WANDERYEAR

1997-1998

WANDERYEAR
1997-1998

RICHARD GRAYSON

Superstition Mountain Press Phoenix 2013

Copyright 2013 by Richard Grayson. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Superstition Mountain Press 4303 Cactus Road Phoenix, AZ 85032

First Edition ISBN #: 978-1-300-49655-7

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Suna Bulut

Wanderyear
1997-98

Saturday, March 15, 1997

10 PM. I dont know where the day went to. I just finished reading the New York Times, and if I hadnt done my laundry at 8 PM, finishing the job an hour ago, Id have yet another chore to put off to tomorrow. As it was, I didnt read any of the three chapters I need to cover on Tuesday and Wednesday, nor did I grade a single one of the 15 papers from the Gainesville American lit class. I did sleep soundly last night, not waking up till 7:30 AM which is an improvement over 5 AM. Yet I remained tired and I lay in bed for hours, drifting in and out of consciousness. When I first started teaching at Broward Community College in 1981, I remember being so

exhausted by full-time work that I slept or lay in bed nearly all Saturday. Today almost felt like that. However, at 10:30 AM I forced myself to do step aerobics, and before noon, I got the mail, which included The AWP Chronicle. I found one magazine I could submit stories to, and at work I used Netscape for browsing the other sites listed in the Chronicle, including one run by Matthew Paris, the former editor of the Brooklyn College Literary Review or whatever it was called. Hes still in Brooklyn, apparently still writing without success in the paper publishing world of New York trade houses. Well, theres not much hope for anyone literary there, but I suspect that Matthew, like myself, will always be overlooked because of lack of talent rather than the stupidity and venality of the publishers (although those traits are real). I sent something to Matthews enterprise, New World Publishing, on diskette as an ASCII document, the way he requested manuscripts. Pete Cherches called tonight, and he said he wont submit at all to anything thats not on paper. His delightful India piece was taken by a paperback magazine Grand Tour. Petes new job is both mind-deadening and well-paying; the company has an archaic computer system, and its been hard for Pete to get used to office work, especially in a field he expected to leave.

St. Martins still has Petes dissertation, and he hasnt given up hopes of securing an academic job eventually. It must be quite disappointing for him to get his Ph.D. and yet be unable to find a professorship. But the academic job market will be awful for years to come. When I mentioned how Patrick told me how many Ph.D.s had applied for the Broward Community College job openings, Pete said, Well, of course you applied. Why would Pete think Id apply for a job that I had sixteen years ago? If I had to, Id teach at BCC for a semester, but not for more than that; grading all those comp papers would eventually drive me up a wall. I feel frustrated because I keep having to tell people like Pete and Elihu when Im leaving my job and apartment in Gainesville and where Im going. I understand that they dont keep track of my lifes deadlines, but why do they keep reasking the questions as if theyre expecting a different answer? Perhaps I shouldnt have, but I took time today to see the 3 PM showing of British filmmaker Mike Leighs Secrets and Lies at the Royal Park Cinema. The 2-hour movie was brilliant, like a work of literature, with great dialogue and superb acting. Its too bad that Hollywood movies are all formulae, special effects, car crashes, explosions, remakes of third-rate sitcoms, etc.,

when you see what good stories can be told on film. Well, I guess its the same reason that publishers print books by Alices clients: they make money.

Sunday, March 16, 1997

7 PM. Yesterday I started thinking that the one thing thats most preying on my mind, the Department of Education memo, is probably something there is no graceful way to put this I should get out of doing. I thought about it when I woke up at 4 AM and was unable to get back to sleep. The truth is, I just dont want to do it, and the thought of it hanging out over my head after I leave the Center for Governmental Responsibility fills me with dread. This is, of course, a self-induced misery. While I have a 10 AM appointment with Jon tomorrow, Ill try to get ahold of Chuck Rehberg earlier and tell him simply that Im leaving my job at CGR in two seeks and cant finish the memo then. If I let him think Im going on to another job at Nova that will make it easier. Whats the worst thing he or Jon or Liz or Laura can do? My feeling, self-serving and selfish though it is, goes like this: The next six weeks are going to be difficult enough without

my promising to complete a project which I dont want to do and which will bring me no money. I can take off two or maybe three days this week and read the Nova text and grade papers. So what did I do today? Well, I finished the entire Sunday New York Times, the Miami Herald, and articles from other papers online. I did some low-impact aerobics, washed the car, bought some groceries, and watched some news shows on TV. Yesterday, rereading my 1980s diary entries as silly and pompous as some of them sound reassured me that I am not my job or my apartment or my writing career, that all those things have been mutable my entire adult life, and yet I feel a continuity that youd expect if Id been, like Sean, in the same job and the same house and with the same person for the last dozen years. In the journals, I read not only of the love I had for Sean and the intimacy we shared, but also something Id forgotten: his late-night calls from Gainesville in the fall of 1982, when he was lonely and uncomfortable, and how I tried not to show him the exasperation I felt at his inability to break through his shyness and meet people at UF. Obviously Curtis was willing to take charge of Seans life if I wasnt, and Curtis seems to have done a good job in making Sean happy all these years.

My fantasies for Sean were based on my own experiences at college: I needed to let Sean go precisely so that he could discover the world on his own, the way I did. At 18, I wasnt going to have any part of an older man like Brad trying to control my life. While I still admire Sean for taking risks that I never did, I dont give myself enough credit for being independent when I was young. I thought nothing of going to the movies or a restaurant or a party by myself when I was 18, and I think nothing of it now. Even if I werent gay, I probably would have remained a bachelor, for bachelorhood is something I find has great appeal. Yes, I get lonely, but not nearly as much as other people might think, and I greedily hoard my solitude. Friends like Pete and Alice would understand, and I expect Kevin does, too. Anyway, being in contact with Sean again has reminded me that our relationship ended in the best way possible, that we both ended up getting what we wanted. Ive always felt more distress at perceived lack of progress in my career than I have in any romantic problems or lack of same. I still feel that, whatever my accomplishments, Ive never achieved what I might have because of an inability to focus, the lack of a singleminded vision. I write stories instead of a

novel and I write articles instead of a nonfiction book. Notice that that I havent talked (written) at all about the law in any of this, although its been hard to escape the law in the last 5 years at a law school. I think it will be good not to think of myself as a lawyer for a while. And I find myself not wanting to be pegged as a gay activist or a gay writer, even though in the past couple of years, most of my writing fiction, and now nonfiction has dealt with being gay. Coming out is a never-ending process, but Ive worked through a lot of it in my mind, and I want to move on. Move on. Its time to get going, kiddo. Until I figure out some things like how I can earn money to support myself and where Im going to be living and what I want to write about next Ill have a difficult time. But Im in decent shape physically and mentally, and my finances are better than they have been, although Im facing unemployment (of course, given my financial irresponsibility in the past, thats hardly reason to celebrate). Basically, Im an optimist. It was hard when I got out of law school and had no job except adjuncting at Santa Fe Community College, but I made do. I got involved with the No on One

campaign and had articles published in newspapers and I kept myself busy. Im not a pushover. I may not be anyones idea of Mr. Stability, but Ive survived to almost 46 with all my wits and my hair and most of my teeth. Which reminds me: its time to floss and use the, damn it, whats that thing called?

Thursday, March 27, 1997

8 PM. I feel like Im coming down with a really bad cold. Jon Mills has it, Joe Jackson has it, Sharon Procter has it, and so do several of my Nova students. Actually, it makes sense that Id be ill just as Im about leave my job at UF. Colds for me have always been like little deaths, or more accurately, mini-mourning periods. And I need to mourn now that Im about to stop going to work at CGR after more than 2 years. Besides, Ive been stressed out and so am probably much more vulnerable to germs. It isnt really a bad time to be sick, since I dont have to teach this weekend at Nova and my job at CGR ends on Monday. I got up at 6 AM and heard the news about 39 cult members committing suicide in San Diego.

They were young people with a group that designed Web pages. Dressed in a suit and tie, I arrived on campus at the law school at 9 AM. I took some calls Liz brought over Joes article on Romer v. Evans, which he wants me to read and comment on. I went to Rosalies class at 10:20 AM, and I saw Sharon and met two more recent grads, Roy, a rumpled solo practitioner, and Kayla, who works for AvMed, my HMO. Rosalie got a note that she had to pick up her daughter at school because the girl was ill, so she left after introducing us, and Sharon went first, taking up most of the time before she had to leave for a hearing. We were supposed to talk about how we use legal research in our jobs, but the questions to Sharon and Kayla were mostly about how they got their positions which is understandable, I suppose, since the students are about to graduate and pretty nervous about their uncertain futures. I talked for only ten minutes, and although I was funny, I got only one question: Whats CGR? Like, someone had gone to the law school here for three years and had no idea. They looked like a pretty boring group, actually. I had to go directly from Rosalies class to the symposium. Only about sixty or seven

audience members showed, so it was much smaller than last years symposium, but the Florida Bar fellows did a wonderful job anyway. I think people at our law school just arent interested in the plight of migrant workers. Tim came in and sat next to me, and I could see that (of course) he mostly agreed with Scottie Butler of the Florida Farm Bureau rather than any of the advocated for the migrant workers, like the legal aid attorney or the union organizer. And I do understand that the migrant workers lives would be miserable even if the agribusiness interests werent so greedy. But what was depressing was everyones acknowledgement that given the realpolitik of Florida, nothing is going to change for them. The IFAS professor said migrant workers need education and training most of all, but then, if they can compete in the job market, whos doing to replace them in the citrus groves and vegetable fields? I had some good conversations at the reception afterwards. Barbara doesnt have to start at Jacksonville Area Legal Services till August 1, and shell buy a car and commute from Gainesville. Her salary will be $25,000, not $24,000, and shes relieved because she was able to come out during the interview and still get the job. Marcia and Rhonda and Jill told me Ill be missed at the law school.

After coming home to change today was the warmest day its been I returned to CGR. Laura told me that Ill get the $450 in OPS money for doing the DOE memo, but it wont come until Im after the faculty payroll. So I guess I wont apply for unemployment benefits next week after all. Well, well see how I feel, physically and psychologically. I answered a few inquiries and revised the PICAP documents and finally went home at 4:30 PM. I was so tired, I practically fell asleep when I lay down for an hour. Sean began his note, Long time no E-mail, and explained about being busy at work and then arranging Curtiss 40th birthday party for about fifty friends last week. Sean explained that he kept asking about my being married and having kids because he assumed I was bisexual and not gay. He mentioned Howard Cosells daughter, thinking she was a serious relationship in my past. It was stupid, I know, but I wrote Sean back immediately: a long letter really opening up to him, telling him that yes, unlike him Ive had no problems getting excited when I was with woman, but I said its uncool to say one is bi these days at least among people I know. I talked about my 70%/30% line (which is what I told Dr. Wouk decades ago was the percentage I felt gay versus straight), about

my relationship with Ronna, about my telling Ronna about him, and how hard it was for me to let him go. I explained that he was the first guy I missed around with (his term) and wondered why I have to be kept a secret from Curtis. If all that doesnt scare Sean off, I dont think anything will. But if Sean and I are going to be friends, I want to be honest. We werent honest with each other in 1982. Not that we lied, but we just left things unsaid. I wasnt trying to turn Sean off so he wouldnt write back, but Im too old and life is too short not to be honest with him now. I feel better having told him all that, finally. Physically, I feel wretched or I can at least imagine how Im going to feel if the pesky tickle in my throat evolves into a lollapalooza of a cold.

Friday, March 28, 1997

7 PM. Im exhausted. I slept only three or four hours last night. All evening I kept thinking about what Id written to Sean, about how I was being so egotistical and not thinking about his point of view. I wondered why I humiliated myself by telling Sean how much I cared for him in the past.

I tried to stop thinking about him by finally sitting down and doing my income taxes. That took several hours, and I ended up having to make out a $352 check to the IRS. Thats a hunk of money, but on the other hand, I had a good year last year, and I can afford it right now. I watched more about the mass suicide of the cult members (now known to be people of all ages, males and females) who believed they were going to a spaceship hiding behind Comet Hale-Bopp. This morning I went on Delphi, sure there wouldnt be a message from Sean for a very long time yet hoping that there would be, and there was. He repeated that Curtis is very jealous, that he couldnt deal with the fact of my existence, that when they first moved to Tampa, Curtis went crazy and threw out peoples letters and stuff. Sean buried my books in the backyard before Curtis could find them, and theyre still there today. Sean was very sweet and he apologized for flirting with me, but then said that if you have a nude photo of yourself, Id be very happy to get it. I was overjoyed to find that Sean still cares for me, and I thought about him during the trauma of my penultimate day at work. At the end of the day, I talked to Liz about it. Sean had said if we ever got together in person, it wouldnt necessarily be sexual, and Liz said she thought my scruples about not

doing that behind Curtiss back were probably good instincts. Yet I was really excited, at home at 5:30 PM, I reread Seans message, which led me to masturbate and have this incredible orgasm. Then, rational again, I began to think: Sean is not innocent I remember him as when he was 18. If he would do stuff behind Curtiss back, Im not sure why I should trust him. I fantasize about meeting Sean somewhere, but Id end up getting hurt, and Curtis would be upset if he ever found about it. I know Im very vulnerable now, and Sean probably senses that; the letter I sent yesterday had vulnerability written all over it. Sean may not be Machiavellian, but Ive got to be wary of him. Maybe he sensed my vulnerability back in 1982. That was also sort of a transition time; in May 1982, I thought Id be leaving my Sunrise apartment and my job at Broward Community College in six weeks, and I didnt know what was coming next. At this point in my life, Im so lonely and so needy that I could easily be taken advantage of. Maybe Ill see Sean someday when I feel more secure, but as much as Im tempted to see him now, its not the right time. This morning at work, I heard Carie talk softly to Helen about her new job, so I asked about it. Later, Laura made a general announcement:

Caries going to the engineering college to be a senior secretary to two professors. It will be more money and Carie will have her own office in a brand-new building. Im happy for her and since Im leaving, I feel glad that someone else is leaving CGR, too. I took some boxes to my care, storing them in the truck and the back seat. At 12:30 PM, we all met at the Olive Garden for my farewell lunch. I sat at one end of the table, with Jon, JoAnn, Linda, Laura, Carie along with Barbara and John, who also attended as did Joy and the twins and Joys mother. Everyone from CGR except Richard and Tom were there. When our lunch arrived, I enjoyed the minestrone and the conversation and was glad to be asked to toast Barbaras and Caries new jobs. They presented me with two gifts. However, first I had to listen to an incredibly embarrassing speech that Tim gave, talking about how he enjoyed the fun we used to have when we shared an office. God, I thought, he actually likes me. He said how much Ill be missed, and then Liz started talking about my virtues as I held my face in my hands. Carie said I was blushing crimson. Its really difficult for me, much as I crave attention, to hear myself praised in person. People said theyd miss my wit and my friendliness.

I first opened the smaller gift, Tims, and it was a book Id always wanted: The WPA Guide to New York City. And the huge, heavy gifted was the giant Columbia Encyclopedia, complete with a handle. The price said $125, and I only hope they got it at discount. I didnt know what to say; I could barely read the cards, and all I can remember is how much I thanked them and blurting out, I love all of you! And then I tried to make a joke. Back at the office, all I could do was search the Web for stuff to read. I cant believe Monday will be my final day at CGR. Its been an incredible 2 years, and Ill never forget it. Jesus. Well, its Good Friday, so Jesus is appropriate. I dont quite feel sick, but I feel like Im coming down with the thing thats going around Carie has it now, too but well see. There was E-mail from Patrick, Kevin and Matthew Paris for me at home, but after eating dinner, I just collapsed onto my bed. I need to spend about a hundred hours in bed. The talk I had with Liz at the end of the day helped. After I talked about Sean, she told me that last week her sons father had traced her through the Internet and had E-mailed her. She hasnt seen him in 19 years, as he left when Wade was three years old and came

back to see him for a very upsetting time when Wade was five. She told him shed give Wade, whos now 27, his address. God, life is weird, a great confused novel.

Friday, April 4, 1997

4:30 PM. Im hoping to go see Michelangelo Signorile (Out in America) at UFs Weiner Hall this evening even though I need to get up early for another long Saturday of teaching tomorrow. Although I didnt yet grade the Business Communications papers, I did reread the American Lit poems and the difficult (for my students) prose pieces I plan to go over tomorrow. (Fran Holloway, in my Ocala class, apparently knows John Barth well as a patient in the nursing home where she worked, on her native Eastern Shore of Maryland.) This morning Sean E-mailed that hed gone to see Greg Louganis at USF last night and felt that Louganis was a nice guy but a poor speaker and based on his appearance at UF, Id say Seans got it exactly right.

Up at 6 AM, I again managed to drift off to sleep before getting up for good an hour later. The air outside my apartment smelled foul this morning, and later I overheard people say they were looking for a skunk, so yes, those animals really do stink. I got a haircut from Hugo at Cuts, Etc.: my last one in Gainesville. Id liked my hair long the way it was, but it looks good short, too. However, the harsh lights of the hair stylists always make me feel old because I stare at my lined, jowly face. When Hugo went to answer the phone, I pulled back the skin on either side of my eyes and I could appreciate just what face lifts could do: goodbye lines under my eyes and those deep labionasal furrows. I went to Publix, bought the newspaper, and came home to do thirty minutes of low-impact aerobics followed by half an hour of strength training or whatever they call it. Unemployment has fallen to 5.2%, and the stock market, though up today, has sunk from its 7000 Dow high to about where it was at the start of 1997. The FCC has given the extra channel to the TV broadcast stations for the new digital, highdefinition TV that will be the only TV available in 2006 meaning were all going to have to get the new sets. Mom complained about that when I spoke to her, though in Miami, a fairly large market, digital TV should be on the air by 2000. Hey,

Im actually going to be able to get NBC and CBS and other networks on TV without cable! After not getting any mail for two days, today I got a phone bill and a brochure for a California writing conference. I mailed out some changeof-address postcards to organizations I belong to, like Lambda Legal Defense and the Authors Guild, but I dont really know where the day has gone. How did I ever live when I worked every day?

Saturday, April 5, 1997

6 PM. If its true that no good deed goes unpunished, then I will probably be arrested soon for child molestation. After a long day of teaching in Gainesville and Ocala, I decided to drive to the Tower Road library and return the books I got last Saturday. In the back of mind I thought that kid from last week who kept eyeing me would be there. I wasnt sure what Id do if he was, but Id thought about what Kevin and Sean each said about how maybe the kid might really have been alone and I thought of the troubled gay 14-year-old in Trevor, the film I saw on Tuesday.

To my astonishment, as I turned into the library parking lot, the kid was on his bike at the entranceway, waving hello to me. I just wanted to thank you for giving me the quarter last week, he said. I asked him his name and age, and hes Benjamin, hes only 16 and a sophomore in high school. He was hanging around the way he did last week, and I asked if he wanted to get a Coke, but he said hed prefer to go to the nearby park. I told him to lock up his bike and Id meet him after I returned the books. Hes just a child, I thought as we drove off, and I made inane small talk, finding out that he has a restricted drivers license. I made a comment about high school being so hard, and he asked me, Did people tease you a lot when you were in high school? No, I said, honestly. You get teased? He shook his head. Not really. We walked in the park, and I finally said, after he apologized for staring at me last week, that I was gay, and Id thought hed been attracted to me. No, he said, he wasnt gay, so I immediately apologized for misunderstanding and said that when Im stared at, I usually think someone was either attracted to me or wanted to beat me up.

He asked me if got beat up, and I chuckled and said, Not lately. He seemed gay, but I know that if he is, hes not aware of it yet. I had no recourse but to take his denial at face value, and I was a little worried hed attack me. At that point I was ready to take him back to the library, sorry for my mistake but he just kept walking. He had on dorky shorts and sandals and a t-shirt from a Baptist church that he said he attends with his parents, with whom he lives; hes their only child. I started talking about my own experiences in high school, and the gist of my story was, dont worry about how terrible it seems now, youll get over it and youll go to college and meet friends and be popular like I was. He didnt talk much except in response to questions lie what kind of music he likes (R & B, mostly) and to what books in the library he reads (thrillers, mostly). I certainly wasnt going to talk to him about sex, although I did discuss domestic violence and how women were better than men at discussing their feelings. My biology teacher says women are superior up here, he said, tapping his head, as I got him back to the car. But he was loath to leave, even after we shook hands. Earlier, Id given him my number and told him to call if he ever wanted to talk, but I explained

that I was leaving town in a couple of weeks. Then I said, I hope you wont say I molested you or anything, because I didnt touch you and I wouldnt, because here I smiled Im a law-abiding citizen. Dont you know me well enough to know I wouldnt do that? he said, and then, answering his own question before I could, said, No, I guess you dont really know me. Any attraction I had to him from last week, when I thought he was older, around 18 or 19, had since disappeared, but I felt sorry for the kid and still unsure how crazy he was. When he asked to hold my car keys, I got frightened and held onto them, but he only said, Someday Ill have one of those. He shook my hand again, his hand still dripping with perspiration, and I said goodbye and he said, Well since youre leaving town, have a nice life. I left him, still feeling he wanted to talk further; in my rear-view mirror, he looked so lost. I am worried about my name I gave him my full name because I wanted to show him I had nothing to hide on that piece of paper. What if he tells his Baptist parents that I came on to him? When I told him I was not a Christian, that I was a Jewish atheist, he said, I feel sorry for you, and kept walking. Do I have anyone to corroborate my story? I told only Kevin and Sean, and Sean couldnt

testify for me because that would not only reveal my existence to Curtis but it would come out that Id slept with Sean when he was 17. I can envision myself being branded a child molester in the media, and even if I managed to disprove the charges, there would always be people who thought I was a pervert. Perhaps my fiction writers imagination is running wild. Yet I do believe that in the end, whatever charges were made, because I know Ive done nothing wrong, I would triumph. But thats only because Im nave. Last night I went to Gannett Auditorium to hear Michelangelo Signorile, and I was glad to be able to sit between Craig Lowe and Richard Smith. Both said theyll miss me when I leave the area; I had already mailed Craig my resignation from the Board of Directors of the Human Rights Council. Signorile was very eloquent, and he proved to be less than the outing maniac hes portrayed as in the mass media; he seemed like a totally sane, reasonable person who gave valid reasons for outing public figures. I was most interested in the subject of his latest book: how gay male culture in the big cities is another kind of closet, so detrimental to self-esteem that it has resulted in a new generation of gay men in their twenties having the same HIV rate as the generation my age.

