11-4-01 11:50 Sa

“I’ll be thirty-four in two months,” Thing hisses. “It’s frightening.”

I’m thinking it would be a funny thing to say that we should send the Statue of Liberty back to France and tell the huddled masses to go there. I don’t really believe that, but it’s a funny thing to say. Alkied out with a game tomorrow. Moron. Though of something pissing that I wanted to write, but now I can’t remember. I want to go bowling. A few Mexican strums, backed by sirens and rustling palms, ride the cool breeze like a score closing in on the midnight Hudson stoop; only in California. Thing’s dog shits condoms and cat litter. The magnolia’s dropping seeds on me. Thing took a copy of Jim home, the first 148 pages. I was reading it last night and liked what I read, but I was a little high. I discovered some essential paradox last night. What was it?~~It’s morning now. I can’t think of anything to write. I should go for a bike ride. I haven’t enough time. It rained this morning. What else? Ada is awake now. She’s playing with my pen. Rochelle wants to take a nap, but she says she can’t sleep. My shoulder hurts. Ada’s taking bites of banana and spitting them out. The Bucs and Packers are on TV at Lambeau. The Ravens are on in Pittsburgh. Game Seven of an epic World Series is on tonight. I’m hungry. And fat. Schilling vs. Clemens. I wish the game was being played in New York.

I have to go to the Leadership Council meeting tomorrow. And also “Smush.” Ugh. I’m supposed to type concerns for the meeting. I’ll have to leave by four.

 10-31-01 W 4:15 PM

I need to change the clock on the mantel. Check email. My mom is here. She wanted to be here for Ada's first Halloween. I'm tired and crabby as usual. I typed fifteen minutes before school started this morning. I read the first part of The Secret Sharer. The secret sharer is the inner Mr. Hyde we share ourselves with. Ho-hum. A witch, a tiger-princess, a fairy princess, two devils, and three ninjas came to class today. We checked our homework and read spooky tales like "The Golden Arm" and "Wait Until Martin Comes," and "Taily-Po" and others. Then the kids wrote their own scary stories, and we carved the pumpkin. I asked if they wanted a scary pumpkin or a happy pumpkin. Seventeen scaries and one vote for happy. Then we cut out letters and ghosts and bats and things for our parade banner. Then the kids read their stories: ghosts that eat children, that kind of thing. We watched "Mad Monster Party." Rochelle brought cupcakes and a cute little duck named Ada. There was a union meeting after school. It was boring and aimless, but at least I'm not alone in hating the principal. OK, that's it. Now what? I haven't read the newspaper yet. Game Four of the World Series is on soon. I roasted the pumpkin seeds, but I left them in a little too long. I just got a vodka and margarita mix shiver. What else? Ugh. I'll find a photo to post on the next page so I won't have to think of that much more to write. 

Here's Ada in New Rochelle, New Jersey at cousin Krista's house. I should email them. What else? My mom's bagging on Persians. That's it.

 10-30-01 Tu 7:35 AM

Wilshit Hill. Still need to get the oil changed. We have a God-damned meeting today. Two hours. Whatever. I think I'll get "Whatever" tattooed over my heart. I typed fifteen minutes on my laptop at night school last night. The class was sluggish and dense. So was I. It didn't go well. "En lunes, las gallinas no ponen," said Ernest and Miguel. "On Monday, the hens don't lay." When the pretty girls go to the board, the guys all whistle.         I walked home.             We watched the beginning of "Enemy at the Gate," but Rochelle got sleepy, so we paused it. I ch3eckd my email, but there was no message from jbarkley at the UCLA Conference Center at Lake Arrowhead. I tried to finish reading the newspaper, but I got sleepy, too, and slept. I heard rain around four in the morning. I need to move my bike under the awning. The baby was playing with and talking to a stuffed elephant after sunrise this morning. She has been very happy the last few days. I crapped and rad about the NFL. Took a quick shower. Skipped breakfast but brought a Tupperware container of spaghetti and turkey meat sauce to school. I drove again. Ugh. Barry, the plant manager, stopped by. We natter about disliking the principal. "You here early," he says.

