Valley of the Sun, which was published posthumously, is collection of early stories that were not publishable until Lamour had garnered fame and followers. As long as I'm lording it over, he strikes me in his memoir as a bumpkin hick trying desperately to affect erudition by carrying around in his pockets books he does not understand and traveling to places where he hides in libraries out of a sense of caution. I know I lack self-awareness, but it's not surprise that my juvenile drivel is unpopular. It's a case of acting equalling becoming.

We go to the library after recess. I've got some Ring Lardner to read and the newspaper. A third person page to write. Like to play a little chess. Brought some leftover pasta and an orange for lunch. Have to go to the Museum of Natural History n Exposition Park to check out the inset collection there. Rochelle and Ada are going to come. I've been playing Brahm's Lullaby and Handel and sol Debussy's Claire de Lune on a CD on the laptop, but now I've got Miles Davis. Yesterday we listened to Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt Suite "In the Mountain of the Trolls" Or the "Hall of the Mountain King" or whatever. Rousing stuff. Tomorrow I have that insect class. The Kings are on at noon.      Ugh.  Happiness is a warm gun, bang bang shoot shoot. I wonder if Monday's game is sold out. Now what?