In the question-and-answer period, an Asian boy from Miami talked about South Beach and how he didnt approve of the gay culture there and was looking for an alternative. Signorile said he interviewed people who are finding alternatives in suburbs, rural areas and smaller cities. And I could only agree when he stated that gay males need to look no further than their lesbian sisters, who have a caring, supportive culture to be emulated. I often wished that there had been an equivalent to lesbian groups for gay men, but that culture of South Beach/the Castro/West Hollywood/the Village separates males and females, as well as whites and minorities, and the young and the old. I spoke about this afternoon to Benjamin about the difficulties that I perceived that he faces as a young black male, and he said that he gets looks from white people when he enters stores. I just remembered: I did touch him, apart from the handshake. In the park, he lay down on the grass, and when he got up, he asked me to take the dirt off the back of his t-shirt. I did so, brushing it off his skinny back with my hand, glad that there was no dirt on his shorts but he just stood there longer, as if he wanted me to touch him. Of course I wouldnt. The poor kid, I dont think hell call me, and I really doubt hed try to make trouble for me

unless hes truly disturbed. At least I behaved honorably, and I hope maybe one day hell remember me and realize I meant well. If hed said he was gay and wanted to sleep with me, I doubt I would have agreed to do anything but at least then I just could have talked to him. Once he told me that he wasnt gay, there was no way I was going to say anything about sexuality lest I be accused of trying to recruit him. I hope Benjamin isnt gay. Now why do I say that? Im not sure. Hes struggling with it perhaps at 16, ahead of many people (at least men of my generation), so if by chance he is gay, hell resolve it early. Unless he tries something stupid like suicide. Up at 6 AM today, I drove to Ocala, noticing heavy traffic going north on I-75; I figured it was a mixture of road construction and snowbirds on their way from Fort Myers and Sarasota and St. Pete to the Midwest after Easter. My Ocala class was registering today, and they had a big project due, so I let them out early. I was able to do more with the afternoon class in Gainesville, but theyre always a betterprepared bunch. I loved going over Jarrells Death of the BallTurret Gunner, Bishops The Fish, Lowells Skunk Hour, Roethkes My Papas Waltz, Brooks The Bean Eaters and The Last Quatrain of Emmett Till.

And I had great fun going from excerpts from Mailers Armies of the Night to Pynchons The Crying of Lot 49 to Barths Life-Story, telling anecdotes about the writers along the way. I showed them all my four books and my chapbooks and I read from Arbys and My Grandfathers Other Son in the Ocala class and But in a Thousand Other Worlds in the afternoon. Theres only one more American literature Saturday three weeks from today. Of course, Ill see the same classes for Business Communications before then. Speaking with Mom, I learned what Dad considered devastating news: the company gave back Guess?s mens line to Guess?, and Dads left only with the boys line, which does no business. This means that my parents and my brothers are going to have to change their lifestyle. Mom says that all four of them have to consolidate and stay tougher, but of course thats not necessarily true. However, if I dont want them to tell me how to live my life, I have to refrain from telling them how I would do things if I were they. Its about the worst time for me to move back to South Florida, but hey, why not get the worst over with? No doubt when Dad returns from New York today, hell be in the same deep depression he

was when he thought he lost his job a few months ago. Hey, Ive got to turn the clocks ahead tonight for Daylight Savings Time.

Saturday, April 12, 1997

9 PM. Im feeling a bit like Ive got a cold coming on, but its possible Im just tired. With all the stress Ive been under this week, I wouldnt be surprised if I became ill, but somehow I feel Ive to the worst behind me. I know that Ill be in Ragdale in June, and I brought a lot of my stuff from Gainesville down here, and I can stay here in Davie or rent an efficiency for May. When I get back to Gainesville on Monday evening, Ill start making plans to hire a mover to take the beds and furniture; I can probably get everything else in my car. Ill check my car out before I drive it down here, and Ill file for unemployment insurance if I can. It should be possible to get through the next two weeks until my teaching at Nova ends without going crazy, especially since I dont feel the obligation to get the DOE memo in by May 1. Id told Laura Id go to CGR to talk about that, but I wont do it this week. Ive got grading to do, but I wont let myself get overwhelmed. Even if I get sick, I think Ill

be able to handle everything. It is going to be a difficult transition because Im facing the unknown and unfamiliar. Last night I slept okay, and I exercised to a Homestretch tape before I had breakfast this morning. Although it rained very hard during the night, I was determined to drive to a place where I could get the Orlando Sentinel. I had the tape of Forsters Howards End to keep me company, and in my mind Ill associate this time of my life with Margaret Schlegel and the Wilcoxes and Leonard Bast and only connect. The novel has abided with me in a way I couldnt have foreseen. Anyway, starting out at 9:30 AM, I drove up the Turnpike in drizzle and light rain. I exited for I95 at Jupiter and then had to get off just before Fort Pierce, on West St. Lucie Boulevard, during a torrential and blinding downpour. By the time I went to the bathroom and got a Diet Coke at McDonalds, the cloudburst had passed, and it was another 45 minutes or so about 12:30 PM when I found the paper at a gas station south of Melbourne. Id eaten a cheese sandwich Id packed, and for some reason, as I bought more copies of the Orlando Sentinel (and one of the New York Times) at Albertsons, my face got all red and blotchy with a sudden niacin rush.

I had a fat-free brownie and some fruit punch and began the long drive back to Davie, going through some bad patches of rain. I stopped in West Palm Beach, having gotten it through my head that I should find the 1981 article Id written for the First Amendment Essay contest that theyd reprinted from the Miami News to the Palm Beach paper. Driving around downtown, although I admired the new judicial center and the theater for the performing arts, I couldnt find the library, so I parked to ask someone directions, only to discover that I was right in front of the library. However, I couldnt find the column in the microfilm of the Palm Beach Post, so I expect it appeared only in the now-defunct Palm Beach Evening News. Off again, I went through a horrible monsoon in Broward County before getting home at 4 PM. Id driven more than the mileage to Gainesville. The Orlando Sentinel put my piece, titled The Best $10 Investment I Never Made, on the top left of their Saturday special op-ed page of stories about road tests, and they didnt seem to change anything. My parents loved the article. Im glad I gave them a little pleasure, since Ive been an illbehaved house guest. (Do I detect E.M. Forsters influence in that last sentence?)

Teresa and her Fire Island friend Camille are due in Miami tomorrow; another rainy day is forecast, of course.

Sunday, April 13, 1997

8 PM. My face hasnt been this sunburned in years, and its fitting that its because of the day I spent with Teresa, because I always associate her with summer and the beach. Last night I had terrible (but typical) insomnia, and I dropped off to sleep only at 2 AM or so. But at least I did realize that I wasnt coming down with a cold. Up at 7 AM, I exercised to a video, then showered so Jonathan could use the bathroom to get ready for work. I then had breakfast and went out to Barnes & Noble to get the Sunday Times. At 10 AM, with the rain ending, I drove to South Beach and parked in a metered lot near the Governor Hotel on 21st Street. Teresa hadnt come in yet, so I walked down Collins Avenue, passing the hotel that advertises $115-a-week efficiencies Id be afraid to live in such a fleabag and then over to Ocean Drive, where I sat and read the paper across from the hotel cafes and amidst the rollerbladers and sun-worshippers.

I could spot Teresa maybe 100 feet away by the way she walked and her blonde hair. Walking right in front of her and Camille, I startled Teresa, but I think it was quite natural they wed meet by accident on the street in Miami Beach, since theres such a close connection between us. We hugged, and they said theyd lost my parents number and had just spoken to my namesake in Plantation. They were very hungry, and since Wolfies was just around the corner, we ate there, bringing back memories of Brooklyn College, when we used to eat at Wolfies at the Junction. Because were in touch regularly by E-mail, we didnt have much to catch up on. Teresa took Claire for an interview at SUNY-Purchase, which would be a dream school for her to pursue photography. As Id hoped, Teresa invited me to spend May with her and John in Locust Valley; theyll be in Fire Island a lot then. And she said I should stay in Brooklyn after I leave Ragdale and her parents are in Mattituck for the summer. Id really love that. To be in New York City in the summer would be great. I suppose I could manage four months at no fixed address just like old times. It would do a lot to shaking off the routines of Gainesville. I could stay here in South Florida a couple of weeks and go to Long Island in mid-May, fly to Chicago from New York and then go back to New York in July.

Teresa and I left it as indefinite, but I suppose thats what Im going to do. We talked about Joseph Corteggianos death. When Teresa phoned City Opera to ask for his mothers address so she could write a condolence note, Amy Mikeys ex-wife, whos still working there told her that he died quite suddenly of liver cancer. Joseph took so many baritone roles at City Opera in his years with the company, but neither of us ever had the chance to hear him perform. Camille, Teresa and I walked all the way to the beach opposite the Cardozo. By that time, the weather had changed and the snowbirds could enjoy cloudless skies and 86 warmth. Actually, it was a little too hot; I could have used shorts and a t-shirt rather than a polo shirt and jeans. The walk was tiring, but we went to the waters edge and Camille stuck her toes in the Atlantic. Then we made our way back via Lincoln Road and a stop I suggested, Baskin-Robbins, and then up past the Performing Arts Center and Convention Center up Dade Boulevard. I got my swim trunks from the car and joined them at their typically South Beach-seedy hotel room before we went out to the pool. There were several groups of Europeans in their skimpy bathing suits, the topless women smoking like chimneys. When Camille went into the pool, Teresa remarked that Camille was self-conscious

about her body but that she, Teresa, realizes that nobody looks at women their age anymore. Shes put on fifteen pounds since her wedding. Despite Camille saying, You dont have an ounce of fat on your body (definitely untrue), I also felt blabby among all those buff gay men whose pecs gleamed in the sun. Of course most of them will die before I do God, that sounds awful; what I meant was that with the HIV rate in South Beach so high, unless the AIDS drug cocktails can help everyone, many of these muscular young guys will waste away. Im shocked to read all the explicit ads from men seeking anal sex partners without a condom. As Michel Signorile said last week, just because guys are out in South Beach or other urban gay ghettos doesnt mean that they dont harbor insecurities that cause them to needlessly risk their lives. I mostly kept in the shade, but in the end, it was so warm that even I had to dip into the pool a little. The three of us chatted about all sorts of stuff. Camille is a recovering alcoholic, the daughter of alcoholics, and her husband is also AA. Shes a warm, funny, commonsensical person whom I like enormously. Suddenly around 5 PM, it began raining, and that seemed a good cue for me to return to Fort Lauderdale. I kissed Teresa and Camille and said Id be in touch soon about visiting. Theyve rented a car and plan to go to Key

West for a couple of days before they leave on Thursday. Because I had only a plain bagel and a fruit salad for lunch, and then some fat-free frozen yogurt, I was weak from hunger and very dehydrated, so I felt puckish on the drive home. Still, I listened to the final tragedy of Howards End and tried to stave off light-headedness. Back here, I ate two Harvest burgers and a lot of veggies and rank a lot of Crystal light. Then I skimmed most of the Sunday Times, realizing that reading it doesnt have to be an all-day project. Tomorrow I go back to Gainesville, but theres no reason to leave at the crack of dawn.

Friday, April 25, 1997

3 PM. Ive just walked over to the Publix at Butler Plaza to put the Ocala Wednesday night Business Communications classs grades into the mailbox so it can get picked up in an hour; Nova should get it by Tuesday. Its odd that my Ocala class is so much lessprepared than the Gainesville cluster; although I grade very high, I couldnt give more than two As (two got A-, five got B+, two got B).

I do like the closure of handing in final grades, which is why I wish there hadnt been a snafu over the American Lit grade rosters. Its warm and sunny though not yet quite Florida-hot. This morning I waved and nodded to a couple of neighbors. Arthur, the blond pony-tailed martial arts enthusiast told me hes graduating and moving to Atlanta to work in post-production at a broadcast studio while he waits to hear from graduate schools in film. (His idea of a great movie is Braveheart, so he could do well in Hollywood.) At Publix I bought some cookies (nonfat, because Im so used to it) for my students tomorrow, as well as my vice, Diet Pepsi with caffeine (I would have gotten caffeine-free, but it wasnt a selection in the vending machine). Last evening I read the paper and fell asleep at around 11 PM. Its getting easier for me to just lie in bed after I wake up around 6 AM, although the NPR station is running their annoying pledge drive. Laura called at 8:30 AM to ask if Id send in the DOE memo because they havent gotten any money. I know they must be annoyed, but I havent had any time. Id actually planned to just send the stuff back to Chuck with my apologies, but this made me say Id try to have it in two weeks. But I know I wont, and that will just make everything worse. Still, CGR has no more hold on me than it had on Ellen, and its not as if I

didnt work for which Ive already been paid; this money will go to them, not me. Still, this irresponsible of me, a byproduct, perhaps, of my tendency to seek closure prematurely. I spoke to the Heralds Buddy Nevins, giving him more than enough animal puns for him to use in his Saturday column. He definitely knew who I was and said to keep in touch. I phoned Teresa in Fire Island and left a message asking if I can come on Monday, May 19. Ill need to get the tickets on Monday, which is the 21-day deadline for discount fares. The mail brought the bill for the last remaining credit card that I hadnt yet changed my address on, as well as the AWP Chronicle, which I can add to Poets & Writers, the last three issues of Wired, and the other magazines I havent read yet. I threw out a little more: the bathroom garbage pail itself, a t-shirt with a hole in the armpit, the container for the soap. Probably I am going to have less trouble adjusting to life away from UF law school than I had expected. In fact, its a relief to be away from the law. Despite nearly six years in the law school, I never defined myself as someone whose life was bound up with the law. My strength and my weakness is that Ive never defined myself as anything. Being a writer comes closest, a teacher next but I dread being limited by a role.

I read all these memoirs and articles by people who define themselves as gay and lesbian: books about growing up gay, for example. I didnt grow up gay or grow up Jewish or grow up anything except Richard Grayson. Maybe thats just that being me is so weird that it trumps whatever other parts of my identity there are. Thats probably why I feel that if a tornado came and plopped me down anywhere in the U.S. I am culturally bound to America, at least till now without any possessions, somehow Id manage. If I were in small-town Nebraska, in a year Id have my place in the community. I were in the biggest city, Id eventually find kindred souls and my niche. Yes, I still have the old Im-notgoing-to-survive nightmare of my childhood, but that fear has receded with age and experience. I had a nice dream last night, a rare one in which I did not appear. Instead, Ronna was the dreams protagonist, and in it, she was meeting Calvin for the first time.

Saturday, April 26, 1997

7:30 PM. I had a bad time with insomnia last night. Its turned quite humid and rainy, and my sinuses hurt so much that I couldnt sleep, and my mind kept racing to the point where I knew it was useless to try to sleep, so I got up

after midnight and read todays New York Times on the Web for an hour or so. This morning I was groggy after only four hours of light sleep, but I managed to get through my last big Saturday of work, arriving in Ocala before 8:30 AM. In both classes today, I played some of a Bill Moyers PBS tape from the series done at the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival featuring Adrienne Rich, Victor Hernandez Cruz and Michael Harper, and I went over some poetry Id assigned and a couple of stories by Denise Chavez and Bobbie Ann Mason before they wrote their final, just one essay. The morning class all wished me well as they left, and Daste, my Rastafarian student, gave me a batik shirt and a bar of Nigerian black soap; I accept the gift, as I always do from students, with reservations. Before heading back to Gainesville, I picked up another box of Entenmanns cookies for the afternoon class, who barely touched it unlike the ravenous Ocala group. While eating lunch at my apartment, I found an E-mail from Teresa saying May 19 was okay, so I booked the cheapest flight I could find, $112 on US Airways from Lauderdale to LaGuardia. Teresas working some party on May 24, so she and John decided not to go away for the Memorial Day weekend.

In the afternoon class in Gainesville, Phil had them do teacher evaluations and buy their texts for their next classes; they have a twoweek vacation now. While they were writing their final essays, I graded the morning finals and also finished reading the New York Times. A lot of students shook my hand at the end and said or wrote embarrassing stuff. The only thing that irked me was a comment on one final that I taught too many black writers. I counted all the writers I assigned, and about 55% were white males; 18% were blacks. But Ive had this comment before in Gainesville, teaching at Santa Fe Community college. After dropping the Moyers video off at the library, I came home to try to unwind. My mail is now being forwarded to Fort Lauderdale, so my mailbox was empty. I know I probably need to do stuff in preparation for moving, but Im giddy from the end of the semester and tired from lack of sleep and a long day of work. As much as I dreaded it, I called my parents this evening but everything sounded reasonably okay. According to Mom, they all seem pretty adamant about continuing to live together in that house. Mom is talking about Dad selling tuxedo shirts, but it sounds like its just a grasping at straws, a half-baked plan. Mom doesnt plan to work myself. She scorned my suggestion that they consider moving to a cheaper area, like Ocala, Palm Bay, or Pasco County, and she said, Ugh! when I suggested

a retirement community or a condo. Thats not me, she said. Mom seems to feel shes too good for that. Its like her refusal to use Scott Tissue instead of that more expensive, supposedly softer, toilet paper: Mom has the sensibilities of well, this is sexist and bigoted, but it gets my point across a Jewish-American Princess, without having the means to live that lifestyle. But, hey, thats fine with me. I dont want Mom telling me how to live, either; it may seem to me that if shed be more flexible, shed be facing reality. Unlike my parents, I do know how to live like a poor person; theyd never live in most of the places Ive lived in. When they did pick out an apartment for me in Gainesville, they selected something way beyond my means because it was new and had a washer/dryer, microwave, etc. Ive lived just fine in my little dingy efficiency here, though without cable TV, even. And when my Bonneville died at the end of 1993, I went without a car for five months until one was absolutely necessary. While I appear to be in danger of dislocating several joints by patting myself on the back, its undeniably true that Ive learned that one can do with a lot less. Its not as if Ive even felt I made any sacrifices; after all, compared with much of humanity, I live in great luxury.

Im gonna goof off for a while.

Wednesday, April 30, 1997

10:30 PM. Im in room 106 of the EconoLodge on State Road 70 in Fort Pierce, between the Turnpike and I-95. I could have saved myself the money especially since I was shocked by the moving expenses if Id just gone for another hundred miles, but I was tired, and besides, I wanted one more night to myself before I give up my privacy and solitude and go live with my family. It was about 7:45 PM when I got here in Fort Pierce, and not only did I want to spend another night alone, I also didnt want to miss the much-hyped coming out episode of Ellen DeGeneres sitcom at 9 PM. When I checked into the room, I found it surprisingly nice for a $36 rate at a Patel motel. And I looked terrific in the mirror, probably because its backlit and TV was on; everyone looks so attractive in the light of a television set. As I changed clothes to go out, I felt I really looked like I had a decent body; usually I can barely stand to look at myself. At the Orange Blossom Mall, I went to Piccadilly Cafeteria, where I got the corn, broccoli, Cajun rice, and a container of skim milk for supper.

Walking around the half-deserted mall, so obviously struggling, I was struck that the last time Id been there was the day in August 1991 when I was moving to Gainesville and my car broke down on the way and had to have a new hose installed at the malls Sears automotive center. So theres a weird kind of symmetry here. I didnt sleep much last night. In the late afternoon yesterday, I grew restless and took a long walk. Then I tried to transfer my Ideas file for writing from the desktop computer to the notebook, and I did it, but I became disgusted with the poor screen quality. I cant write like this, I thought, and I went out to Electric Avenue (the store) to see about pricing word processors, but I calmed down. Late at night I found E-mail from Elihu. The busy tax season is over, hes given up his position on the co-op board, and he seems ready to move on with his life. On Saturday, hes going to the 25th reunion Brooklyn College class of 72 but doesnt know anyone, so I told him Alice is also going. I also got an E-mail from Patrick, whos got the end-of-semester blahs; he didnt seem happy with the new appointments of Browards dean, department chair and faculty members. Somehow it helped me during the night to know that my friends lives are going on while

mine is changing. Still, that comfort didnt keep me from tossing and turning all night, and I doubt if Ill get much sleep tonight here in the motel room. This morning I was up at 5:30 AM after maybe three hours sleep; I spent a lot of the night on Lexis; Im going to miss the ease of having all that information for free. When I went out for the New York Times, I also got the Gainesville Sun because the above-thefold lead was that the State Senate is defunding CGR because the Republicans are mad about Jons work for Save Our Everglades and the Centers activist agenda. It sounded as if thered be some kind of compromise, but even if state funds stopped, CGR would continue with federal and private money. Still, it does show how insecure my job as a staff attorney there really was. Im glad I was pro-active and left before I was pushed out unwillingly. This morning I had a lot of work to do, loading up the car with the computer and peripherals, the TV and VCR (after I worked out to a videotape) and other stuff I wanted to take with me. And of course I had to get rid of everything in the apartment. I was shocked when I spoke to Stan and he said that the flat rate for moving would be $600, as I had been thinking it would be about half that. But I hadnt asked for an

estimate, something Ill have to do the next time I move now that Ive learned my lesson. At the NationsBank ATM, I made my maximum withdrawal from checking of $500 and got a credit card cash advance for the rest. The movers came at 2:30 PM and they methodically stickered each item of furniture and each box, noting the scratches or other imperfections on a sheet. It took two guys about an hour to get everything into their truck. Soon after they left, I dropped the keys off in the Sundowne office and I drove out of the apartment complex for the last time. I was certain that the car was driving terribly and that it would break down. If only I can get to Orlando, I thought but the car was fine, the biggest problem on the drive being the love bugs smashing into the windshield. Although I didnt have a tape to play, but I made do with the car radio, and after that conked out, with the Walkman radio. It actually seemed like a very quick ride although I probably drove over two hundred miles. Still, Ive grown accustomed to long drives. Im not going to push myself to leave too early in the morning, either. Who knows? Maybe I can get a good nights sleep here in Fort Pierce. I spent one night here in 1982, when I read at the St. Lucie

library and after dinner was put up in a room on Hutchinson Island. I thought about trying to find a gay bar in town to watch Ellen in, but it was nearly 9 PM when I finished dinner and didnt want to miss the show. (It was okay.) Tonight Im between my old life and my new one, and this motel in Fort Pierce feels like a safe place to be.