"It's this Daylight Saving. It won't last a week, but while it does, I thought I'd try to look dedicated."

"You dedicated," he says.

I'm going to read The Secret Sharer next.         The adult school director, Claudine Ajeti, still hasn't given me the letter of recommendation I asked for. It's holding up the whole process. I have to call Mariachi to see about that dining room table. I'm going to have to take off night school next Monday to try out for the game show "Smush." Ada's first birthday is ten days away. Unbelievable how much they grow in a year and how quickly a year passes. I ordered her a "Snow White" DVD off Amazon.com, but we need to find her some interactive toys. We're going to have cake and a little party for her next Thursday and then a bigger party with all the gang on Sunday the 11th. I need to get my dad a birthday card. The bell is going to ring any minute now. The kids have their big important assessment tomorrow. We'll do some review today. Maybe watch some more "Mad Monster Party" after.

 10-28-01 Su 11:45 AM
On the home crapper. Haven't and won't write anything good, especially not if this pen won't work. Rochelle, Ada, and I went up to Farmer's Market and met Slim Phantom for breakfast. Maybe if I had gone up early by myself for a little while I would have become a writer among the people and the multitudes of their expressions and voices. Since my pen died on me, I'm now writing with a CREME LIPLINER I found in Rochelle's makeup drawer. I hope it doesn't smudge. The girls are coming to my game. We'll go when I get off the pot. 6:51 PM Home again. In bed. Johnson is throwing a gem against the Yanks in Game 2. Our game was in Azusa this afternoon. The other team sucked. We won 14-4, but I was 0 for 4, popped up a bunt. struck out, popped up to short with the bases loaded, and flew out to left. Also missed a bounced throw from third and threw wildly home, allowing two runs to score. I read a couple surahs; the name of one is translated as "Iron" and the other as "The Woman Who Will Not Be Put Away" or something full of woe to the unbelievers. Ugh--Sunday night already. Another lost weekend. Johnson threw a complete-game shutout. I could have written in this journal on the way home from the game. I don't know why I didn't. I guess I'll read the paper after this. We had spaghetti for dinner. The movie "Reds" is on now. Whatever. What else? I'm back to thinking Jim sucks shit. I wish I had balls like this Jack Reed fellow. But I don't. I have balls like--I don't kinow--Doris Day or something. The fucking helicopter is shaking the house again. What have we wrought?     Ten days that shook the world. We turned back the clocks this weekend. What else? What else? Who cares. Go go go. What else? I'm impotent. What are the vital people doing with their lives? The people with balls and brains? What are they doing? What kind of business can I open? What else?

 10-20-01 9:14 PM Sa

I'm in bed. Rochelle is working on a crossword puzzle. The baby is asleep in her crib in the adjoining room. UCLA is beating Cal. The Yanks lost badly today, 17-3. D'Backs are one win away from the Series with the Big Unit on the mound tomorrow. The Irish beat SC. The Kings lost to Detroit. Robitaille scored the game winner. Mardi came up to babysit for us last night. I blended some Irish Creme Liquer and coffee and vanilla rum with some ice and a little bourbon. I drove to Ball's and Nena in Redondo Beach for a Halloween party. I was a mad pharmacist. Rochelle found a shirt at a second-hand store that said Kaiser Pharmacy. She dressed as a prostitute. I think this is every woman's fantasy.  There were two other prostitutes there. They were teachers. I smoked hash and drank Old Scratch. I became almost mute. I wanted to hide under Rochelle's skirt. The girls were sexy and talked to me incessantly without me saying anything. Rochelle drove home. I was hungover this morning. I want to Lucy's for the greasy Mexican hangover cure. Now I feel like there's a brick in my rectum. Lay in bed most of the day. Rochelle and I fooled around. I need to get the oil changed in the Olds. We have a double header tomorrow. I haven't read the newspaper yet today. Heath Hairstone called from the US Navy. Said an officer recruiter would call. That sounds insane. Rochelle rented some movies. "The Mummy Returns" and "A Knight's Tale." I read a couple pages of Cheever's diaries. We ordered pizza and wings. I need shampoo and blank video. What else? I can't think of anything. I'm tired. I don't handle alcohol well anymore. I need to get some hits tomorrow. What else? My mind is blank. Cheever wrote of being in Russia, boringly. I wonder if the Navy would pay us enough to live in the house in Riverside. I should ask about the Naval War Assessment Center. Won't it be an even worse bureaucracy than the one I hate now? I wonder how busted I'll be for not having left lesson plans at Wilshire Hill on Thursday and Friday. I should make some coffee and try to blast this brick out of my bowels. What else? God help me. I read some more Chesapeake; some Quakers want to ask Hitler to let the Jews go. UCLA is piling on against Cal Berkeley. Whatever happened to Steve Holm?