Thursday, May 1, 1997

7 PM in Fort Lauderdale. It turned out that once I got to sleep at midnight, I slept well. However, I was awakened out of a dream at 6 AM by a wake-up call I never asked for. I tried to get back to sleep, but I couldnt, and at 7:30 AM I walked across the street to get some grapefruit juice and hot water for my packaged oatmeal and grits (I have to pretend Im asking for tea with the teabag out.) Around 8:30 AM, showered and dressed, I paid my bill (with cash, as Im trying not to use credit till I have to) and drove down the Turnpike to I-595, a trip that took less than two hours. My impression of Fort Pierce is that, unlike other Florida cities, it never boomed; its still very small town, poor and mostly black.

Back in Broward County, my first stop was Nova Southeastern University, and my first stop on campus was the bathroom, where I ran into Jorge Herrera, the assistant dean. At the Bachelor of Professional Management program office, I filled out my American Lit grades, my mileage reimbursement forms for the Ocala classes, and my change of address and phone to here. Alyssa said I could pick up May 15 paycheck after 1 PM two weeks from today. When I got to the house, I was greeted by China wagging her tail and licking me. Dad helped me get everything out of the car and into the garage, and Ive spent most of today trying to get settled, although I know Ill be here only 17 more days. Its a good thing that Im older (on the Ragdale personal info form, I fit into the category 46-55 since Ill be there on my birthday, older than 20-35 and 36-45 but not quite Over 55) and time goes faster, because I dont know how long I could stand it here otherwise. If anything, my parents earnest attempts to accommodate me are the most annoying thing to deal with. Mom thinks she must buy the foods [I] like or that she has to have things for me that just arent important to me. But then she doesnt want me to set up the computer, which is my priority. Dad keeps exploding in exasperation. Hes trying to sell these tuxedo shirts to restaurants,

but I have no idea how realistic that is. Dad is essentially like one step above a peddler; he hasnt got a business plan or even figured out what kind of market there is. Mom told me not to tell Dad that I doubt he can collect unemployment benefits because it would depress him. Theyre all living in La-LaLand, avoiding facing reality at all costs. I know Im a little like them, and the wonder isnt that Ive failed at job stability or long-term relationships, but that Ive been able to function at all in the real world of work and friendship. But look at what stability and a long-term relationship have wrought for my parents. Mom and Dad hate for me to acknowledge my age. When I told them I passed a Turnpike billboards free checking for everyone over 50 and thought, four more years, they tried to tell me that I was mistaken. CGR now looks like it will be okay for another year: Controversial UF Center Given 2nd Chance, said the Herald headline, and the CGR flap was the subject of the lead editorial and Tom Fiedlers column. Apparently the legislature was embarrassed by how they tried to sneak in the killing of CGR funding in the middle of the night before a budget deal.

Tuesday, May 6, 1997

9 PM. I went back to the Amer v. Johnson adoption trial this morning and afternoon, and I chatted with June Amer during one of the recesses. She seems like a wonderful person, but she looks so unhappy in her newspaper photos, as she did in the ones taken in court yesterday. Unlike someone like myself, June clearly despises being the center of attention. Shes a private person, but also one of great strength. She asked me if as a Jew, I could say that what she said yesterday about the anti-gay 77 Anita Bryant campaign reminding her of how the Jews were singled out in the Holocaust was all right. I said it was, and I was impressed at her worrying that the remark might be offensive. I was the only spectator in the courtroom all day. Junes partner, Lisa DeShon, was home with their son, Junes biological son, whom theyre trying to adopt a brother for. The sole witness today was a Dr. Brzezinski, a SUNY Buffalo psychology professor and an expert on adoption, who went over in great detail, under hours of direct and crossexamination, the psychological profiles and any problems of adopted children. He based his answers on the body of research hes studied, as well as his own research,

clinical practice and consulting. Hes seen only about twenty gay and lesbian adoptive parents. It seems that although the research suggests that children raised by gay men and lesbians show no difficulties beyond those of kids raised by straight parents, there havent been a lot of studies, and very few longitudinal ones. And most of the few studies done were about gay and lesbian biological parents or gay and lesbian adoptive parents who were biologically related to the kids, not stranger adoptions. I suspect the battle of the experts will end up as a draw, unless the state brings in wacko homophobes. Although a lot of the testimony yesterday and today was tedious, I did learn a lot about how adopted children adjust. Last night I woke up at 2 AM and began thinking of Sean. I got online and E-mailed him what seemed at the time a playful, punning, clever and seductive note. In the light of day, however, I felt I wrote something embarrassing and juvenile. Tonight, when I read Seans replay, I felt better. He obviously was a riff on his final Fondle me, in response to my usual close, Fondly (I told him I didnt know he was a fondle-men-talist and had all kinds of puns and double entendres.

Sean said it must be nice to be able to dazzle with words, but you know you can. Of course Sean is very good at wordplay himself and he always has been. He ended with Sit on my face, cum on my chest, so I guess I didnt offend him. From Stuttgart, Tom Whalen E-mailed saying that the spring semester is busy but going okay. He and Annette are due back in New Orleans on August 18 and school begins just three days later, so hes not certain how hell manage at NOCCA this year. (Ive got to read Umbra and write the NOCCA creative writing students about it before the school year ends.) Tom contrasted Nicole Cooleys selling her novel to Harper Collins for $5,000 with his inability to get his phone calls answered at Bantam, the publisher of his and Daniel Quinns afterlife book. Toms had one story accepted, and hes about to give his big reading of the novel that everyone thinks is about the university in Stuttgart. Hes quite bitter that no one reviewed Roithamers Universe. I guess Toms feelings are understandable, but I want to avoid bitterness no matter how underrated I think my writing may be. If only I could cultivate more indifference to whatever critical or popular reception my books get, Id be happier.

Laura E-mailed me news of CGR. (Helen left for a job with the state.) She didnt mention the DOE memo but clearly the idea was to get me moving or make me feel guilty enough to start cracking. However, the further I get from CGR, and its five weeks since my last day at work, the less connection I feel and the less suasion CGR has over me. By now Ive rationalized my failure to write the DOE memo, and Im practicing avoidance like a true Grayson. The movers called to say that theyll be bringing my stuff around noon tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 7, 1997

8 PM. Ive just shooed Mom away, telling her its okay that I dont have a TV in my room anymore, though I did want to watch Ellen tonight. Still, its no big deal. Im lying on my familiar bed from Gainesville now, but its taking up an awful lot of space in Dads office, and I feel Ive encroached upon his space even if Im going to be here just another eleven days. My stuff came today, and I spent the morning helping my parents clean up the garage so we could make room for it. Moving has always brought out the worst in them Dads

impatience and exasperation, Moms obsessiveness, pettiness, and caprice so the only way I could endure the experience was to look at the humor in the situation. Seeing all the crap that weve accumulated over the years in the garage has strengthened my resolve never to allow myself to acquire and keep stuff I dont need. In truth, I could live quite happily had all the furniture and boxes that came today been swallowed up by a Florida sinkhole. Everything did manage to fit in the space wed cleared away, and one of the movers, a freckled redhead, was fun to watch as he worked in his tank top. They messed up the computer desk, but that was so flimsy that I hadnt planned on taking it, and if I can a few dollars out of Gator Movers in compensation, it will be a small windfall. Dad got a call from his company, complaining that he had had done no business in Puerto Rico, and he explained that was because the cut off the line too early. Assured that hell continue to get his draw with only the boys line, Dad is going back to San Juan next week, and Im to drive him to the Miami airport on Tuesday at 5 AM. After lunch, I changed from my t-shirt and shorts into a sports shirt and long pants so I could look presentable in court for the Amer trial.

I heard the redirect of Dr. Charlotte Patterson, a lesbian psychologist who testified about gray parenting and adoption, and I heard all the testimony of Christina Zawisza, a lawyer who heads Children First, an advocacy group connected with Nova Law School; she must know Liz well. She testified about the need for foster children to be adopted, and as a lobbyist and legislative consultant, about how the statute outlawing adoptions by gay people was passed into law in 1977 without hearings, staff analysis, or the usual procedures. Judge Frusciante managed not to lose patience with counsel for either side today although they were both pressing him on points that seemed absurd. The judge wants the trial to end on Friday, but things keep getting backed up. I left when court adjourned for the day at 4:30 PM. So far I havent gotten a ticket even though Ive just parked the car in the public parking lot without putting money into those machines beforehand. I did get a shock when my Delphi bill was $68 but $60 of that was the 15 access charge every time I call, and in April, I made 400 calls. Today I logged on only twice. Alice E-mailed that she burst into tears when she got to the Brooklyn College campus for the

class of 72 reunion and wasnt sure she would be able to stay. She thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that her mother was the age she is now when Alice attended BC. She said she cant remember much about her undergraduate days except Howie, but of course Alice was never the campus kid I was; I practically lived at the college. Elihu recounted what went on at the reunion in more detail than Alice did, but the gist was the same, that it was boring. Elihu did credit Alice for helping him endure it with her humor and lan. He said he went to the new bar near his house in Brooklyn Heights but said it seemed to be mostly couples. Teresa got the house in Fire Island set up, and Claire got to her mothers in Vermont okay.

Thursday, May 8, 1997

8 PM. This morning I got up at 6 AM and listened to NPR and had breakfast and checked my E-mail. Kevin wrote that his department at Warner Records is short-handed and hes swamped with work, and thats why hadnt responded before. Kevin got his tickets to go to Seattle for a Memorial Day week visit with friends there.

Kev is also going back to Gainesville in August: My mother is having yet another wedding. The woman has been divorced three times already. It baffles me that these fundamentalist Christians can take marriage and divorce so slightly and not see the hypocrisy when they attack nontraditional families. Nobody in my family was at all religious, yet both sets of my grandparents were married for well over fifty years and my parents will be having their 48th anniversary in a few weeks. I also got a little note from Sean, a pretty normal one about stuff that I responded to in kind, with one or two raunchy things thrown in. At court at 10 AM, I arrived just in time to see them take the first defense expert witness out of turn. A Sacramento psychoanalyst and M.D., Benjamin Kaufman is Vice President of NARTH, the National Association for Research and Treatment of Homosexuality. I was prepared to dislike him and his homophobic views, but he was so rambling and incoherent and peculiar that I soon found him both entertaining and embarrassing. The guy would be asked a question, and he would just ramble on and on, so that even the bailiff and the guys videotaping the trial (the only ones in the courtroom watching the trial except for me) couldnt suppress grins.

On cross-examination, Dr. Kaufman was made to seem even more of a crackpot, though he might have been rehabilitated slightly on redirect. He strikes me as a lively personality, outspoken, weirdly amusing and very selfabsorbed; he had these odd frequent digressions about his own family (When my sons wouldnt play ball with me, I felt like a failure). Later, in the afternoon, this odd, slightly off couple sat in front of me, and they cornered him after his testimony. I heard their talk about their own lawsuit of some kind and how the gay agenda controls everything. The wife saw me listening and she lowered her voice, warning the doctor and her companion that one of them may be spying on them. Later I heard the couple arguing: she wanted him to accompany her to a Channel 7 interview and he wanted to watch more of the trial. It struck me that if these three people are an example of anti-gay activists, theyre a pretty comical bunch, less threatening than just completely unhinged. The videotaped deposition of another defense witness, Dr. Jeffry Satinover, made him sound a little more reasonable, but not much. Hes another one of these NARTH guys who believe that gay people can be treated and that homosexuality is a developmental disturbance.

Still, he did admit that there doesnt seem to be much research on gay parenting, but what little there is apparently shows no difference between kids raised by heterosexual and homosexual parents. And again, there seems to be almost nothing in terms of research of gay adoptive parents and their children. However, Dr. Satinover said that studies would show the same kinds of problems that show up among kids raised in fatherless homes and that he believed there was no reason to lift the ban. Weirdly, though, he said that if a gay man married a lesbian and they wanted to adopt, he would have no objections and they might make good parents because they were sacrificing their own desires for the childs sake. These people are all crackpots. To me, there seems to be a problem with all this social science research. While I understand the attorneys are trying to bring in studies that help their case and keep out studies that dont, it seems obvious that even if the research looked conclusive one way or the other, it would not apply to every individual case, and constitutional rights like due process and equal protection should not be decided by the results of psychological studies. Besides, the logical endgame of all the research showing that kids in fatherless homes have all these problems might be to forbid or at least make it a lot more difficult for

heterosexual married couples with children from divorcing. And even fundamentalists like Kevins thrice-divorced mother and the Republican politicians with their second, trophy wives wouldnt stand for that. The President of the U.S., the Speaker of the House, and countless other Americans have grown up in home without their fathers and seem to be doing okay. Dr. Satinovers videotaped depo was interrupted by a plaintiffs witness, Seth Gordon, a longtime Democratic operative in Miami who worked for state senators at the time of the passage of the anti-gay adoption law. He was allowed to testify only in very general terms about the 1977 Dade County referendum and Anita Bryants Save Our Children crusade at the time the legislature passed the adoption bill. It looks as though final arguments will be put off till Monday. I spoke to June during the break. Since she grew up near me, we talked about Leons Bakery and Brennan & Carrs Roast Beef at Gerritsen and Avenue U and bout Mrs. Stahls Knishes in Brighton Beach. Shes going back to Brooklyn with Lisa and Robbie this summer. I also spoke to Mike Adams, the staff attorney for the ACLUs Lesbian and Gay Rights Project, and even to Dr. Kaufman.

Instead of coming home for lunch, I ate at Wendys on SE 17th Street, and even had their grilled chicken, eating only about a quarter of the patty with the skin peeled off. When I got home at 5 PM, the house was empty: my parents had taken China on her afternoon ride and my brothers were at work. There was a message: Call Laura in Gainesville. But I dont want to talk to her about the DOE memo and Im going to try to avoid her till I leave Florida. Its not a good way to handle the situation, and I probably should face the music, but Im embarrassed, and the more Im pressed, the more I want to avoid doing that memo. Probably this will make everyone at CGR feel badly about me, but I cant believe that Liz still wouldnt mostly think well of me.

Monday, May 12, 1997

8:30 PM. I have to get up at 4 AM to drive Dad to Miami airport for his flight to San Juan. Hopefully, the violent thunderstorms that I got caught in today will have subsided by then. This afternoon a real tornado touched down in downtown Miami, causing lots of property damage to cars and building and making for some spectacular TV pictures. I heard about it during a courtroom recess when the Herald

reporter said the tornado touched down in the newspapers parking lot at 2 PM. At least I slept well last night. I had a dream in which Dad pushed all my antidepressants (they were pills but they looked slightly anthropomorphic, sort of like M&M characters) off a high ledge. I was furious with him but decided not to push him off the ledge in revenge. The feelings behind that dream seem clear. Not so clear was another dream, the most phallic dream Ive ever had: it wasnt overtly erotic, but there were images of penises everywhere, sort of like the mens room Keith Haring painted at Manhattans Gay and Lesbian Community Center on West 13th Street. At the end of the dream, I was on the street at night and I ran into the astronomer Carl Sagan, who pointed to the sky, where a dismembered penis floated among the stars and planets. Naturally I had an erection when I awoke from that dream. Leaving the house at 9 AM, I got caught in a heavy rain on my way to downtown Fort Lauderdale. June arrived before her lawyer and she sat down next to me and we chatted with each other and the guys from Court TV about how newspapers get so much wrong. The Herald article called her a foster parent, but she never was with the Romanian girl, and

the Sun-Sentinel had her as a Broward, not a Dade, correctional officer. June is not a sophisticate, but shes a good, hamishe person who must be a terrific mother for Robbie. There was more video testimony today by Dr. Satinover, who comes across as a strident conservative, with his political and religious biases evident to me, at least. I left before they played the tape of the legislative debate in 1977 and didnt return to the courtroom until 3 PM, just before the final arguments. Karen Amlong, Junes attorney, spoke for about an hour, summing up the case as she went over the testimony of Dr. Brzezinski, the adoption expert; Dr. Patterson, who studies gay families; June herself; the gay father from Orlando who adopted his children in Washington State; Seth Gordon, the Democratic legislative aide; and the two defense witnesses. She had lots of charts and visual aids. Cox had been decided before Romer came down last May, and I suspect the U.S. Supreme Court decision may influence this case a lot. Sam Chavers, the counsel for the Department of Children and Families, did a fairly good job with his final argument, but his case is so weak. Of course, Im prejudiced.

Without being homophobic and he tried not to be its very hard to justify the ban. And if he had been homophobic, that would only confirm the plaintiffs charge of invidious discrimination based on the same kind of animus found unconstitutional in Romer. I was very impressed with Mike Adams rebuttal, and not just because hes cute; he eloquently yet plainly laid out the essential constitutional argument. Why, in this statute, was there a line drawn between gay and lesbian Floridians on one hand and everyone else on the other? There is no prohibition against anyone else former criminals, alcoholics, anyone adopting children in this state. The judge said that he would issue his opinion within a month, probably before the parties. Then he said he wanted to talk to June and the lawyers, who told him they didnt need to go out of the courtroom. So Judge Frusciante told June that hes aware how difficult her position is and that she should stay in close contact with her lawyers, and to understand that whatever his ruling is, the case would be appealed and the resolution would take time He said she was not doing this just for herself but that a lot of other people would be affected by her actions. The press then came after the lawyers and June when the judge left.

I walked to the parking lot with the local lawyer for the Department of Children and Families, a woman who never took an active courtroom role and who seemed inscrutable. I got caught in a terrible rush hour downpour going home.

Monday, May 19, 1997

11 PM. Im in Locust Valley, in Teresa and Johns Lincoln Bedroom. My stomach has been hurting me for hours, probably because my routines of eating have been disrupted. So have all my other routines: I bought the New York Times at the airport but havent even glanced at it yet. Well, thats part of traveling and doing new things. Last evening I called Kevin in L.A.; he said hes been less crazed and he decided not to quit his job at Warner Records right away but to make sure that he can go out for auditions as much as possible. He sounded good, and I wished him a great visit with his friends in Seattle next week, and he wished me a good trip to New York and Chicago. My sleeping was okay, but I couldnt get back to sleep after I woke up around 4 AM. As prepared as I thought I had been, there were

still many last-minute things I needed to do before I left with Dad around 9:30 AM. I think I drove Dad crazy because I kept forgetting stuff; we even went back to the house after driving as far as Pine Island Drive because I mistakenly thought I left the sweet potato Id cooked for the plane at home, only to discover Id had it with me all the time. Maneuvering the two heavy suitcases, the bag with the computer, my big gray carry-on bag and the little garment covering and hanger with my sport jacket was a real pain all day. On US Airways, they packed us in like sardines, and in the back of the plane there wasnt enough space to store our carry-on luggage. Id been assigned a window seat, but a woman asked me if Id exchange with her so she could sit next to her little girl, so I got the aisle seat I coveted, just five rows from the lavatory (although I used it only twice). Years ago, I used to go through all these rituals before takeoff: I needed recorded music (preferably Vivaldis The Four Seasons or something by Mozart), chewing gum, and all sorts of talismans. By now my heart doesnt even race at takeoff; I just sink into my seat, close my eyes, and try to relax. I actually find the whooshing white noise of the airliner cabin kind of soothing.

Mom had made me bags of broccoli and baby carrots, and Id made myself a cheese sandwich, and I had the pretzels from the airlines boxed snack. We arrived at LaGuardia at 1:30 PM, and I was the next to the last one off the plane because I had so much trouble with all my stuff. Today turned out to be the first spring day in New York where the temperature got over 80. I called Teresas parents, and her father gave me instructions on getting to Conselyea Street by cab via the BQE. It didnt take long, and Dante was thoughtful enough to be on the stoop outside so I could put my stuff right into the Cadillac without taking it into the house. We went inside, and I hugged Santa hello, and we sat drinking Diet Coke and chatting. They said its fine with them if I stay there in July, and they showed me the place and gave me the keys. The problem is theres no air conditioner, but I can deal with that somehow. Ill have the two bottom floors to myself, with two guys named Andrew in the apartments on the top two floors. Ill sleep in the highriser in the little room, where theres a little TV like mine, and if they dont leave the microwave, Ill rent one or something. They use the ground floor entrance. Although its brick, its a typical brownstone layout with

the four floors. After I called Teresa, her father showed me all the intricacies of his 92 Cadillac, and I took off at about 4 PM. It was already rush hour, and it took me over ten minutes just to get the BQEs Metropolitan Avenue entrance, and the traffic crawled along at about 20 miles per hour even after I got on the LIE. By then my stomach started hurting, and I figured it was lack of my usual food. Since I wasnt sure when people would be home in Locust Valley to let me in, I went further on the LIE than Glen Cove Road and found a Boston Market in Hicksville (I completely missed a Wendys nearby). At Boston Market I had chicken soup and sides of rice pilaf, corn and zucchini marinara, as well as water Id been dehydrated but my stomach still felt gassy and distended. Anyway, I found the house using Teresas excellent directions, and John and Claire were both there when I arrived. John told me about his work repairing and trouble-shooting for the gates company he works for: he drives all over, from Bruce Springsteens in New Jersey to Judd Hirschs in New Paltz to Martha Stewarts in Connecticut and to the Hamptons and all over the tri-state area.

Teresa, Carmen and Diane arrived from Fire Island with chicken for John to barbecue on the grill, and they made a salad and broccoli pasta and cooked Brussels sprouts. We ate outside on the deck overlooking the lush backyard and the swimming pool. It was quite pleasant, and if Id felt better physically, I would have appreciated it even more than I did. This house is nowhere as big as Johns house in Oyster Bay was, but its really nice, and I have a lovely peach bedroom on the second floor across from the master bedroom. Claire is in the basement, with two big rooms to herself, and theres a separate garage and a gazebo in the back. I went with Teresa to drive Camille to the Syosset train station so she could get back to the Village, where she and her husband have a brownstone. (Theres a train station within walking distance in Locust Valley, but it makes many more stops.) Anyway, after Teresa and I chatted for a bit she showed me how she sponge-painted the walls (a really nice effect) we joined John in the living room, where hed fallen asleep watching TV. I didnt do anything I normally do today, and I dont expect to sleep much tonight. But I am tired.

Saturday, May 24, 1997

9:30 PM. This morning there was no Body Electric on TV, but I put on a tape in the living room while Teresa was forcing John to take a three-mile walk. The dogs looked at me strangely, as China does in Fort Lauderdale, when I do my exercises. Teresa brought me back todays New York Times and I finally caught up with the weeks papers, although Ive been skimming articles more than usual. In late morning the house filled with smell of baking brownies and the other goodies that Teresa was making for the bar mitzvah shes catering tonight. John came back after going with Teresa and her workers to set up, and he said its a weird scene because the bar mitzvah boys father and his new wife already held a lavish affair this afternoon, and Teresas catering the party for the mother, the ex-wife whos distraught and a lot worse off financially. Teresa came back to cook some more in the kitchen, and I sat in the backyard as John cleaned the pool. It got warm enough today for me to go out in a T-shirt, though I was glad I wore jeans and not shorts. After going with Teresa to the bakery at the Syosset LIRR station where last year I picked

up the bread for her wedding, I took off on my own. On the car radios traffic reports, it seemed as if traffic going into the city wasnt it bad. The LIE seemed like a normal highway, so I just went into the Queens-Midtown Tunnel and there wasnt even a long wait at the tollbooth. I drove down Second Avenue and finally parked at the corner of East 3rd Street, where I saw Quentin Crisp in his familiar outfit going into his filthy apartment across the street after he stopped to shake hands with a spiky-haired young admirer. I tried calling my Brooklyn friends Pete, Elihu, and Justin and David but got only machines. What else could I expect on a holiday weekend? Josh had E-mailed me back that I could contact him if I wanted, but I was just as happy to explore the East Village on my own today. Needing a bathroom as usual, I went to the Astor Place Barnes & Noble and found a great selection of literary magazines and another copy of I Brake for Delmore Schwartz, which I bought for $4.95. There was a street fair on one block of Third Avenue, and I looked at the usual street food vendors and the other merchandise at the booths, but more interesting were the crowds in the street.

My assumption is that with that many people in the East Village, if I lived there, I could find friends and lovers among the hip. (Does it date me to use the word hip? Probably.) I do feel that I could fit in again in New York City, but at this point in my life, I could fit in anywhere; whatever the opposite of misfit is, thats me. I took the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn as the B train passed, I remembered many train rides across that bridge and down Flatbush Avenue, from the newly revived downtown area (theyre even building a Marriott Hotel) past the giant superstore complex at Atlantic Avenue, down Seventh Avenue, where I parked by Union Street on Park Slopes main thoroughfare. It was cooler in Brooklyn, and I walked around the Slope for thirty minutes luckily, my blister is almost healed looking at stores familiar and new, until I drove off, taking Eastern Parkway through its nice black neighborhoods to Atlantic Avenue on into Queens. This is the New York City that the tourists never see, the real neighborhoods, and as each area subtly changed into the next, I listened to NPR till I found myself at the hub of downtown Jamaica by Sutphin Boulevard. Then I took Hillsdale Avenue east until finally I got on the Grand Central, which moved quickly even after it became the Northern State

(Normal Traffic Conditions Ahead read the sign, not the more usual Delays Ahead). Typically, I managed to get off at the right exit by luck or instinct, and before returning to Locust Valley, I went to the supermarket on Forest Avenue to buy a frozen dinner and other stuff I like. Several people in the parking lot were interested in the for sale sign on Dantes Caddy, and I told them his asking price and other details as they gathered round. I ate dinner with Claire, whod had a long day at work in the Martin Viette nurseries. I think Claire is a terrific stepdaughter for Teresa, by the way, and a very attractive girl. Then I took Hattie for a walk she needed; its a bit gross to pick up an Irish setters big turds, but I can do it, and shes obviously become fond of me, as she follows me around all day, as John said, like Im the Pied Piper. I really feel good about my friends, about New York, and about myself.

Saturday, May 31, 1997

10 AM on a gloomy, cool Saturday morning.

Last evening I left the message on the CGR answering machine telling them that the DOE memo isnt going to get done, that they should stop calling my parents and write me in care of Teresas P.O. box, and that I wouldnt be back in Florida till mid-August. I also paid off nearly all my credit card bills early and made a $500 deposit for a secured Visa at Flatbush Federal Savings and Loan I got an application at the Junction and I mailed all that when I picked up last nights Chinese takeout on Forest Avenue. Very early this morning I read the Times, the Brooklyn College student papers, the BC summer and fall schedule of classes, and riverrun, the BC literary magazine that twice published my stories. Unable to sleep, I took the computer downstairs and got online. Kevin had a fabulous time in Seattle with six of his friends and had a sweet romantic interlude with one of them. Hes back in L.A. with a new enthusiasm, and Im glad for him. Sean wrote (Yo Richie!) telling me hes not letting me off the hook that easily, bucko, in asking for ideas for the theme of Marys birthday party. Sean is so clever, I dont see why he needs me. Hes also very sweet and its a joy to be in E-mail contact with him. *

3 PM. Teresa told me I could drive her to New Jersey and then meet her in Manhattan after her party so that I could drive her back here, but I decided to just to stay in Locust Valley. I needed some solitude. Teresa is a great companion, but she talks all the time, and I need the sound of silence sometimes, as most writers do. John had already taken Hattie to the lumber yard, so Ive been alone with Ollie since 11 AM. I E-mailed a letter to the New York Times and did a load of dishwashing and am now waiting for my laundry to dry; I exercised with my weights and did push-ups and toe lifts and side bends; and I sat outside on the deck reading. Against the odds, today turned into the loveliest day since my arrival, and for the first time I put on shorts. It was pleasant to fancy myself a suburbanite, stroking Ollies fur as he sat on my lap while I read in the shade of the umbrella at Teresa and Johns wrought-iron table. I left messages with Josh and Justin and David, and I spoke to Pete, who had some good news on two fronts. The editor at Smithsonian Press definitely wants to do his book, but must first lay out a plan to convince the others at the house; they need to find people who will peerreview the manuscript. Also, Pete got a call from Hamilton College upstate, inviting him to reapply for a position

teaching creative writing and literature that hed been turned down for last year. His programming job at Guardian is acceptable, and hes making good money; in July hell renegotiate his status, either to a part-time or consultant basis. It is two weeks since I shaved off my beard, and by now Im used to my clean-shaven face. Probably it does make me look younger, though I liked the definition facial hair gave me. My body looks fine, and Ive probably maintained or lost weight despite the changes in my diet. Its been over a month since I left Gainesville and stopped teaching, two months since I left CGR, and Im feeling quite good about how I adjusted to the changes in my life. My identity wasnt as wrapped in my role at the University of Florida law school as I had feared, and if Ive made a real break with CGR, so be it. Jon Mills has a lot of power in Florida, but he cant prevent me from working as a teacher at Nova, and his influence doesnt extend to fields beyond legal academia and state politics. Besides, he has more enemies than most people, and if a Republican is elected governor next year along with a GOP legislature, they may succeed in killing CGR as they almost did this spring.

Jon Baumbach is still director of the fiction MFA at Brooklyn College, after all, and if his enmity has hurt my career, it hasnt stopped me from succeeding as a published writer or a teacher or a lawyer. In a few days I go to Ragdale and will get to live in the Midwest for the first time in my life. That alone will make June an interesting month.

Wednesday, June 4, 1997

3 PM at Ragdale in Lake Forest. I just phoned my parents to tell them Id arrived safely, and Jonathan answered because theyd gone to take china for a ride. Id forgotten about the hours time difference. We dont have dinner here till 6:30 PM, and that will be really late for me, but I have enough munchies to keep me okay. Its warm and sunny here; in fact, Im a little concerned with how Ill deal with the lack of air conditioning. But for now Im fine, and I cannot complain, especially after not being able to warm up most of time while I was in New York. Yesterday afternoon at 4:30 PM, I decided to walk off my pre-trip nervousness by taking a long walk in all directions through the town part of Locust Valley. Nearly all the stores there are pricey, quaint, white-shoe affairs that

sell nothing of any use to me: French provincial antiques, for example. I did find a Gristedes near Teresas other house on Birch Hill Road where the wealthy locals must have their house accounts. Back home, I got a call from Mom to wish me a happy birthday and a good trip today. I had a little of the dinner Teresa made for herself and John, but mostly I ate the rice and broccoli and my own sweet potato. In the evening, I completed packing and did laundry and watched TV with Teresa and John. They do bicker a bit, but Im not competent to judge if its any more than any married couple does, and I suspect that that they do it so openly in front of me is a healthy sign. My sleep wasnt that restful, but it was enough so that I didnt feel tried traveling. Teresa and I left the house at 9:15 AM, and she took a short cut to LaGuardia that got me there by 10 AM. I kissed her and thanked her profusely but didnt want to say goodbye, as I hate goodbyes. The United flight to Chicago took off on time, and it wasnt at all crowded. I had nobody sitting next to me, so I could relax a little. I started to think about it being my 46th birthday. Im quite unsure what to say about that except its better to celebrate it on one of these strange days when Im moving from one place

to the next. Sixteen days ago, Locust Valley was unfamiliar to me, but Id driven through it starting in the 1970s; by comparison, here in Illinois, I really feel lost. On the ground at OHare, it took me so long to get my lenses in and then someone was paging Adlai Stevenson on the terminal loudspeaker I got a turkey sandwich, so that by the time I got to the baggage claim area, everyone else had already taken their luggage. Of course, I had too much way too much stuff: two heavy suitcases and several little bags I combined. But I got a luggage cart, which eased my burden, and I called a limo service, which arrived in ten minutes. I shared a ride with another woman going to Lake Forest and arrived at Ragdale fifteen minutes ahead of the check-in time of 2 PM. Ann, the caretaker, helped show me to my room after I picked up the packet on the porch at Ragdale House. Im in the Beech Room, a bright, light room in the Barnhouse, upstairs from the kitchen and dining room. Apparently all twelve of us are arriving today, and I saw a couple of the residents but didnt introduce myself to anyone but the women in the office, who embarrassed me with a round of Happy Birthday. It took a while to put everything away, and I still dont feel comfortable yet, but holy cow,

Ive been here only two hours. Right now I think Ill lie down for a little while. I cant even think about getting work done today.

Friday, June 6, 1997

5 PM. Last evening I would have liked to socialize with the others, but I was too tired. While I didnt go to sleep immediately, I managed to spend a restful night that got rid of some of the cobwebs in my head. Up at 5:30 AM, I considered it progress to sleep half an hour later, and after I had my first bowl of cereal, I got back into bed and listened to the heavy rain. I went downstairs again at 8 AM and had a bowl of grits and a grapefruit and read the New York Times out by the porch, although it was necessary to wear a sweater and a jacket over my t-shirt to stay warm. After working on Anything But Sympathy for an hour, I walked to the Burger King and ordered a Diet Coke so I could sit and observe the lunch crowd: lots of workers who toil for the rich people in Lake Forest the cashiers spoke Spanish to nannies, gardeners and construction workers when they ordered as well as kids with or without parents, a few white-shoe Lake Forest types, and the occasional old geezer like

me, eating alone but glad to be in a public space. At the Jewel supermarket I picked up a bag of frozen California mix broccoli, cauliflower and carrots and nuked the entire bag when I got back to the kitchen, much to the wonderment of Judi Komaki, who detests vegetables and whose headaches were recently diagnosed as water deprivation. Thats one problem Ill never have; I just hope my incessant use of the bathroom during the night doesnt disturb Matt Iribarne. Aside from Judi and Scott Eyerly a composer, originally from this area, who now lives in Park Slope and earlier, Matthew, I didnt see much of my fellow residents today. I imagine they were all working constantly while I seemed to dawdle. In the afternoon I sat at the computer for ninety minutes, but I didnt produce much; mostly, I just fiddled around with ideas. I do love the terrific screen Ive got on the rented computer and the ease of Works for Windows, so I certainly cant blame my lack of productivity on inferior tools. Although everyone seems to see Ragdale as a low-pressure place, I felt guilty every time I ran into Sylvia in the kitchen or when I was walking around with my headphones on, listening to All Things Considered.

At 2:30 PM, I took a break to exercise to Body Electric. I havent told anyone I have a little TV in my room, and Id be embarrassed to let them know that I brought it just to work out to an exercise show. (Still, Id be just as uncomfortable if they assumed I was watching sitcoms or soaps, which Im not.) Finally catching up with back issues of the New York Times, I felt relieved to know that others, like Judi, are just as obsessive about reading the paper though I cant imagine that anyone else manages to read nearly every article the way I do. This is only my second full day at Ragdale, and by next week, I should develop a routine that will continue for the rest of my stay here until July, when I go to Brooklyn and have to adjust to living in a completely different environment on a totally new schedule. But if I worried about getting so set in my ways that curse of the middle-aged bachelor when I lived in Gainesville, the last six weeks have at least given me a start toward developing more flexibility and adaptability. As always, residencies in artists colonies are times when I take stock of my life, and since Im in a period of transition, thats particularly true right now. Six years ago this summer, I moved to Gainesville and got so wrapped up in the life of law school that I wasnt sure Id ever publish

anything again. But as Ive told some of the younger writers, getting involved in law school freed me enough to start writing again both stories and nonfiction. I dont know what to expect for the 97-98 academic year. I guess Ill teach part-time at Nova, but I have to do more than that. Sometimes I think that my stories the ones I tell orally, not my fiction about my adventures in publishing and politics and publicity could be turned into a real good one-man performance piece. But I dont know how to go about shaping one, and I know even less about how to get one produced, if thats the term. God, it just struck me that Im in the northern suburbs of Chicago. How weird! Its an hour before dinner, and I think Im going to catch up on reading some of the magazines I brought with me.

Sunday, June 8, 1997

11 PM. Im having the nicest time here. This evening, like last, went on so long because the company is so good. Ive missed being around intelligent, creative people with whom I can discuss art, literature, culture, politics and ideas.

Last evening before we went out to dinner, Mom called with a couple of phone messages. Ive got to call Claudia at Novas Liberal Arts Department tomorrow, and Peter Hargitai called. I phoned Peter in Miami today. He thought I was on the literature fellowship panel that met this week in Tallahassee and wanted to know how his application fared. Id actually like to know, too, if I got a fellowship, but given the makeup of this years panel, I doubt it. Still, Ill keep hoping till I get my rejection letter in August. Last night I got a lift, along with Matthew, who has a bad back, in Theresas car as the others walked downtown. We had dinner in The Lantern, the nine of us, and they all had burgers and fries and onion rings, and I had a nice turkey sandwich. The conversation was wonderful, as it was again tonight, and afterwards we were walking to Blockbuster Video when Glori found a baby cat resting on the tire of a parked car. Most of the others went into Walgreens to call the Lake Forest police, but I stayed out in the brisk air with Kerry until a cop came and took the kitten away in a box. Lake Forest is such a pretty place, so clean, and although the people are probably very rich, they dont seem snobbish when I meet

them on the street although thats probably because they assume Im one of them. We all got back by 10 PM, and the others watched the video they rented while I read the Sunday Chicago Sun-Times, which Id bought at Walgreens. Again, I didnt get to sleep for hours and I awoke at the first sign of light, at about 5:20 AM (the makes sense its so early, since the Central time zone starts right about here). The Sunday papers didnt arrive until after Id had my first bowl of cereal, showered and dressed, and gone down again to the kitchen. We had two New York Times because Judi finally got her subscription delivered here, and I had the Ragdale copy all to myself. It was only about 53 so I needed to bundle up as I read it on the porch and eventually I had to move to the living room. Between reading the Times like a good intellectual and doing laundry, I had a long, intense conversation with Judi and Matthew. (Tonight I spoke for an equally long time with Amy, Scott, Matt and especially David, who was in a funk about his fiction.) Later in the afternoon, I walked to Burger King and read the Times magazine sections special issue on how other countries see the U.S. We Americans are now in an odd time: a period in which the U.S. is the sole economic, military

and political superpower in the world. American culture the worst of it, anyway: Big Macs and Baywatch, John Grisham and Arnold Schwarzenegger rules everywhere. With U.S. unemployment at 4.8%, the lowest since 1973, our free-market, low-wage, Reaganesque form of capitalism seems to have conquered the world, despite the recent Socialist victory in France, where workers (and the large number of unemployed) dont want to tinker with the welfare state. Luckily for sleazy Clinton, the U.S. is really prosperous now. So does this mean the pendulum will never again swing to the kind of liberal, reformist moods that permeated the Thirties and the Sixties? Perhaps. But only a decade ago, people were decrying Americas loss of power and influence, and it seemed as if the U.S. was an empire on the wane. So things change. Twelve of the fifteen European Union countries have socialist or social democratic governments, and some economists I read this in todays Chicago Tribune are saying that free trade may not be the panacea for our society that everyone claims it is. I walked around Lake Forest, hanging out by the train station with the pia colada frozen yogurt I got at Hagen-Dazs, smelling the lilac bushes, until finally I came back to Ragdale at 4 PM, in time for All Things Considered and half an hour of impromptu exercising.

And I chatted with people before, during and after dinner. No, I didnt even attempt to do any work today, but instead felt as if Im living well, either the life of the mind, or more probably, the life of Reilly.

Thursday, June 12, 1997

3:30 PM. The last couple of days have been as rainy, with violent downpours, as it was today. Each day I added about three pages of narration to Salugi at Starbucks, but the story will end up between 33 and 40 pages longs at this rate, and God knows wholl take it then. In a couple of days I need to go back to Anything But Sympathy, too. I thought Id catch up on back issues of Wired while Im here, and I need to write the book review for American Book Review, which of course means reading Robert Allens book. Hell, Ive only walked on the prairie once, and Im embarrassed to admit to anyone that Ive been here eight days and have yet to explore the treasures of Ragdale House itself. Somehow so much of my day gets taken up by my usual routines: reading the Times, exercising half an hour to Body Electric, and listening to all those hours of news on NPR.

Unless I drastically change my habits, I can never write a book. Of course, Ragdale does provide me with a lot more opportunity for stimulating conversations with intelligent, creative people than I normally have at home wherever home is these days. Paradoxically, I spend less time alone here than I did in Gainesville after I left my job at CGR or at my parents or even at Teresa and Johns, where I looked for opportunities to be by myself. Ive also learned that I need resolve to listen more and talk less. Until today, I hadnt realized that Matt had published a book of stories (because he won a prize at San Francisco State) or that Karen grew up in Brooklyn and also wrote fiction. I guess Im so self-centered that these things escaped me. So I tried to shut up for a change. I did find interesting the conversation between Matt, who adjuncts at San Francisco State and works in a law firm, and Kerri, a Cornell MFA whos a full-time lecturer at the University of San Francisco. They talked about Bay Area writing programs and professors. To me, its a point of pride that Ive not been a part of the MFA/academic creative writing world. Maybe the reason I feel superior to it is because I couldnt get into it, but thats vanity and hubris.

Yesterday I took a walk from 4 PM till 6 PM, finding a trial to the east of the railroad tracks. I also discovered the opulent Lake Forest public library, with ten high-powered computers with unlimited Web access. So I surfed my favorite sites yesterday and again today. I also bought frozen veggies, sweet potatoes, nonfat cheese slices, and other Grayson favorite foods at Jewel Osco, and I went to Hagen-Dazs to get nonfat chocolate frozen yogurt from the cute muscled Filipino boy who works there. As Judi said this morning, we are really pampered here. Its hard even for me to resist the fabulous rich foods that Barb or Ian puts out at 6:30 PM every evening. Today our linens were changed, and theres always fruit and milk downstairs, and I neednt have bought oatmeal packets because they have all that, too. Sometimes I cant believe Im in Illinois. I know that sounds like a childish thing for a 46-yearold man to say. I do feel as though Im in a very different phase of my life from the one I was in when I lived and worked in Gainesville. While Ive yet to have written confirmation of next winters residency at Villa Montalvo, I feel that is an opportunity I really dont want to turn down. The San Francisco writers say its a wonderful place, on the edge of Silicon Valley

and only a little more than an hour from San Francisco itself. Maybe that can be the start of my moving to California and starting over there perhaps in the world of Silicon Valley high-tech firms, where theyre starting to realize the next big batch of money is going to be made with entertainment. (Bill Gates has bought WebTV and is investing in a big cable TV company, Comcast.) The one thing Ive been unable to do here is sleep well; Ive had maybe one good night out of the last eight. This causes me to have to lie down during the day. If only I could sleep as late as the others. Last night I didnt watch the Bulls/Jazz game, but from my room I could hear the shouts of Scott and the others as Chicago pulled off a last-minute win. This time of day, I start to feel logy, but I want to avoid caffeine.

Sunday, June 15, 1997

6:30 PM. Ive just come back from a walk into town, and its so beautiful out that Id wax lyrical if I had wax anywhere but my ears.

Its warm but not hot, breezy but not windy so I was comfortable in a plaid sport shirt and khakis (and flattering myself that I could be taken for a resident of Lake Forest). Its been an altogether delightful weekend. Yesterday morning I called Fort Lauderdale, but Dad was out, so I had to phone back this morning to wish him a happy Fathers Day. (He said it was very thoughtful of me to call, but how could I not?) Mom told me that Avisson Press had sent a flyer saying theyd cut the price of I Survived Caracas Traffic to $5, along with price reductions on their other books. She was afraid Id be upset, but now maybe I can sell some books at that price. It occurred to me that maybe I could have them sent to me in Brooklyn and try to sell them on the street for $10. Perhaps I could attract media attention in Times Square: an author reviewed in the New York Times Book Review selling his work on the street. Mom said she ordered three copies for herself. Martin Hester probably needs money badly now that his books havent sold. I knew the book should have been published in trade paper, not hardcover, but Im only the author, right? Yesterday I got my $250 unemployment check in the mail, and I just dropped the mail deposit to NationsBank into a downtown mailbox.

While there, I met Matthew and Kerry coming off the train from Chicago, where theyd gone separately to spend the day. I also got some Hagen-Dazs nonfat chocolate frozen yogurt, and I read the parts of the Chicago Tribune Id taken with me. The business section featured an article on the ongoing labor shortage, especially persistent here in the Midwest. Not only are store windows in town filled with Help Wanted signs, but employers are actually sweetening benefits and raising salaries for good jobs. This week the Dow went past 7500, 7600 and 7700, and the Goldilocks economy neither too hot nor too cold keeps on trucking. Have we reached an economic nirvana? I just hope this lasts until I can get my next real job. When Im in New York, I might answer want ads or go to Manpower or another temp agency to see what I can get. Yesterday afternoon, I finished Salugi at Starbucks, which ended up at 39 pages. All I need to do is some light revision and editing. I didnt work today, concentrating on reading the Sunday New York Times, which I began at 8 AM and finished after a makeshift picnic dinner that Glori, Matthew and I had on the Ragdale porch at 3:30 PM.