 10-17-01 Th 6:25 AM

Aboard the U.S.S. Shitter. Trying to decide whether to go to school today. I had been planning on not going because I was so full of resentment, and I wanted to call Riverside to see what job I could get. But I don't feel that resentful today, and if I find work in Riverside, it's six months until we move there, and I'd have a six-hundred- mile commute each week until then. Still, I ought to go out and do some legwork ahead of time. I guess I should use my sick days. But shouldn't I save them for days when I am too filled with resentment? I sent out resumes for two other jobs last night. I'll need days off if they decide to interview me. Or maybe I should blow it all off and take Rochelle and Ada to Disneyland. I've debarked the Shitter. On the couch. Searching the TV for something to think. Called a sub. It's cold this morning. I put on the heater, sweats, socks, and a jacket. Anthrax is all over the TV. I don't think it can get out. But is it spreading? I'm hungry. Maybe I'll have some eggs for breakfast. Poor old Ashcroft doesn't look like he's getting much sleep. I think the white crazies are behind the anthrax. The Braves beat the D'Backs, but the Yanks won yesterday. Petitte looked great. What else? Rochelle and the baby are up now. The baby came over to say, "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaaa." And I said it back to her. Lulu has brought in a lime she harvested from the tree out back. She and the baby are having a game of keep away. I wonder if Lulu's horrible shitty farts are from eating limes.

I've got to take a shower and read the news and figure out what to do. Ada has another tooth now. She's drinking milk and farting it through her lips and having great fun doing so. She has a milk beard. I typed fifteen minutes at night school last night. I had forty-two students last night. 

 10-15-01 M 10:27 AM 

Wilshire Hill. I'm going to resign this week. I asked Ms. Adams to get me in touch with Ms. Sneech to ask her how she did it. Ms. Adams wouldn't give me Ms. Sneech's number but said she would give her mine. Thanks a lot. GIP and I drove up to Red Rock on Saturday night. We sat in traffic on Sunset for an hour with no radio. Had no mojo. A girl came to talk to us, but we bored her away. I lost a game of darts. Came home at around one thirty. Jerked a stiff. ~~ We won our game yesterday, eight to five. A ball grazed my beer belly, and I got on and scored. Got called out on strikes, popped up, and sacrifice bunted. I'm still 0 for the season, 0 for three games, 0 for 10 with seven strikeouts. Ugh. Yesterday, 0 for 2, only one strikeout. And the pitchers aren't any good. I just suck. Three pick-off throws got past me at first. I don't know whose errors they were, but I'm sure everyone was connecting the misplays to my own suckitude. Whatever. I watched the Yanks beat the A's at Mariachi's. The do-or-die game is tonight. I have to go to work. Ugh. Rochelle called from work and asked me to pick her up in Orange County. I paused before I said OK. That pause got me in trouble. I don't even want to go into it. I just want to go to Taco Bell and resign from teaching elementary school at Wilshire Hill. ~ I haven't read the Sunday paper. I went to bed early and woke up many times in the middle of the night. I woke up at three and then again at four. By then, I was wide awake. I could have gotten up and read the paper, but I just lay there. I have to get out of this job. Tomorrow is Back to School Night. Goodie goodie. Lunch isn't for another 20 minutes.