Last evening Matthew made the dinner with the stuff he and Amy had gotten in the supermarket that morning. Only Judi and I helped him, and we did only a little. Matthew told us he grew up in Santa Fe watching his mother cook Mexican food and he loved to work in the kitchen. For me, cooking has always seemed like just a lot of trouble. Matthew prepared fajitas and another dish mixing corn, cream and zucchini, as well as a bowl of beans, and he had salsa and tortilla chips. I enjoyed a fajita, but afterwards I felt ill and went upstairs, panicking a bit because I was going to be as sick as I was when I got food poisoning in 1990, but I soon felt better and went back downstairs, joining a few others. Ann, who read one of my books, asked if Id been agoraphobic. She, too, had panic attacks in late adolescence, and we shared our stories about being homebound and how fruitless talk therapy was and how we eventually recovered through medication. (She takes Paxil.) Anns boyfriend came up on the train yesterday and stayed for dinner, though he seemed very shy. Judi had rented Hiroshima, Mon Amour, and while others came and went, I stuck it out with her to the end before going upstairs and having a rare good night of sleep.

I feel incredibly lucky and grateful to be here at Ragdale.

Friday, June 20, 1997

6 PM. I slept pretty well, and I exercised to both the early morning and mid-afternoon showings of Body Electric on WYCC-TV/20. Today we turned on the air conditioner in the Barnhouse because it got up to around 87. I felt hot only at 3 PM when I went to an upstairs room to try to help Annie find an Edgar Guest poem on the Internet; they had AOL on the computer. I looked but couldnt find the poem Annie wanted. Tomorrow, theyre having a tree planting and memorial service for Piet, her companion (he was married to someone else) who died of a brain tumor last year. Eerily, Annie herself got a brain tumor after that, but shes okay now. This morning at 10 AM, I went over the Gorton Community Center to hear Judi speak, and with the help of Sylvia, Scott, Matthew and Theresa read the lines to her play, Seem, about the love affair between a Japanese-American woman and a Vietnam veteran who cant reconcile the love he has for her with the knowledge that he killed people who looked like her in the war.

Like Judi, the woman in the play is a Catholic with a distant, querulous mother who was in a World War II internment camp. Judi can be somewhat ditzy at times, but I was pleasantly surprised at how good her dialogue was. The senior citizens group a play reading group was quite perceptive in their comments and questions after the reading. They are affluent, mostly white the brightest person was the lone African American woman and obviously well-bred, whatever that means. As I chatted with some of them, I realized once again how much money and class can greatly affect how well people age. Afterwards I let Sylvia and the others drive back without me, as I stopped for frozen yogurt at Hagen-Dazs and then surfed the Net for half an hour in the library; next to me, Andi was printing out some of her writing. Back at Ragdale, Sylvia asked if I would speak to or give a short reading to a group of the docents who give tours at their regular meeting at noon on Wednesday. I was delighted shed asked, as shed had others, like Judi today, do other community functions. I also signed up to be videotaped by Jim Kropp, whose The Creative Spark is a pilot program on the creative process thats being marketed to public TV. Hes also going to film us residents at dinner and is working on a video about Ragdale that will be shown on cable TV.

I wrote only a bit today, but I think Ive come up with an idea of how to complete Anything But Sympathy and maintain the unity of the story. The trouble with working here is that I actually socialize a great deal more than I do ordinarily. Speaking of socializing, Ive got to go to dinner now. * 10 PM. Dinner was congenial tonight, though Chuck continues to be a bit loud and opinionated. I sat next to Jane Hamilton, whos very down to earth. But why shouldnt she be? Before Oprahs Book Club made her Book of Ruth a best seller, she was a simply a very well-regarded literary writer. The other new resident is Carolyn, a visual artist in Chicago. She grew up on Long Island and is moving to Montclair, New Jersey. When Jane learned I was from Gainesville, she asked if Id read Andrew Hollernans The Beauty of Men, and that gave me a chance to talk about his books and about gay cultures emphasis on youth and beauty. With thirteen residents at table, things sounded noisier than before; I had a hard time hearing Theresa, who sat directly across from me. After the meal, Theresa, Kerry and I took a walk to the supermarket, where Kerry got some things.

Its still fairly humid, and Im glad we have air conditioning. This hot weather makes me wonder how Ill manage in Brooklyn in July. I may end up buying a small air conditioning for the house in Williamsburg. When we got back, Matt told me my mother had called, and after Theresa got off the phone with her husband, I called Mom back. It was good news: I got the official letter from Villa Montalvo. Im to be an artist resident there from March 3-28. Even though it may mean giving up a job, I definitely want to go to California next March. Mom said they asked for a photo, so she found one of my 1993 publicity shots and shell mail it to me with the rest of the material they want me to send back with my acceptance.

Sunday, June 22, 1997

6 PM. At the last minute Judi decided her back hurt too much and she didnt want to go with us to Kenosha for dinner. That was good, actually, because it was a tight fit with me, Kerry and Scott in the back seat of the car; Judi would have had to sit on one of our laps. It also made us feel less guilty about not asking Mike along when he asked what I was doing for dinner.

Theresa put on lipstick and a nice outfit and good shoes, and I traded my t-shirt and shorts for a button-down sports shirt and Dockerstype pants. We both felt like dressing up a little. The ride on U.S. 41 (which I suppose is the same road that is the Tamiami Trail in Florida) wasnt very scenic; just before going over the Wisconsin state line, the highway merges with I-94. We took the first exit at Kenosha and drove east into town, passing the strip mall area to the west with the requisite motel chains, national family restaurants (Shoneys, Applebees, Olive Garden, etc.), other familiar stores and fast-food outlets. America, as big as it is, is so homogenized that its nearly impossible to find something special to any particular region. We drove through pleasant neighborhood and a typically run-down downtown and checked out the lake before finding a place that looked halfway decent: DiCarlos. It looked as if it was the place to go to in Kenosha for a Saturday night Italian dinner, and the food was in fact okay. The spinach ravioli I got was handmade and tasted good.

(Later I learned that lots of Sicilian immigrants settled in Kenosha. I had expected mostly Germans and Slavs.) We had a pleasant dinner in the crowded dining room. Surprisingly, the meal was not as cheap as we expected, but in the end our bill I put it on my MasterCard so I could get cash back from the others came to $60, including tip, which is not bad for a party of five. It was Scotts birthday the other day, but I didnt know till he told me at dinner that he was only 39; I had figured he was older than I. Either I have no conception of how I look or I do look young for my age. In the Times, I spotted the name of Dr. William Breitbart, chief of the psychiatric service at Memorial Sloan-Kettering, who was quoted in an article on how depression in the dying may lead to patients to call for assisted suicide. The last time I saw Bill Breitbart was at my March 1983 book party for I Brake for Delmore Schwartz at B. Dalton in the Village. The Supreme Court still hasnt ruled on assisted dying yet, nor on the Internet decency law, the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, and most of the important cases. Theyre announcing decisions tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday, so it should be a big week for us Court-watchers. On Friday, Internet laws from New York State and Georgia one on pornography, the other

banning anonymous mailings were struck down by federal judges in Manhattan and Atlanta; Id like to read the opinions. After reading the Sunday New York Times, I went downtown and caught a shuttle bus to the tenth birthday bash for Lake Forests beach. It is truly a gorgeous stretch of beach, down from cliffs, with Lake Michigans clean blue water edging up to sand on the rocks. Walking around, I tried not to ogle shirtless guys, though there havent been many chances to do that lately and there was a really cute Chinese lifeguard. I watched an elderly magician entertain kids (he wasnt bad) and got a free FrozFruit bar and passed up carnival games and the usual street-fair food. It was pretty hot today, and I wish Id had some sunblock on. My arms are tanned but my legs are pale, so I feel unbalanced. I took the shuttle bus back to a school west of Green Bay Road, so I had a long walk back home; luckily, part of it was in the shade. After reading the Sunday Tribune, I tinkered with Anything But Sympathy, finally getting the 24-page story into a form I think may be publishable. Today Mike asked me how I keep at it, working so hard. Im the laziest person here, I replied, laughing. I hardly ever work.

Its true. As I get older, I tend to consider my laziness one of my prime virtues.

Monday, June 23, 1997

1 PM. I just had lunch, and sitting next to Carolyn, for some reason I felt unaccountably and strongly attracted to her. She was wearing a white cotton mens shirt, and the top couple of buttons were undone, and she looked luscious. Its been a long time since I felt a rush like that, especially as a result of sitting next to a woman. Even after Theresa joined us and we all started talking, I felt as if I wanted to be funny to impress Carolyn. How weird. My testosterone level must be reaching new heights or something; I still feel a bit weak-kneed. Last night we had a great dinner: turkey burgers on pitas with mustard and chutney sauce. I didnt feel like hanging out with people afterward so I went to the living room and watched The Simpsons and King of the Hill, and then, upstairs, I finished the last of the three Wired issues Id brought. Up at 5 AM, I lay in bed until 6:30 AM, when Body Electric came on; yesterday, apart from

calf raises and side bends, I didnt really exercise, so Im planning on exercising to todays 2:30 PM show, too. After showering, I got dressed and walked to the library to be there when it opened. Their computers are wonderful. I was able to print out and download to disk the syllabi of todays Supreme Court decisions and the Internet decisions from the two federal district courts on Friday. ACLU v. Reno didnt come out today, but other important decisions did, and the results show the five conservative justices are really changing the Court outlook on the Establishment clause, overturning a 1985 case that wouldnt let public school teachers in New York City teach remedial classes in public schools. I also printed out maps of Williamsburg, with the groceries and drugstores put in, and best of all, I was able to print out beautiful versions of Anita Hill at the Roller Derby and Anything But Sympathy. At Walgreens I bought todays Times so I can read it in my room and the Wall Street Journal, and a card to send to Ronna and Calvin. When I called their house, Chelsea answered the phone and put Calvin on. He said everything is fine but Ronna was unavailable to talk for the next hour.

Calvin said, Im sure she wants to speak with you, so give me your phone number, and shell call you back, but I explained that would be difficult since it was only a phone booth, and that I didnt want to be a bother and that Id phone again in a few days. As long as I know Ronna and the baby are fine, thats all I need; I dont want to intrude. We have plenty of room in the new house, Calvin said, and they would like me to visit, but I dont think they really need a houseguest in July with a new infant. What Ill do is drive down from Brooklyn for the day. Its pretty hot today, but here in the Midwest and in the Northeast, but 92 doesnt feel all that hot when Ive got air conditioning. I expect it to be very hot when I arrive in New York a week from tomorrow, but Ill just have to deal with it. Mom sent a couple of bills which Id paid ahead, but the letter from Villa Montalvo didnt arrive yet. Well, Ive got stuff to read and Im not worried about writing. Theres talk of people going to a movie tonight. * 6 PM. I just made the mistake of calling my parents. Dad gets on and says, after some banalities, I lost my job today, in his victim

voice. I said, well, he knew it was coming, and he replied that it still hurts. I probably sound cruel and heartless, but Dad acts like such a loser, he makes me angry rather than evokes my sympathy. All these months and weeks, he and Mom and my brothers have refused to face reality and their changed financial circumstances. Then Dad puts Mom on: I want to ask you a question. If its quick . . . Would you consider living here . . . rather than getting an apartment? No. Definitely not? Definitely not. Oh. I might not even come back to Florida. What? I dont know, Ill see . . . Ma, I gotta get off, someone wants to use the phone. (An excuse). She figures Ill live in that little room in that sick house and help them pay their bills. As

much as my parents have done for me, theres no way Id do that. In fact, I think the best thing for them would be to sell the house, that Mom and Dad move to a cheaper condo and let Marc and Jonathan strike out on their own. If I moved in with my parents and brothers, not only would I be doing what the recovery people call enabling behavior by a co-dependent, but Id be making myself miserable. Besides, it would only put off the inevitable, and theyve put it off too long already. I feel quite upset that Mom ever asked. Id been thinking recently that I taught at Nova, Id probably want to move near the school but Im certain I dont want to be living with my parents. Except for a couple of adjunct classes, theres really nothing to keep me in South Florida at all. I can always pick up the stuff I need and take it with me, wherever I end up. I do know Im going to California in March.

Saturday, June 28, 1997

5 PM. I had incredibly bad insomnia last night; consequently, Ive been functioning on three hours sleep and am pretty fuzzy. Right now Ive developed a humongous headache.

Luckily, today, like yesterday, was a fairly pleasant day: warm but not humid. (Yesterday, however, Chicago was on ozone alert and people with respiratory problems were urged to stay indoors, homeowners were asked not to use lawnmowers, and motorists were asked not to pump gas.) I finally got to call Ronna and speak with her, although she needed to call me back. Jane Hamilton got on the phone in the interim, making such moaning sounds that I thought someone was getting sick in the bathroom. Matthew, too, came out to investigate the moans, but we never found out anything. Ronna said Abigail is gorgeous: a Caesarean baby, she came out clean, and shes got black hair and long legs and looks like Calvin. Shes a bit underweight, but shes gaining, and Ronna is feeding her with a combination of breast milk and formula. Ronna said they gave her an epidural, and Calvin was surgically attached to my shoulder during the Caesarean, and she was fine. But last Sunday night, she developed an infection and her stitches swelled up like a football. That must have been when I phoned on Monday. Shes been back to her obstetrician several times and is on antibiotics, and Ronna says the incision is getting darker Calvin told her that means its healing so Im no longer swelled up like a tomato.

But the bad news was about their parents. Ronnas mother is in the hospital. Beatrice was complaining about loss of peripheral vision, and Calvin sent her to a colleague who discovered shed had a stroke weeks ago, before she even came to Philadelphia to help with the move and the baby. There are no other symptoms, but they put Beatrice into the Calvins hospital in Philadelphia for tests. She says that because her son-in-law is such an important doctor there, shes being treated like an honored guest. And then last night Calvins father had a heart attack. Hes 74 and hes had cardiac problems before. On Thursday, while he was at the house, he admitted to his wife and to Beatrice that he felt weak and too tired to drive back to New Jersey, so Calvins mother drove them home. Calvin went to the New Jersey hospital today, and it sounds serious: Ronna said her father-inlaw is on a respirator. Man, I lived such a dull life in Manhattan for years and now everything is happening at once, Ronna said. Wow. She invited me to come visit them at their new house, but God knows when things will settle down. At least the baby is fine, and Chelsea is the best big sister in the world. It

seems like Ronna and Calvin have to do a kind triage and deal with the most important disaster in turn. It makes my own problems seem very small indeed.

Thursday, July 3, 1997

7 PM. Ive got the upstairs in Locust Valley to myself tonight. Claires downstairs, and Teresa reported that Claire told John theyre bad hosts, leaving me here while they go to the beach. She doesnt know you hate Fire Island, Teresa said. Claire probably also figured out that Im here to look after her, so she rightfully resents me. But shes only 18 and only got off heroin eight months ago. Still, Im certainly going to let her and her friends do whatever they want, short of burning down the house with me in it. Last night I had a hard time getting to sleep, as I worried about my parents situation and ruminated about CGR. Dad actually has a job offer, beginning next Thursday. Hes supposed to be working at the menswear store Surreys for $300 a week plus 3% commission. Thats a comedown, but maybe Dad needs a steady if small salary as

well as avoiding the problems he had essentially working for himself. I dont know when he and Mom are going to have to face the fact that they have to give up the house. I worry that theyll delay too long, until theyre foreclosed upon. My parents never planned anything which is odd, considering how Mom obsesses about details. But in another way, its true to form, considering Moms enormous capacity for selfdeception. John developed a cold overnight, and it seems theres a bad cold going around in New York. Well, I havent had a really bad cold since the July 4 weekend three years ago in 1994, when I made that ill-fated day trip to Tampa to look into moving there. If Im just as much at loose ends now, at least I have more experience behind me. Besides, I feel Im in a better position now. At the very worst, Ill go to South Florida and teach at Nova and work wherever else Ill be able to do so. I got up at 6:30 AM today, exercised at 7 AM, showered and dressed at 7:30 AM, finished breakfast by 8 AM. John had errands to do and didnt leave with the dogs until about 9:30 AM. I washed some clothes and my perspirationstained sheets (I may put on the A/C tonight), and I put up the dishes and went out to get the Times.

Later I drove into Oyster Bay I know three different ways to get there, but I finally figured out the shortest route and deposited Teresas tenants check which came in the mail into her bank account. I also went to CVS on Pine Hollow Road to get a prescription for Claire. This afternoon I went on AOL, which kept knocking me off, and Delphi and Lexis. I Emailed Kevin, whos gone to Seattle again this weekend to see his friends and that special guy I also E-mailed Sean. I answered Tim Gage, the Australian literary magazine editor, who read my books and got my E-mail address from Ed Hogan, and I tried to answer a brief note from Harvey in Santa Barbara, who wanted to know if I was the Richard Grayson in the Brooklyn College MFA program two decades ago. But my response came back, saying his address was unknown. Sat Darshan E-mailed that shes totally fed up with her job and wants to quit the VA because of the mindless work and stupid people there. She wrote me on June 15 and obviously had not yet gotten the postcard Id sent her from Chicago. I left messages with Josh (yes, he replied and said that maybe he, Todd and I should go for a drink together), Cousin Suzi, Alice and a couple of others. I spoke to Pete and made tentative plans to see him in Park Slope on Saturday afternoon because hes going to the Amsterdam Jazz Festival on Monday.

I dont know if I can drive Johns van to Brooklyn. Its a heavy, lumbering vehicle, and the brakes arent great, but John said I cant do much damage to it, and if I do get into an accident, the other car and driver will get the worst of it. I finally got to talk to Justin. He and David are just getting over colds they had, and he said he wanted to wait until he saw me to discuss the uncertain position hes in vis--vis Brooklyn College. We made plans to call each other on Tuesday; Ill probably be in Conselyea Street by then. I should actually go there tomorrow and try to set the place up for myself.

Friday, July 4, 1997

8 PM. Last night I had such bad insomnia, I didnt know what to do with myself. (Well, yes, theres that but you can only do it once.) I felt so bloated due to constipation, and I was too hot with the windows open and too cold with the air conditioner on. Perhaps I am getting sick. But like last week at this time, when nights of sleeplessness catch up with me, I always feel sick. I did get some things accomplished before I went to bed. Using Teresas Mac, I wrote and printed out letters of appreciation to the head of Ragdales board of trustees and to the

mayor of Lake Forest, as suggested in our exit packet material. I also wrote Amy. For her newspaper, I decided to send Boys Club. Kerry said that Strong Coffee has some pretty bad material in it, but I dont care. Boys Club has been rejected about a skillion times, and a story about queercore might fit an art tabloid. Actually, the story might be too long for them. At worst, I got practice in word processing using the Mac and ClarisWorks and in using Teresas inkjet printer. Anyway, unable to sleep by 2 AM, I was so fartootst that I began reading Teresas Cliff Notes of Greek classics, going over summaries of Euripides plays and Platos dialogues. Finally, at 4:30 AM, I drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours before I woke up to exercise at 7 AM. What did make me feel better was when all the fiber Ive been eating finally kicked in. What a relief. Since nobody had returned my call, I decided to go to the city on my own; I didnt want to vegetate here all day. But when I got in the van, I noticed that the passenger side mirror was all shattered, and I felt sick. When had that happened? It looked okay yesterday, but maybe I hadnt noticed. I dreaded telling Teresa and John.

Because I was so distracted, I got totally lost until finally I decided to go to Port Washington (Id never been there), the first and last stop of the quickest LIRR line to the city because it bypasses Jamaica, going through northern Queens from Little Neck to Bayside to Flushing to Woodside. The train left at 11:30 AM and got into Penn Station at 12:10 PM. I snacked on Weight Watchers peanuts and a marshmallow bar and figured that I wanted to get back to Long Island early. So I took the IRT local two stops to 50th Street and Seventh Avenue/Broadway and walked over to MOMA on 53rd and Sixth. It was warm today, but very dry and windy, so I didnt feel uncomfortable. While I didnt like paying $9.50 for museum admission after shelling out $8.50 for the train fare, it was worth it. The show I was most interested in was Cindy Shermans complete movie stills, the ones where she photographed herself as if she were an actress in iconic 40s, 50s, and 60s films. I also liked Paris in the 1890s, an exhibit of prints, many familiar Toulouse-Lautrec ones, and others by Bonnard, Vuillard, etc. Also interesting was a show of Soviet Constructivist movie posters from the 1920s or so, by the Sternberg brothers.

Another show, The Modern Still Life Objects of Desire, was great, featuring everyone from Cezanne and Matisse to Duchamps readymades, Dalis lobster telephone, and the famous fur-covered cup, saucer and spoon by Oppenheim. I went more quickly through the traditional tour of the permanent collection, stopping to admire work by Ad Reinhardt, Philip Guston, Jackson Pollack, Joseph Cornell, Francis Bacon and the older artists whom Ive known about since I was a teenager. In the caf, I had yogurt and grapefruit juice as I looked out at the sculpture garden, and I made my way back to Penn Station to get on the 2:19 PM train to Port Washington. Back here in Locust Valley at 3:30 PM, I lay down, listened to All Things Considered on NPR even on the train coming home Id heard about the successful July 4 landing on Mars of the Pathfinder probe, which should start sending back pictures soon. Sat Darshan responded to my E-mail; shed read my card and said when I go to Silicon Valley, I shouldnt forget to visit her sister, whos visiting Phoenix this weekend, and whom Sat Darshan berates for not helping out more with their father. Sat Darshan passed the test to be a mail career. Shell be assigned to deliver mail via one of those right-handed jeeps, and the

money is better than shed get at the VA even without her promotion. Her main worry is the dogs. She reported that Ravinder is in New York for a while, making money driving a cab.

Saturday, July 5, 1997

5 PM. Last night I slept the entire night without even getting under the covers. I was really exhausted, but the long sleep refreshed me. Claire had people over for a pool party last night, and Teresa had been somewhat concerned theyd be wild, but I didnt hear any loud music or screaming; to me, it just sounded like a bunch of nice kids just sitting around and talking, though I made certain to stay out of sight and didnt make a big effort to see what was going on. Today was a perfect day. Ive just arrived back here, and right now its 80, the warmest its been all day, and its comfortably dry. Up at 7:30 AM this morning, I tried to exercise to a tai chi show on WLIW/21. I liked this show better than the one that ran in Chicago every day, but tai chi makes me feel uncoordinated.

I know it takes practice, and I understand that my inability to balance other things in my life may have something to do with my incompetence. Maybe at another point in my life, Ill be able to take up tai chi. With Claire sound asleep at 8 AM, I felt free to play a Body Electric tape in the living room. After breakfast, I lay down and listened to the radio and put up the dishwasher and finally went out at 10:30 AM. At first I planned to take the LIRR into Brooklyn, but then it occurred to me that if I wanted to go to Conselyea Street, thered be less traffic today than tomorrow, when people would returning from the holiday weekend. I found little traffic on the LIE, the Cross-Island or the Belt. Exiting at Ocean Parkway, I took that up to the Prospect Expressway, passing all the Syrian Jews and other synagogue-goers as well as the house Uncle Sidney and his brothers used to own my very first home between Avenue V and Gravesend Neck Road, directly across from Vito Genoveses house. Then I took Eighth Avenue down to Garfield Place and parked right on Petes block. (The van is too big for me to parallel-park so I need room to ease into a space.) Pete came down soon after I rang the bell; he looks the same, although he (like Dad) really should do something about that hair in his

ears. He didnt seem to notice I was cleanshaven, perhaps because Ive grown accustomed to my beardless face myself. We walked to Prospect Park and sat down at a bench, me trying to stay upwind of Petes cigar. He had an interview at Hamilton College upstate a couple of weeks ago, and hes waiting to hear if hes got the position: a oneyear renewable position for a fiction writer. They liked that he can teach American Studies and playwriting. This was a job hed applied for last year, but the black writer they hired left for a tenured position elsewhere. Hamilton is in the town of Clinton outside Utica, which itself is halfway between Albany and Syracuse. I hope Pete get the job. It would be two of three courses, with a salary of around $40,000. Otherwise, hell stay on at the insurance company only if he can continue to be a consultant or if he can work part-time with benefits. On Tuesday he takes a courier flight to Brussels and goes to Amsterdam, where hell hook up with Harold Bakst and theyll attend the Amsterdam Jazz Festival with everyone performing over just three days. Pete sent regards from Donna, who said to phone me when Im in the city, and from Bruce Chadwick, whos desperately seeking a fulltime teaching job. Pete said when I go to

California, I can finally meet Paul Fericano and Don Skiles. I accompanied Pete to the main library to return Paul Bowles The Sheltering Sky there was a greenmarket at Grand Army Plaza and then we walked up Union Street to Sixth Avenue, where we had lunch at Henriettas, a Northern California-style macrobiotic restaurant that just opened. I had Buddhas Delight tofu, rice, steamed veggies and a glass of celery-carrot-ginger juice. After we parted, I drove past the Judsons old house on 9th Street (Libbys brother Chuck still lives there, I think) and got on the BQE in bustling downtown Brooklyn. Getting off at Metropolitan Avenue, I went to Conselyea Street. I just wanted to be in the house to check it out. It was warm, but that was because the windows have been shut; once I put on the kitchen fan, it was fine. I plugged in the microwave and checked out the refrigerator, and I finished the leftovers from my lunch, which Id taken in a brown bag. Upstairs, I checked the room out; Ill stay out of the master bedroom and sleep in the back room. Then I left the house and drove around the neighborhood, which is funkier than what Ive gotten used to. This part of Williamsburg is very ethnic-Italian, with Latinos nearby, and a lot of run-down stores.

But I found a large Key Food on Grand Street, about five blocks away, and it has all the food I need. Somehow Ill adjust, and after a week in Williamsburg, Ill probably feel at home. The ride back to Locust Valley was relatively painless. When I got home, Claire was again in the kitchen, fixing some food.

Saturday, July 12, 1997

10 PM. Last evening I spent a couple of hours on Lexis, reading news articles the way I used to. Its such an amazing luxury to have access to such an incredible search engine and a database of hundreds of periodicals. I read about Villa Montalvo, which was originally built as the house of the legendary U.S. senator and San Francisco mayor James D. Phelan, as well as articles about Saratoga, California, which sounds as upscale as Lake Forest although with a California-artsy twist. I was thinking about my parents and realized that part of me actually does think it that to separate would be healthy for both Mom and Dad. Perhaps once robbed of the fantasy that theyre still a middle-aged couple who must stay together for the sake of their children, one or both of them could adopt a better kind of lifestyle.

I called US Airways and made a flight to Fort Lauderdale for Monday, August 4, at 8:45 AM. That means I have three weeks left in New York. I do dread being back in my parents house; however, I know I wont be staying there for long. In bed, I worried a lot: about how Im going to live, where Im going to live, what kind of work I can get, what will happen with my parents, even how Ill stand the terrible heat in Brooklyn without air conditioning. I didnt get to sleep until nearly 1 AM, so it was hard to get up at 7 AM and exercise, but I did it and felt better afterwards. Earlier, I had heard two guys leaving the house and then noticed cars in the driveway behind Claires car and Johns van, so that meant that people were still in the house after what must have been an all-night party. I dont know whether to tell John and Teresa about it. My role as a chaperon to teenagers isnt a natural fit for me. I dont like for Claire to think I am spying on her and telling her father and stepmother everything that she and her friends do while Im here. Anyway, since I couldnt get out with Johns van, I walked to the Locust Valley station and took the train to Penn Station. Because I assumed Teresas parents had gone back to Brooklyn to get their cooler and then slept over last night, I wanted to avoid seeing them.

So I took the subway to Union Square, walked around the Greenmarket, and sat in Barnes & Nobles third floor caf nursing a bitter iced tea for ninety minutes while trying to read the paper and listen in on the conversation of this handsome, effeminate guy telling about his troubles as a law clerk to a federal judge in Puerto Rico. This guy I even caught his name, Darren Rosenblum I dont know why, but listening to his problems made me feel so good, perhaps because I fantasized about a relationship with him even though he didnt even notice me and would never be attracted to me. For some reason, hearing this guys troubles and how he was dealing with them made me realize that I wouldnt sink into a horrible depression once I got to Williamsburg. Since I got here, Ive tried to put my stuff where I think it belongs and to make the place mine. It took a long while, but I feel better and its quite bearable with the fans on, though its only 85 today and quite dry. I walked to Grand Street and had a duplicate key made up so I can keep it in my wallet (the shorts I wear have shallow pockets and Im afraid Ill lose my keychain) and I bought stuff at Key Food. Right now I dont feel like calling anyone, not even Justin, who left a message yesterday.

I want to be alone in my first night in Brooklyn; thats how I gather my inner resources.

Sunday, July 13, 1997

8 PM. Its 90 right now, and Im trying to stay comfortable although that isnt easy. Every day this week is supposed to be hot, hazy and humid today was relatively dry so its bound to get worse in the house when the hot air really settles in. Teresa and her parents said to keep the windows closed to avoid letting the heat in, but last night I had to open them because there was no air. I took a cold shower last night and Ill probably do the same tonight. Teresas father probably didnt want me to run up the electric bill, but Id pay him whatever the costs of the A/C were if I had one, just as I paid Ronnas Con Ed bill when I stayed in her Upper West Side apartment two years ago. Its cooler downstairs if I sit in the spot at the table where the fan hits, but I cant just sit in one place. I went on Lexis to read up on this neighborhood, including stories about the Feast of the Giglio and Our Lady of Mount Carmel, which is going on now a few blocks from here. To commemorate the return of a kidnapped medieval bishop, the parish

celebrates, and neighborhood guys carry around this incredibly gigantic tower. Early this evening, I walked to Bedford Avenue to check out the trendy cafs and bars that have sprung up with the artists who live around there. Then, as I walked around Northside, I stopped the feast, which is like San Gennaro, etc., but more honest because its run by the church. For a while, I hung out in the streets of the feast, people-watching, and then, to cool off, I went into the air-conditioned church and attended the celebratory Mass. Ive been exploring the area a lot. When a guy on Grand Street said, Hi, chief, to me, I figured I look like I fit in more like an old-time Italian resident than an artist, I assume. Well, I grew up in a mostly Italian neighborhood, although one a lot less insular than Williamsburg. Justin left a message earlier (while the phone was occupied with me begin online), but his number was busy all evening. It took me a long time to fall asleep and I didnt sleep much, but I was okay today. Up at 7 AM, I had breakfast and began to read the paper. When Justin didnt answer his phone this morning, instead I called Josh, who I agreed to have lunch with at 1 PM. After I hung up, I got on AOL and Josh knew I was there, flashing me an instant note; Im on

his buddy list. I replied but mostly I checked my mail and responded to a note from Christy, whos said to be leaving Aix-en-Provence. My safejack connection broke, so I need to buy another one before I can use my modem again. I left the house at 12:40 PM, and within fifteen minutes, I was downstairs at Joshs; Williamsburg really is close to the East Village. Sitting in the lobby, I spotted a woman who looked familiar and I said, Elaine? It was Elaine Taibi, the former head of the Brooklyn College Alumni Association. Shes now selling advertising for Jewish Week (Not the Jewish Press, that right-wing rag.). I told her what I was doing and mentioned Ronna; Elaine is still in touch with some people from BC. In a way, Elaines presence made my seeing Josh less awkward because all of us could talk together. I accompanied Josh to Veselka and had cantaloupe as he had french toast, and we basically pretended nothing had happened. His mother is a total mess, delusional and completely homebound but still alive. He talked about Todd, whos still trying to make it as a writer but in such a nave way, hell never get anywhere. It doesnt surprise me that the one writer Josh knows is a total loser even in Joshs own estimation (he related how Todd calls up editors at the New York Times and pesters

them with story ideas until they hang up on him and Todd never even reads the paper himself). Todd still writes on a long-obsolete Adam computer. Josh didnt mention much about his job, so I assume its still the same, and he related how Denis bought the building KGB is in and is cheating on all the other KGB partners like Josh although he didnt offer any proof. At Joshs suggestion, we went to the CooperHewitt uptown to take in the exhibit on Henry Dreyfuss, who designed the Princess and Trimline phones, the Polaroid camera, the Honeywell thermostat, the familiar Westclox Big Ben model, John Deere tractors, the Twentieth Century Limited train, and other icons. There were also a couple of other exhibits, including one in the museums garden of tents for camping. At 4 PM, we got the IRT (my MetroCard worked although I had to swipe it twice when I first used it), and after we got off at 14th Street, I transferred to the L and returned to Williamsburg. Hot as it is, at least I am experiencing New York City.

Tuesday, July 15, 1997

8 PM. The heat index hit 98 today, and the rest of the week is supposed to be this hot and humid, too. At times it feels unbearable here, but then I keep trying to cope. As Alice said, I guess theres no such thing as a free apartment. To my surprise, I slept very well last night despite the oppressive heat. That helped me get through the day. I spent the morning doing laundry; because theres no dryer, I had to hang the wet clothes with clothespins on a line in the backyard, something I havent seen people do since the 1960s. My Safejack, the device that fits in my fax modem to a phone line, broke, and I cant find a replacement part. They tell me I have to get a whole new model, but that seems absurd. Ill take the computer to CompUSA on Fifth Avenue so I can get online again, but today was too hot. Michelle Shih of the Times op-ed page called in response to my message to Bettina Edelstein. Theyre planning on running my piece in the next couple of weeks, perhaps as early as Saturday, and they wanted to make sure they can get in touch with me because sometimes the decision is made in the afternoon before the article appears. I told her Id be home at least part of every afternoon. When I spoke to Judi, she said shes going to Japan with her mother on Monday, so Ill see her when she returns. She said

Matthew wrote that the new July Ragdale residents got drunk on their first night: a very different group than we were. I got to Justins at 1:30 PM. The G train took me to 9th Street/Smith Street, the F to Seventh Avenue, and my MetroCard let me transfer for free to the Seventh Avenue bus so I could avoid the walk to President Street. Justin looked fine. Over lunch at the Second Street Caf, he told me about all his problems with the Brooklyn College Theater Department. Hes made it clear he wont come back if they dont find some kind of line for him. An idealist with institutional loyalty, Justin will just get taken advantage of. Luckily, last week Justin got a call that he got a grant in the low five figures (he cant reveal the sum from the Barilla Kerr Foundation, which like MacArthur, awards you money without an application based on some anonymous nominators judgment. That made him feel vindicated, especially since hes facing 40 and frets that he has no security and doesnt own anything. (Of course, his and Davids apartment is so stuffed with crap, it gives me a headache just to be around all that clutter.) He and David are both fine but working too hard. David, who now runs Acousti-Guide at the Met, had a painting hanging in the museum

as part of the annual staff show, and hes begun doing sculpture. Perhaps it was the heat, but for once, I was content not to talk too much about my own life with Justin. We discussed the reasons Brooklyn Colleges theater seasons have been losing audience members (old Brooklynites die or move to Florida) and other stuff in his airconditioned bedroom. I left Park Slope at 4:30 PM, walking up Eastern Parkway past the Brooklyn Museum (of Art, its called now) to the B48 bus, which took me through Fort Greene right up Lorimer Street to within a block of this house.

Wednesday, July 16, 1997

7 PM. Today was slightly less oppressive than yesterday, but not by much. Two more very hot and humid days are expected, with normal temperatures returning on the weekend. Its been a challenge to keep cool, and Ive reexperienced the joys a cool bath when its this hot. Once again last night I slept without even a light sheet over my naked body. After exercising to Body Electric at 7 AM and then eating breakfast, I lazed around till just before noon, when I left for downtown

Manhattan, where I met Scott at the lobby of his building, 270 Broadway. (Mikey also works there, but we played telephone tag today.) I was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, of course, while Scott was wearing a suit. Over lunch at an Asian restaurant, I noticed that he looks good but hes definitely aged: hes grayer and has lines in his face that werent there before. (The same thing, obviously could be said of me, although Scott said my body looked like it was in good shape.) Hes exercising and eating healthier he even took me to a new health-food superstore later and of course since the heart attack hes stopped smoking. He showed me photos of his daughter Brianna at a ballet recital. Shes going to start Horace Mann because, in Scotts estimation, the Hartsdale schools couldnt help such a bright child. Brianna already reads on a sixth-grade level and does math on a third-grade level. Scott and Joon have let their nanny go and instead hired a woman to serve as what he says is a Korean tradition: shell puck up Brianna after school and be a kind of tutor in different subjects, including Korean and the piano. Brianna seems like a delightfully gifted child, but I hope shes not turned into one of those designer children; Scotts already decided shes going to go to an Ivy League college.

Joons career, Scott says, has taken off like a rocket, and shes now one of the leading designers of corporate environments and office furniture. Shes got a deal to design virtual offices with a company that will allow video meetings between groups of executives across the country. They had sold their house in Westchester but couldnt find another, and in the end, their buyers backed out. They sold Joons old co-op on 87th and Amsterdam at a $30,000 loss, but they may move back to the city. (Why pay Hartsdale taxes if we dont use their school system?) Scotts best friend, an ardent conservative, seems to have gone off the deep end, quitting his law practice for a survivalist bunker in West Virginia, where he refuses to pay taxes. Scott says his work is challenging: its a lot of con law and appellate practice, but after all these years in the same job, he gets things done quickly and had a lot of free time. The office is moving to new quarters on Beaver and Broad (heh-heh) in a few weeks, after Scott and his family returning from a camping resort vacation in Amish country. Now that hes had a near-fatal heart attack, Scott said hes turned his life around and expects to live a long time. We parted with tentative plans to see one another again.

Home at 2:30 PM after a hot journey on the subway (the trains were cool inside, at least), I spent the afternoon trying to keep cool. While I was in a bath at 5 PM, the Giglio feast parade passed the block. Im going to try to get over to the feast again tonight.

Saturday, July 19, 1997

7 PM. As soon as I finished writing yesterdays diary entry, Michelle Shih called from the Times to say thered been another op-ed page scheduling change and that they wouldnt be running my piece today after all but would try for next Saturday. I felt very disappointed and also angry with myself for getting my hopes up; I was sorry Id told people about it, and I felt a lot of self-pity. Ive been dealing with those feelings by keeping busy today and trying to do even silly things just to ward of the helpless feeling that leads to depression. I have no control over the Times op-ed page or my broken modem, but I tried to exercise control over other aspects of my life. Immediately after I hung up with Michele, I called Mom, and in a 90-minute conversation, I managed to talk her through printing out my manuscript.

Mom had never so much as turned on a compute before and didnt know what the difference was between the CPU, the monitor and the keyboard she also cant type but Mom managed to do just fine, considering how counterintuitive everything on a computer is. I knew shed have a lot of problems, but in the end she managed to get into the word processor and open and print the right file. Of course, in my years as a computer trainer, I did learn how to help computer novices work the machines. After dinner last night, I went into Manhattan, buying a copy of I Brake at the Lincoln Center Barnes & Noble. When I got out, a raging thunderstorm got me soaked, and just after I got home, Teresas mother called because a neighbor told her the windows were open. I assured her that nothing was wet it wasnt and said Id been home all the time. She reminded me to close the windows whenever I leave the house to ward off burglars. That made me feel bad, and I lay down, ready to fall into unconsciousness. I didnt feel much better when I got up this morning, although it was much less humid and only 68. Luckily, it was a gorgeous day; Ive checked the weeks forecast, and while it wont stay this nice, its not going to be as hot and humid as the last week was.

At Key Foods, I bought $50 worth of groceries; that sounds like a lot, but it really serves me to eat at home rather than at restaurants. I spent nearly all day in Manhattan, but I came home for lunch and dinner. With the new free bus/subway transfer on MetroCard, I was able to get off the L train on 14th Street, do something downtown and then take a bus uptown for free. I must have walked many miles today, often with a backpack filled with copies of Caracas Traffic. At first I thought Id try street-selling in Union Square, but neither that location nor Bryant Park seemed a likely place. I took the M104 to the Barnes & Noble at 81st and Broadway, buying their copy of I Brake (they replaced the one Id bought in May) and putting two copies of Caracas Traffic on the shelves (facing out, of course) there. Is shopdropping the opposite of shoplifting? I decided that if Ingram wouldnt put my books in the stores, I would well, seven copies worth at Barnes & Noble superstores in Manhattan, anyway. By the end of the day, Id placed copies (facing out, when I could) in the Fiction and Literature sections of the stores on the Upper West Side, Lincoln Center, Chelsea, Union Square, Astor Place and the main store at 18th and Fifth. At that store, I found the Business, Government and Society textbook, and after reading the table contents, Im really

enthusiastic about teaching this course in the fall at Nova. I guess its the thing I look forward to the most about going back to South Florida because it will be an exciting intellectual experience for me to teach Business, Government and Society as well as a challenge I know I can handle. Frustrated over my inability to get the modem part I need I have to find a receipt which may be in South Florida I went to CompUSA and bought an external modem. But at dinnertime, after I returned home, I discovered I cant use it because I need my serial port for the mouse. So I went back to return it; however, I got to the store just as they were closing at 7 PM. The security guard said I should go their store on Eighth and 57th, which was open till 9 PM, but when I got there after a crosstown walk and an uptown bus ride on the M10, I discovered that store was closed, too. So I picked up the Sunday Times at Columbus Circle and returned home an hour ago. I havent even read the Saturday paper yet; in fact, I lost the copy I bought in Williamsburg this morning and got a replacement from a promotion for subscriptions at 72nd and Broadway. Obviously, my losing the paper was no accident since todays paper, with my op-ed article not in it as scheduled, was too painful to

read. I dont appear to have been bumped for anything topical, just another humorous article I might have enjoyed if not for knowing the piece replaced mine. Needless to say, all this going from one store to another gave me lots of hours walking and taking buses and subways uptown and downtown today. Oh, I almost forgot. The street booksellers are still out on the blocks below the Barnes & Noble store on 81st Street, so I sat down by the church on the corner of 79th and placed copies of I Survived Caracas Traffic on the failing as I sat crouched on the ground. Without a sign, nobody could tell I was selling books but the sign probably wouldnt have gotten any more responses than I got as I sat there for 25 minutes and maybe forty people passed by. That is to say, I got no response other than people staring as the title registered in their brains. So I guess what I was actually doing was advertising although to no discernible end. If someone asked if I were selling the books, I might have said I was actually giving them away, or perhaps that I was taking them out for an airing. I do wish I could be there at the Barnes & Noble when someone tries to buy my book and they find its not in their computer. Or, more likely, when the store tries to return it to the

publisher and nobody can figure out how it got there. At least if anyone in New York City asks me where they can get Caracas Traffic, I can say its at Barnes & Noble stores. I remember reading about guerilla small press people whod drop titles onto the shelves of bookstores that refused to carry their books; I guess thats what gave me the idea. Call it $35 worth of philanthropy: if the stores do manage to sell the books, theyll get the profit. As for my buying I Brake (I picked up another copy later today) well, at $4.95, the 14-year-old book is a bargain even for the author. I wonder if their computers will note that the books sold so many copies in Manhattan recently. Anyway, that provided Saturdays physical exercise for me. I also got to spend lots of time with New Yorkers, and now, after six years in Gainesville and few visits here, I feel very much like a New York City resident as I ride the subways and buses and walk the streets. After being in less diverse places, being with people of every race and nationality makes me strangely happy. I like being aware that as a white man, Im a minority on this overrated planet.

Wednesday, July 23, 1997

10 PM. Last evening I started out by going to Hotalings Out-of-Town Newsstand at Times Square, where they told me they were all out of last Sundays Palm Beach Post, so this morning I ordered by mail a back issue with the article on E-zines by Betsy Willeford in which she praised my Spaghetti Language in The Blue Moon Review. Then I headed down to Alices. Going up to her co-op to use the bathroom, I noticed that she hadnt yet installed her new computer printer, so I offered to help her do it, and she was thrilled I would. So Ill go over there Sunday morning. We took the IRT uptown and got to the restaurant, Tacks, on 110th Street before Renee did, sitting at a table half-outside and half-inside. I spotted Renee right away; as Alice had said, she looks exactly the same, with her red hair and open expression. We had a very pleasant meal: good Italian food, nice live piano music, and interesting conversation. Renee has been married to a neurosurgeon for ten years; shes a physical therapist whos doing graduate work in statistics at Teachers College, where shes a TV. Thats what brings her to Morningside Heights from her home on Kappock Street in Riverdale.

Renee just came from spend a month at a nutrition-and-exercise-oriented fat farm in southern Utah, where shed gone for her fifth extended stay. Shes still witty, friendly and intelligent: someone I enjoyed spending time with. Shes all caught up on our lives, too, but we also had other things to discuss, and I took Renees address and phone and kissed her goodbye when we parted, with her driving home and Alice and I heading for the subway. I got home at 10 PM, and after a good nights sleep, I was up at 6 AM. There was no flood this morning, as I checked downstairs at 7:30 AM after I finished exercising. When I got done using AOL and Lexis, I went out for the newspaper and a few grocery items. New Yorkers may have a reputation for rushing and impatience, but nowhere else in the country have I ever seen such languorous supermarket checkout clerks. The cashiers at the Key Food on Grand Street take time off in the middle of ringing up an order to chat with a colleague, scratch themselves, or stare off idly into space. Theres invariably an item that needs a price check, and the clerks can never find the item on the shelves. After lunch, I took the G train to Greenpoint Avenue, two stops away, and once I explored the neighborhood (an ethnic mix, but

predominately Polish and Italian), I went to Enterprise Car Rental on McGuinness Boulevard, where I got my Ford Escort (an upgrade) with little trouble. After a trip on the LIE, I made it to Locust Valley by 2:15 PM. Teresas car was in the driveway but she wasnt home. I let myself in, and the dogs went crazy over me, Hattie drooling and barking, Ollie licking me and wanting to be petted. Both of their tails were wagging wildly as I took them outside while I looked at the stuff that came from Financial Aid from Purchase College and I signed my $500 unemployment check and put it in a bank deposit-by-mail envelope. Teresa returned shed been visiting a nearby friend and she took me to a baby clothing store, where she picked out an outfit from me and one from her for Ronnas baby as well as an outfit for her goddaughter, Shana and Moshes kid. She told me about a letter by snail mail from Johns ex-wife, responding to Teresas last email. Gwen told her to leave her kids alone and to have her own kids with John if she wants to be a mother. She also said other ugly things. This stemmed from Gwen wanting to be the one to take Claire to college. Back at the house, Teresa showed me on AOL the angry reply shed sent to Gwens statement, How would you like it if I were in

Oyster Bay and constantly in your face? Teresa said she would have loved it had Gwen never abandoned her kids, especially Claire, who was 16, sick and vulnerable. Its not the kind of thing that can do anyone any good, especially Claire. But I can understand that Teresa feels she lives with Claire day in and day out and has done a great deal over the last few years to make her ready for college. As far as financial aid, Claire got a $435 Pell grant, will probably get a Stafford, and SUNY tuition is still reasonable enough for Teresa to be pleasantly surprised at the cost. In the last couple of days Teresa got four new catering jobs, so had to write up some letters and memos. Teresa had me take the A/C back to Brooklyn again, so I when I returned here an hour ago, I left it in the hall in case of another really bad heat wave. Today was so cool that I wore jeans, as I did last evening, rather than shorts. After John came home and took Hattie out to the lumber yard and returned with some Italian bread, we had dinner outside at 7:30 M. Im sorry I missed last nights dinner with Teresas cousins Martin and Sal, and I guess Ill have to come back next week if I want to see them again. Suddenly it seems I wont have time left in New York to see everyone or do everything I had

wanted to. Tomorrow Ill go to Philadelphia, but I wont rush to get there.

Friday, July 25, 1997

11 AM. Ive got to return the rental car right away, but I wanted to get some thoughts down on paper. I couldnt have picked a worse day than yesterday to drive to and from Philadelphia. Heavy rain fell all over the Northeast (2 inches in New York City), and I had to navigate through the worst possible weather on roads that were flooded. At 8:45 AM I left, trying to avoid the tie-ups on the BQE Id heard about, but I ended up going the wrong way on the streets and getting lost around the Brooklyn Navy Yard, though when I did finally get on the BQE, it wasnt all that bad. Still, it took 45 minutes just to get to the Verrazano Bridge, and then at least another half-hour to Outerbridge Crossing. By the time I stopped at a rest area on the Jersey Turnpike, the wind was howling, the rain was coming down swiftly, and it was about 55 -- and all I had on was a short-sleeved shirt. Crazy, especially since a week before it had been 97.

It took three hours to get to Ronnas, but Calvins directions were excellent. I was startled by the hugeness of her house in Jenkintown: it was very imposing, and inside, quite impressive, a five-bedroom (and 4 bath) colonial with an incredible amount of space. I was also surprised to see Ronna with thick gray hair; she hadnt dyed it all during her pregnancy although she was planning to go to the hair stylist and have it done this weekend. Abigail was asleep in the cavernous kitchen, where we ended up hanging out all day. I oohed and aahed at Abigail all day and the baby is fairly cute. She looked so intelligent when she was asleep, and she had a thick head of black hair that was starting to go away. I couldnt figure out if she looks like Ronna or Calvin or both. Anyway, we that is, Ronna and I talked all afternoon, a lot about her life as a wife and mother and her experiences during pregnancy and since Abigails birth, about Calvin and Chelsea, and her family (Billy is getting married again, in a small church in Davie in December, to that Brazilian woman who had started out as his patient). We also talked about my recent experiences, my plans, and whats going on with the friends from college whom Id seen recently.

Ronna said the outfits that Teresa and I got for Abigail were adorable the dress Id bought was really beautiful and she wrapped up the Spotty book by Margret Rey that Id gotten for Chelsea, because Chelsea would value it more gift-wrapped. I also brought a copy of Caracas Traffic and hope that it doesnt upset Ronna (theres a story there that features a badlydisguised version of her). Ronna is limiting her breast feeding to twice a day, and giving Abigail a bottle of Similac for her other feedings. Abigails checkups have been okay and everything seems far so far; Ronna said shes not read the developmental books too closely to avoid going crazy. I was really kind of antsy about getting back to Brooklyn, but I felt I had to remain there to finally meet Calvin, so I did stay for dinner. In my honor, Calvin came home early at about 6:30 PM with Chelsea, who goes to pre-school near Calvins hospital, the same one thats also a nursery school that shes gone to since Calvin adopted her as a single parent before he met Ronna. I can see that Chelsea is always going to be, as Ronna said, Daddys girl, and she doesnt mind at all when Ronna takes care of the baby but she seemed jealous when Calvin began feeding Abigail; then she said she wanted a bottle, too. I like Chelsea a lot.

As we were eating our bowtie pasta, she shouted out to me: Wheres your wife? Startled, I replied that I didnt have one. Wheres your husband? I asked her, and Chelsea said she didnt have one, and then she turned and asked, Ronna, wheres your husband? Hes sitting right here, Ronna said, nodding towards Calvin, who was feeding the baby. Im not sure what Calvin thought of me, but I feel sure hes a good man, an excellent father and husband, and ultra-competent as a physician and administrator. I always feel a bit in awe of people who have what I think of as really difficult and important professions. At 8 PM I left, shaking hands with Calvin, who had asked me to stay overnight, and with Chelsea and kissing Ronna on the cheek. I guess at this point I dont relate to Ronna as an old girlfriend because weve known each other as friends for so many years. Im incredibly happy that Ronna has gotten the kind of life shes long wanted, so I felt warm and fuzzy for her, not about her. I got home at 10:30 PM after a horrendous ride up Old York Road/PA 611 to the Pennsylvania Turnpike to the New Jersey Turnpike and across Staten Island, all in a driving rain. Upset that the cellar carpeting isnt drying out from the washing machine pipe flood and that

the smell of mildew is getting worse, I made a frantic call to Teresa this morning. She said theres nothing I can do except keep the windows open once it stops raining. She said theres no way to open the boardedup cellar doors, but I did manage to take out some damp clothing that had been hanging in garment bags in the inner cellar, hung them up on the clothes line. Staying in this house on Conselyea Street is something I wont do again. I feel responsible for the flood even if Teresas father seemed sanguine, saying its a hundred-year-old house, and the pipes are old. I worry that Ill be blamed for anything that went wrong. As Alice said, theres no such thing as a free apartment. Probably my own weird views are why I dont envy Ronna and Calvin their large, comfortable home. If I had money, Id live in a hotel room where I was responsible for nothing and could call the management to deal with any problems regarding accommodations. The thought of owning a house turns my stomach. Last night I left a message with Michele Shih to call me if the Times will heed me today, but I feel certain my piece will not be in tomorrows paper. Speaking of that, I bought yesterdays Times at the Barnes & Noble near Ronnas house on Old York Road, but I havent glanced at it yet. *

6 PM. I didnt expect the Times to call but I still feel disappointed. Im getting sick of waiting for this damn article to come out. When I wrote it in February and mailed it off on Thursday and got a call from the Newark StarLedger days later, I never dreamed that the wait for publication would be this torturous. Come to think of it, my story Cough! never appeared in The Echo Ink Review in May as promised. All the events of the past week that Im powerless to control the flood, the mildew smell, yesterdays torrential rains, the AOL screw-ups, my acne, the op-ed article disappointment are beginning to get to me.

Tuesday, July 29, 1997

9:30 PM. It turned cooler during the night. Signing onto AOL this morning after a good nights sleep, I got bad news from Bob Karp, who yesterday had told me he was testifying before Jon Mills Constitutional Revision Commission about the privacy amendment. I had sent Bob a July 1 ruling from the Montana Supreme Court, which overturned the states sodomy law based on the Montana constitutions privacy clause, and Bob said that would be helpful to him.

But Bob also forwarded todays Sun-Sentinel story on Judge Frusciante ruling against June Amer. He found the legislature had a rational basis for excluding gays from adopting, and said that if the state chooses to let kids languish in foster care rather than go to gay parents, they can do so because studies on gay households are inconclusive. It was as if the judge totally ignored all the evidence. I completely misread him. The paper said June was with her biological son yesterday I know she has Mondays off and wouldnt comment but isnt sure that shell appeal. I was so disgusted by the ruling that later in the day I signed a motor-voter registration card and changed my voting residence to this address in Brooklyn. (The cards were placed by gay activists in the Brooklyn Heights/Business Library.) I also asked for an absentee ballot, and at the same time I sent in a temporary change of address form from Conselyea Street to Fort Lauderdale. Later, reading an appreciation of Justice Brennan, whose funeral was today, I came across a quote from him that bad rulings eventually get overturned and we must be patient, that in the long run, the law will expand, not contract, peoples rights.

But I still have a sour feeling about Frusciante ruling and if I do, I can only imagine how June and Gail and their lawyers must feel. After my usual morning routine, I went to the Laundromat on Metropolitan Avenue and did not only my clothes but the linens Ive been using. Reading the Times helped pass the time. Following an early lunch, I took the subway to Grand Central to meet Elihu. The renovations of the original zodiac and gold-leaf ceiling and of the corridors of shops are in the next phase of redevelopment. Elihu, in a white shirt and tie, looked the same (like me, he is again clean-shaven): almost painfully thin and charmingly homely. We went to Timothys, where we spent an hour nursing coffee (him) and iced tea (me), and where I pocketed a bunch of Equal packets rather than going out to buy more for the rest of my stay here. Rather than talk about anything really personal, we reminisced about high school and college and discussed such stuff as the high stock market (the Dow hit 8175 today), Elihus equity in his co-op, the rise of queer theory as mainstream academic discourse, and other interesting topics. Before we knew it, Elihu was already late, having taken more than his allotted hour for lunch (which he never eats). After he let me

into the mens room on his floor the 28th of the Graybar Building, I took the IRT to Borough Hall. Id just missed a public hearing on the proposed new area codes; they have to split or overlay Manhattan with 646, but by 2001 the other boroughs will need a new area code, 347, because there arent enough 718 numbers. After checking out Borough Hall and the Municipal Building, I walked over, via Court Street, to the library. And after I left there, it was such a gorgeous afternoon that I walked down Montague Street to the Promenade. So many memories came calling, and I couldnt help thinking about that summer 28 years ago and how at almost exactly this same time, I began writing my diary entries. I was 18, had just taken my first course in college, met Brad the first gay guy I came out to, and rediscovered the world after being in the house because of agoraphobia. And what a weird world it was in 1969: Brooklyn Heights, the Village, and the rest of the city seemed on the brink of a new era. It was the first year of Nixons presidency (in retrospect, he seems like a more dedicated liberal than Clinton, who today announced full agreement with GOP congressional leaders to balance the budget, reduce taxes and restore some benefits to immigrants and the poor).

I stood leaning on the rail of the Promenade, my head resting on my arm, taking in the view: the Verrazano Bridge and the hills of Staten Island; Governors Island and the Statue of Liberty facing the other way; the arch of the Bayonne Bridge, barely visible; the looming skyscrapers of downtown Manhattan. Like the Sears Tower and John Hancock Center, the twin towers of the World Trade Center do not appear to be as tall as they actually are when the viewer is close up. That made me think of the clear, dry, cloudless days Id spent in Chicago last month. I checked out the view of South Street Seaport, the incomparable Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings, the BQE traffic below, the deserted Brooklyn piers in front of me. Later I sat in a Starbucks by the window, looking out at Montague Street, as I finished the Times and read the free Brooklyn Heights papers, and then I walked over to the Fulton Mall. At The Wiz (Nobody Beats The Wiz, that is), I bought a copy of Netscape because Im so frustrated with not getting the Web on AOL. Downtown Brooklyn shopping seems to be vibrant, and only later did it occur to me that there were few other white people on the street.

I flatter myself that Im street-smart, but I overshot the Hoyt-Schermerhorn subway station. However, at least that gave me a chance to see more of downtown before I got the G train back to Williamsburg.

Saturday, August 2, 1997

4:30 PM. Ive just come back from seeing Kiss Me, Guido at the Loews (I think theyre now owned by Sony) Village, a multiplex on Third Avenue and 11th Street. It was the first time Ive paid $8.75 for a movie and the first time I sat on the fifth floor of a theater. Kiss Me, Guido relied on stereotypes of the gay West Village scene and the Bronx ItalianAmerican milieu, but it was nevertheless good. Someone in Hollywood is already thinking of making a sitcom out of it (my assumption, not anything Ive read). It was a real New York City film, and the protagonists neighborhood reminded me of this one in Williamsburg. I feel sad and subdued about leaving New York City, the same way I felt five weeks ago when I left Chicago. The hard part about traveling, the hardest part for me, is the leave-taking. Yesterday afternoon I went to the P.O. contract station at the card store on Metropolitan Avenue and mailed out a box to Teresas

parents in Mattituck: a thank-you card, my book, the frame I got at the Morgan Library as a gift for them, and their mail. Then I took the G train and B67 bus up Seventh Avenue to see Justin. When he answered the buzzer, I said, Suicide bomber here, and he said hed be right down to bring me up. His computer was on, and we spent at least an hour with Justin giving me a tutorial on how to use E-mail via Netscape on Spry net. I think it will be a lot better than AOL. We were on the Web, and I noted that Justin has bookmarked Playbills online site, though hes not crazy about Peters columns. He was surprised that I knew Peter, though of course to me, Peter will always be Alices boyfriend first, a theater critic second. David was going to Reading after work today because the same painting that was in the Mets staff show was in a museum exhibit in Reading. So I didnt get to see David this trip. Justin played some funny films from the Voyager CD-ROM series Our Secret Century, which are these awful films we were shown in school as kids in the 50s and early 60s. The ones telling boys how to protect themselves from perverts and girls from pornography were pretty bizarre. Then we went out to Connecticut Muffin on Seventh, where Justin bought me an iced tea.

His grant check came, so he is probably okay for money now plus it looks as if his job at Brooklyn College will go on for another year. We strolled through Prospect Park and ended up at the Grand Army Plaza library, where we played with the new computer databases and the citys new experimental info kiosk and I found copies of Caracas Traffic and I Brake and Hitler on the Fiction/Literature shelves. We said goodbye on the library steps, me saying, Im not really a hug sort of guy to deflect Justins embrace. I then walked past the Museum (and across the street, Turner Towers, where I used to go to Dr. Stein, my pediatrician) to Class on Avenue, where I waited at the corner bus stop across from the park with all the chess players. As a white person, I stand out in that neighborhood, which is probably why a car with two older women stopped to ask me directions to the Childrens Museum on St. Marks Place. I could tell them where the street was, but I had to admit that the Childrens Museum had moved around since I was last there in about 1962, when it was an old mansion in Crown Heights. The bus ride through Prospect Heights, Clinton Hill and Williamsburg got me home at 6:30 PM, and I spent the evening reading the hipperthan-thou alternative weeklies Id fished out of Manhattan newspaper boxes.

They make me feel so hopelessly, sincerely clueless. Sometimes I miss the late 60s and early 70s before everything, including entertainment for five-year-olds, wasnt so damned ironic and smug. Ive lost the habit of TV-watching, but will I have garnered any time for myself if I continue to stay so tethered to the online world of the Web, Lexis and AOL? I subscribed to the New York Times at Moms house, and I left a message with Bettina Edelstein at Op-Ed giving her my new phone and fax numbers. Todays non-timely op-ed piece, by Ann Hood, about her fathers death on Easter weekend, is probably also something theyve had hanging around the office for months. I think Ill go into Manhattan again later. I did pack for the trip, but I havent yet begun the cleaning I want to do here before I leave for Florida.

Wednesday, August 6, 1997

11 AM. Once again yesterday, I couldnt bring myself to write in my diary, so Im using the remaining part of Tuesdays page now. Part of it was simple exhaustion and a late hour spent frustratingly trying to correct numerous computer problems.

But its also hard for me to deal with the complicated and conflicting feelings I have about being in this hunk of time in my life. I have so much rage, and it seems to emerge at inappropriate times. I nearly always keep it to myself, but my mental conversations are probably making my blood pressure rise as much as if I vented my anger verbally. I dont believe in the catharsis theory of anger; instead, Ive found that the more one expresses anger, the angrier one gets, and instead of feeling relief, one just feels worse. Im furious with my parents, Jonathan, the system, CGR, the law, Judge Frusciante for his ruling in the Amer case, Jon Mills, etc. and much of this anger is highly inappropriate and misdirected. I need to understand why I feel this way. I see Jonathan, whos always lived with our parents still a boy, really and I see what I could have been, and what I fear, maybe irrationally, what I could still become. Intellectually, I know that will never happen. And until the last couple of days, Ive never realized how my presence can so gall Jonathan, perhaps because he sees me doing things he never did, and I mean not publishing stuff or any academic success Ive had, but living on my own, having lifelong friends, and even taking a plane ride.

Its as if my very existence is an annoyance to him, perhaps a rebuke. I need to stop becoming upset with him when, as he did this morning, turns the TV up to a shrill volume because my conversation with Mom annoyed him. (I was telling her my $250 Household Visa line had been canceled, probably because Im a deadbeat who in the past year has incurred no interest charges, and that made me decide to take out some ATM cash advances on my other cards to avoid having other unused credit lines canceled too. At Nova this morning, my interview, or meeting, was with Dr. Ed Sieve, dean of liberal arts; Dr. Lynn Wolf of the Writing Center; and Scott Stoddart, another English professor. When they told me the pay for a course was $1200, I balked, but its actually $1500 because an MFA is counted as a terminal degree plus I get a $200 stipend for travel because the class is a Monday/ Wednesday/Friday section. During the meeting, I felt kind of sickish because I thought, Here I go again, stuck teaching comp again, but Ive decided to stay with the class. It will be 1997 high school grads, but the course enrollment is only 15 and they dont require more than seven papers. They want me to come up with a syllabus by next week.

On Monday I read over my Nova evaluations by the Gainesville and Ocala students and they were so good, they made me feel just great. If I can view teaching comp as a challenge and a learning experience, Ill be okay. Besides, Nova is a burgeoning university, and Ill have free E-mail, xerox, computer access, etc.: the perks of being an adjunct. And I get up early and Ill be finished at 9 AM. I didnt want to accept a second course because its on Tuesday/Thursday and might interfere with the other adjunct jobs I could line up. The bad part is because I want to be close to Nova to get there at 7:45 AM, Ill have to live near my parents. But once I get my own place, Ill be able to shut them out of my sight and maybe my mind. I looked at apartment classified yesterday, but I need to give myself a little time. Today I promised myself Id concentrate on reading the Business, Government and Society text, and I need to figure out a composition syllabus. So I have work to do. I can also do stuff that makes me feel good, and that means leaving the house. I spoke with Marc last night. He said he plans to leave his job, or at least look around, in another couple of months. In early September, hes going to Orange County, California, for a series of workshops paid for by his company.

I suggested that his store management experience would make Marc a good candidate for a big corporation where he can get a decent salary and benefits and where theres hope for advancement. Marc is very tense and has gained a lot of weight, but hes in constant back pain for which he takes prescription muscle relaxants. I dont know why he stays in this house. South Florida isnt the ideal place for me to be, but it actually may be easier here, at least temporarily, than anyplace else. I think Id be fine if I stayed in New York, too. My life has always been so tentative and temporary I told Dr. Sieve I couldnt teach in the winter because of my California fellowship in March but living a transient life is the result of the horror of permanence I saw represented by my parents and brothers lives. Likewise, the clinging relationships that surrounded me have always caused me to avoid any long-term committed relationships. Also, Ive never had the slightest desire to own a home. Kevin sent me a sweet E-mail.

Thursday, August 7, 1997

7 PM. Once again, Im having a hard time writing in this diary. But this time, its because Im excited by good news. If all goes well, Ill be teaching creative writing at Florida Atlantic University this semester. Heres how it happened: Yesterday I went downtown. At the library, I xeroxed the Palm Beach Post article about E-zines that mentioned my Blue Moon Review story. I also took out cash advances from some of my credit cards because Im afraid my other accounts will be canceled because Im a deadbeat who pays off his bills without acquiring interest. Going into the FAU Tower, I got the FIU and FAU schedule and noticed that FAU had lots of English 1101 and 1102 and Business Writing sections listed with TBA as instructor. Last evening, at the West Regional Library, where Id gone to begin reading the second chapter of my Business, Government and Society text, I also used their text-only Web browser and noted that there were several more sections at FAU added just that day. So this morning, after working out, I spent an hour crafting a two-page rsum and a letter to Dr. Pearce, the chair at FAU, and once I got the departments fax number, I faxed the three pages there.

Then I went to Barnes & Noble, where I drank iced tea and read my B/G/S text and the SunSentinel. When I returned home, I got the mail and found that Teresa had sent the unemployment check. I went into Moms bedroom to tell her, and she said to call Dan Murtagh at FAU at 1:30 PM; before that, hed be in interviews. CNN broke in with footage of a plane that had crashed in Miami, and almost simultaneously Marc phoned from his car to say that he was going to buy some merchandise near Miami Airport and had just witnessed the crash. Marc described billowing black smoke, cops going crazy trying to divert traffic, flames shooting up from a row of buildings, and chaos as nobody knew what to do. Mom and I followed the reports on TV and from Marc, who was stuck in the pandemonium. Apparently a cargo plane had crashed on takeoff into a warehouse. At 1:30 PM, I called Dr. Murtagh and he asked if I could come by soon, so I hurriedly put on some khakis, a dress shirt and the tie I wore to the Nova interview and drove up to Boca. I was nervous but excited, even about teaching English 1101. For many years, Id tried to teach at FAU, but they ignored me until today. Drs. Pearce and Murtagh interviewed me for an hour, and I tried to sound professorial, smart and competent.

I could tell I impressed them as Matthew said, I am a good storyteller and they said theyd contact me in a few days. I was glad I took my umbrella because a fierce storm was brewing, and it hit just as I got to the car. It turned out to be the most incredible downpour Id ever driven through. Yet I wasnt nervous, knowing Im a careful driver. Still, the intense rain, forked lightning like Id never before witnessed, and the lack of visibility made me decide to get off the Turnpike at the Pompano Beach rest stop and use the mens room, have some TCBY, and hang out till the storm let up a bit. However, it was fierce for quite a while, and I didnt get home till 5 PM. Dan Murtagh called and offered me a Monday/Wednesday evening 1102 class that goes from 7 PM to 8:20 PM. He said they really wanted me to teach Creative Writing at 11 AM on Monday/Wednesday/Friday but Id told them I taught at Nova those mornings. I quickly said that I could take the class, and he seemed pleased. Id wondered why, during the interview, theyd asked so many questions about creative writing and my fiction. Both Dr. Murtagh and Dr. Pearce will be out for several days, but he said to come in next Monday or Tuesday to sign a contact, and then he called back to ask me my social security number.

I was and am ecstatic. Teaching creative writing (with an emphasis on fiction, he said) at a university even as an adjunct was always a dream. I still cant believe it. And if FAU pays between $1800 and $2000 for a class, between my two FAU and my two Nova classes, I should be making about $700 for the fall semester. Thats enough to get by on, certainly, and Ill have Tuesdays and Thursdays off. I still feel unsure that this is real.

Monday, August 11, 1997

9 PM. In the morning today, I made up my Nova comp syllabus, and in the afternoon I drove out to FAU to sign my contract. Im being paid $2000 per course, the minimum I thought I would get. After enduring the whole rigmarole of filling out I-9, W-2, workers comp, automatic paycheck deposit and other forms at Human Resources Processing and Reporting office, I paid $27 for a parking decal at the police station on the other side of the campus. The drive from here to GAU is over 60 miles roundtrip, nearly as long as my trips to Ocala, so Ive got to move closer to Boca. On the other hand, I need to be in Davie before 8 AM three days a week.

I felt as if I were sliding back into my comfortable role of aggrieved, low-paid victim of the adjunct system. But I also realized that these feelings are distorted by the present situation. Most important, I need to get out of my parents house and away from their negativity and mishigass. Once I have a place where I can be, in the Seinfeld phrase Master of My Own Domain, Ill feel better. Ive locked the bedroom door and am loudly playing Mahlers Second Symphony to achieve that kind of effect right now. I also will feel better if I remember that Im not going back to being just another adjunct. When I was a full-time teacher at Broward, I once fretted to Susan Mernit that I was afraid of becoming just another community college teacher, Susan said, Oh, Richard you could never become just another community college teacher. Eventually, I know, I will find a way to shine, just as I did in Gainesville. Im now doing what Schumpeter says capitalism does, practice creative destruction in order to grow my self-economy. Yes, I feel bad that Ill be grossing $500 every two weeks at FAU: exactly what Im netting now on unemployment. But lets not forget I

grossed even more than my FAU salary for two classes when UF paid my annual leave the second time by mistake. If I worry about being a drudge, well, this year I havent worked and will not work at all for the four months between late April and until late August. And I figured out that I will end up grossing over $32,000 for 1997, not much less than I earned last year. Whoever said that reinventing myself was going to be easy? And this is only an interim step. A year from now I want to be starting some graduate program in Seattle, Portland, Berkeley, Austin, Phoenix or somewhere else Id like to live. I need to figure out what degrees and what schools to consider, take the GRE and maybe the GMAT (yes, Im considering business schools), get out the applications and transcripts, ask for letters of recommendation, etc. Meanwhile, here in South Florida, Ive got to consider adjuncting for Nova and FAU a learning experience. If Im bothered because it seems as if Im not using my law degree and its as if I never went to law school, thats a misapprehension. I may not have worked as a computer educator in seven years, but I still havent lost what I gained from my grad courses and my work as a teacher trainer in the Dade and Broward public

schools even if nobody has used an Apple IIe in years and Basic is basically like Esperanto these days. I cant go on, Ill go on, as Beckett says. Rick Peabody says that both of us are survivors. The reason I can uproot myself is that Im hardier than most people, and given my family background and history of agoraphobia, thats astounding. Besides, Ill feel better about being at Nova and FAU once the campuses arent deserted, as they are now, but are filled with hundreds of young and old college students and activities. Trust yourself, kiddo: this is the hard part, but its also the fun part. Would I rather be stuck in the safety of Gainesville? Nah, not really. Security has never been something Ive felt the need to put a premium on. So is todays diary entry all one big pep talk to myself? Maybe I need one. And I need to learn to live as if Im successful and even rich. I cant be namby-pamby pantywaist, though those terms date me terribly.

Thursday, August 14, 1997

9 PM. Marie phoned at about 2 PM, telling me that my credit was fine, and I can move into the apartment on September 1. She agreed

that if I paid cash for two days pro-rated rent, I could begin moving in on Saturday, August 30. Ill come to sign the lease two weeks from tomorrow. The lease will be for a year, and if I leave before that, Ill just forfeit my $530 security deposit. So Ill be in my own place in downtown Davie in a little more than two weeks. Last night I began listening to the tape of Eric Loxs biography of Woody Allen, and I found the stories of his Brooklyn boyhood fascinating. Woody Allen is a decade older than I am, so we came of age at very different times, and our childhood experiences were not that similar I liked school, or at least I did very well in school, was well-behaved and not at all athletic. However, I did find that the stories about his boyhood resonated with me. Again, I slept till nearly 7 AM, a habit I need to break once I begin teaching. But I did sleep well and had pleasant if unmemorable dreams. On AOL this morning, I got an email from Mark Savage, whos gearing up for his second year of teaching and whos investigating masters programs. He needs a masters to keep his New York State license but also one which would allow him to teach in Jersey. Mark said hes seen his sons off and on in the past month and that the boys are currently visiting Niagara Falls with Consuelo.

I sent an Instant Message to Teresa, and we had a conversation for about twenty minutes. Shes very upset because Claudia is doing the take-Claire-to-college thing. John wont stand up to his ex-wife, and Teresas feeling frustrated because she, not Claudia, is the one who did all the work of getting Claire into Purchase. I sympathized with her, basically giving her time to express her feelings and mirroring them. I also suggested that in the end, Teresa can feel satisfied with the good job shes done. She told me she wrote Claire a heartfelt letter and was about to send Claudia an angry note when she decided to do it as John. I told Teresa I admired her ingenuity, but of course the deception can be discovered, and if that happens, in the long run, that will only hurt her, not Claudia. But I certainly understand why shes hurt and feeling unappreciated after doing so much. (If I were her, Id just walk away and let Claire sink or swim in college on her own, but that would be out of character for Teresa.) I got a reply from Brad Richard, who said the problems from his Bells palsy are going away more quickly than he expected, though his eye is still dry and a little droopy.

He liked Spaghetti Language and it reminded him of a story about a friends young lover, who when asked if he disliked the clothes at an Old Navy clothing store (because hed been frowning at them), said, No, I like the clothes; I just dont like the way theyre lit. Brad also sent two excellent poems: one about Andrew Cumana, the other in the voice of a homophobic Southern thug whos murdered a guy after robbing him. At Nova, I got my Polaris E-mail account, introduced myself to Dr. Larry Brandt, and also to Charley Henderson after Micki told me he needed a speech teacher in Jamaica but theres no way I could fly into and out of the Caribbean every Sunday. Micki also said twelve people have refused her offer to teach Argumentative Writing in the new Ocala cluster, and the class begins soon. Actually, I found a version of Annette Rotenbergs argumentation text that will be used in the evening LANG 2000 class I picked up the other day. Marie gave me the texts and course outlines when I went to the third floor. I like the atmosphere at Nova. The people there are very nice, and its so much more diverse than at the University of Florida, with lots of black and Hispanic people here. After a visit to Wal-Mart, I went to Barnes & Noble to chat with the woman at the caf who likes to harass me as she serves me iced tea. I

read the Weekly News, Jewish Journal and Miami New Times, and I realized how much more comfortable I feel sitting in Plantation than I ever did in Gainesville. Im in a cosmopolitan place with a Jewish weekly, a gay weekly and thousands of people who are more like me. I feel like I belong in South Florida. I was delighted to see the American Book Review finally come out with my review of Shade: An Anthology of Fiction by Gay Men of African Descent, which they entitled Variations. It took up a whole 11x17 page plus another few paragraphs on the page it jumped to. Its great to see my work in print after so long, but it will be a bitch to photocopy; Ill have to figure out how to do it. Despite the UPS strike, the package I sent from Union Square two weeks ago was delivered, presumably by a supervisor, while I was out today.

Friday, August 15, 1997

4 PM. Naturally once I gave up on the Times and sent my size-of-Jersey piece out to other papers, Michelle Shih called at 2 PM and said theyre going to run it tomorrow.

She faxed me the three pages; theyd cut the article by a third and may cut it further, depending upon space limitations. They wont close till 8 PM or so tonight. Ive spoken with Michelle several times after I made some corrections and checked out all the newspaper quotes on Nexis. I just hope Im not getting myself excited over nothing. I remember four weeks ago, lying in that embarrassed because Id told Teresa and her parents, Alice, Ronna and Calvin, and others about it. Right now, however, its hard not to get excited about my op-ed piece, and if it doesnt come out tomorrow, Ill feel devastated. But I guess Ill handle it. I can check the New York Times on AOL during the night; Im not sure when they put the next days paper online. In New York City, the Times is no longer available in the late evening, except on Saturday evening. This morning I figured out how to get the ABR review of Shade copies; it took up three sheets, but at least the typeface is big enough so that its easily legible. On AOL this morning I had simultaneous chats with Camille and with Josh. Camille was

looking for information on treating depression in adolescents for a friend whose son dropped out of college in his freshman year and attempted suicide, and she didnt know how to download, so I helped her. Josh said his mother phoned this morning and told him she was terribly upset because shed just learned that her parents had died. Yesterday she told Josh that she loved him when she first married him but didnt anymore. Josh expressed sympathy for that poor Haitian guy who was raped with a toilet plunger while in the custody of police at the precinct in Flatbush. They injured him severely and shouted racist remarks as they beat and sodomized him. One remark the cops made that sounds right was, Its Giuliani time now, not Dinkins time! The Mayor was much more forceful than usual in dealing with police brutality, but its about time, after all. Behind the drop in New York Citys crime rate is the ugly story any black or Hispanic young guy will tell you: about repeated police harassment. Javier replied to my E-mail with a short note. He left his job in Hollywood to work for a law firm in Miami. Bryan still works at AvMed and they continue to live in Kendall. Other than that, Javier didnt say much, except his practice is mostly business law.

I felt pretty relaxed today and basically took the day off, whatever that means. Dad was off today, and he and Mom arent here now, so Im alone in the house for only the second time since I arrived. I need to stick around in case someone from the Times calls. Funny, just yesterday I took the Times op-ed piece off my list of publications in my curriculum vitae.

Saturday, August 16, 1997

7 PM. Last night I read an absurdly optimistic cover story from an old Wired. The Long Boom was a take on the world economy from the magazines usual juvenile technology-willsolve-all-problems perspective. I dont think Ill renew my subscription. Last night I awoke at 11:30 PM and then at 1:30 PM and checked out the New York Times set on AOL. When I logged on at 3:30 AM, I found my op-ed piece in Saturdays issue, and when I woke up at 6:30 AM, I got the paper outside. Placed in the middle of the page with four inches around it and illustrated with a delightfully whimsical illustration showing anthropomorphic maps of Israel, Slovenia, Taiwan, etc., in a police lineup with New Jersey.

Everything Compares to New Jersey (oddly, on Lexis, the headline was New Jersey Is Not Beyond Compare) looked really good. It was a thrill to finally see my name on the op-ed page byline typeface. The story was from Fort Lauderdale, Fla. And the bio note mentioned that I was the author of I Survived Caracas Traffic and a former New Jersey Online columnist. The only response Ive had to it outside of my parents (my brothers didnt read it, or if they did, didnt mention it) was from Justin, who also got my birthday card. He and David had a wonderful vacation in Maine last week, and he congratulated me on the article. I guess I forget that not all people like to hear about friends successes. I probably sent out E-mails about it to too many people (Alice, Teresa, Patrick, et al.). Yesterday I even called Ronna, who couldnt talk because she was busy with the kids and her friend and her two kids who were visiting. But at least I told Ronna Id be in Davie in December when she comes here for her brothers wedding. This morning I was E-mailing Sat Darshan, asking about her new job, when Josh instant messaged me. Now I remember why I stopped speaking to him.

Unlike yesterday, he was obnoxious. Josh asked rude, provocative questions about Sat Darshan and seemed surprised that the Times had published my piece today even though he must have gotten my email about it. Well, Josh is the same guy who assumed that when Denis sent me an announcement about his reading at Barnes & Noble, Denis real message to me was, Nyah, nyah, Im reading at Barnes & Noble and youre not. While I envy my friends successes as much as the average person, I also take pleasure and pride in them. Okay, Im probably more self-centered than most people. But I also know that the rewards I get from my career are not that frequent, and I like to take to take pleasure in them. Just sitting in the Barnes & Noble caf reading the Times was nice; Im glad that Im on the same page, so to speak, as Michelangelo Signoriles article criticizing AIDS groups for sponsoring charity drives related to circuit parties (the Morning Party in Fire Island, the White Party at Vizcaya), where drug-taking and other unhealthy activities go on. I got a really nice E-mail from Bruce Morrow, who said Id written the most intelligent review of Shade that had come out and that his publisher was thrilled. Seeing a New Times ad seeking writers for their new Broward and Palm Beach editions, I

faxed the op-ed article and seven others to the Miami Weekly although, stupidly, to the wrong person. Theyll probably think Im an asshole as well as an egotist. Im going to feel very embarrassed if one of those papers to whom Id just mailed off the Jersey piece calls, wanting to use it.

Friday, August 22, 1997

1 PM. Despite my pledge, I spent nearly two hours on the phone with Michael last night. Granted, I had finished my English 1102 syllabus for FAU and other work, but I dont think I discouraged Michael from talking for so long.

Im flattered by his interest in me, and I tried to be totally honest with him about my reservations about any possible relationship, but maybe my honesty and sincerity just made me more attractive to him. Tonight I cant talk to Michael. I need to spend the time rereading the first four chapters of my Business, Government and Society text so I can be coherent in tomorrows class. Even if Im getting paid poorly, all my students this semester deserve my full attention.

Theres a nationwide teacher shortage as public school enrollment reaches record levels, thanks to the echo baby boom, but jobs go unfilled because teachers salaries are so bad. Indeed, UPS drivers now make more money than most teachers. I did go to Office Depot at 10:30 AM and xeroxed my FAU syllabi and course outlines at my own expense, of course, the way many teachers do. Then I sat in Taco Bell and read part of the Times while I drank lots of Diet Pepsi. A front page story in the paper discussed how the protease inhibitors are failing some of the AIDS patients they rejuvenated and now these guys are dying, too. I assume every guy I might have sex with is HIV-positive.

I told Michael to be careful, and he assured me that hes very safe, but to him that just means making other guys wear condoms. What bothers me about him is his belief that every guy, like his ex (whom he saw for only two months) is out to play him. Granted, his ex, a 35-year-old psychotherapist, sounds sleazy (Who breaks up with someone by E-mail and then has sex with your friend half an hour later? Michael said), but Michael doesnt see that he shares responsibility by placing trust in someone he shouldnt have.

I contrasted my own breakups. Michael said, It sure sounds like this Sean guy played you, but I explained that I was aware of Seans boyfriend and his other activities all the time we were tighter. I just misjudged how strong his relationship with Curtis was because I deluded myself in the face of reality. And when Shelli broke up with me, it wasnt that she did anything wrong by sleeping with Jerry; we werent getting along and she fell in love with someone else. I mean, 26 years later, that seems totally innocent, and I know she didnt mean to hurt me. Do I sound pretentions? I got my rejection for a Florida arts fellowship in todays mail. Every day this week, Id been checking the Division of Cultural Affairs Web site, because I knew the grants would be announced. I was crestfallen for about ten minutes, but Im over it. I know theres a lot of competition and that my work is idiosyncratic and no, I dont want a copy of the panels comments (it was empowering to throw the letter into the trash at Office Depot). Still, I could have used the $5,000, but then again, Im sure the writers who got the grants can use the money, too. Ive gotten two fellowships already, and my New York Times op-ed piece is only a week in the past, so I cant complain. Well, being a writer, of course I can complain. But whats the point?

Saturday, August 23, 1997

8 PM. I worked most of the afternoon and evening yesterday, preparing for todays Business, Government and Society class at Nova. Michael didnt call last evening, and of course, despite my protestations, I missed hearing from him. In fact, I just phoned him. He worked all day and needed to take a shower (I stink), but we chatted for a while. Id written Sean about Michael, and today I got his response: Most of us would have to pay to have a 19-year-old interested in us. Poor Richard! Sean may like that shallow life of parties, heavy drinking (I dont think hes into drugs), etc. but hes really a good person with a nice sense of humor, and Ill always be fond of Sean. Anyway, I slept well, got up at 6:30 AM and was at Nova in my classroom before any of the students were there. This being Nova, things were screwed up: Larry Brandt had to make sure the students went to the right room, and theyd never been notified of the room change. Also, only half of my dozen students were able to get the text before the bookstore ran out of copies, and the UPS strike prevented recent deliveries.

Flexible and adaptable and unflappable after years of teaching at Nova and my experiences doing teacher trainer at various locales in Miami for Florida International University I did the best I could this morning. This cluster is graduating at the end of February, and theyre a nice mix of men and women, whites and blacks and Hispanics, all over 25 or so. I enjoyed teaching about business power and the business environment and the role of government, etc. The talking did strain my voice, and I finally reached the point of no return at noon, so I let them out early. The students agreed to let me revise the assignments to more short papers rather than one long research paper due at the end. Home at 12:30 PM, I felt tired and hungry. I phoned Tom after getting E-mail from Brad asking me to call Tom. He and Annette got into New Orleans 20 hours late, and he missed the first day of work and was docked the days pay. After all these years teaching German college students in Stuttgart, Tom is not ready to go back to teaching New Orleans high school students, particularly because he just finished the term in Germany. I knew he wanted to talk about A Newcomers Guide to the Afterlife, which Bantam has done

almost nothing to promote and whatever they did do was geared to a New Age-y audience when the book is a clever, intelligent parody and a literary work. I tried to come up with suggestions, but what Tom needs are reviews, so that the book can get some foreign sales and that his own manuscripts that are at agents and with editors can get noticed. This book will be my death, Tom said, meaning that it will make it impossible for his novels to get published. I can feel for Tom, who works so hard at his books and is a consummate man of letters, but what place is there for him in todays publishing environment? Im resigned and content to be on the fringes, but Ive also had more success than Tom has, with a fraction of the effort hes put in. On the other hand, I dont really enjoy some of Toms work and I dont think that editors will, either. Hes a good writer, but his work is very cerebral, and that may be the kiss of death. If Tom were less well-read, he would have been a much more successful writer. Im surprised, though, at the Newcomers Guide to the Afterlifes paucity of reviews unless people assume its New Age gobbledygook.

Im almost all ready for the first day of class on Monday. Of course, at 8 AM I can spend half the class giving a diagnostic essay.

Monday, September 1, 1997

1 PM. I just had my first lunch in my new apartment, after taking my first shower here. That was after Id been lying dead to the world in an exhausted, depressed funk. I brought nearly everything over here today. My big computer and my bed and dresser are still at my parents, but anything else I left there was by lack of foresight. It was wrenching, in the way, to leave: as much as I hated being with my family, Id slipped into the comfortable routines. China seemed sad to see me packing and carrying suitcases, but perhaps Im just projecting or generalizing from my experiences with Hattie this summer. Theres just so much to do, and nothing yet knows where it belongs. I know from experience that objects will sort themselves out and find their places, but its hard at the beginning. Still, if I tell myself I adjust quickly, I probably will. And I shouldnt be hard on myself after doing all the moving on my own, and before

that, managing to find an apartment and jobs to keep me at least treading water. Last night I couldnt sleep and I got on the Net, asking for application forms to various grad programs, including ASU in Phoenix (justice studies and journalism), Texas at Austin (government), Washington in Seattle (law librarianship), Berkeley and Maryland-College Park (both journalism). I need to set limits, and those all seem like good places to live. Of course its possible I might not get accepted anywhere, but if I apply to four or five programs, I can probably make at least one. Yes, when in doubt, go back to school for another degree. I do love learning and am comfortable in the womb of a large state university, where tuition is cheaper. Going to one of those schools and cities would mean another wrenching readjustment in about a year, but it will get me to a new place and put me in a highly structured environment the way UF law school did. The year that begins today with September, Labor Day, the end of summer was always going to be a transitional year. I still feel as though I dont know where Im going with my life, but I do know that often it will seem to all make sense.

I fear succumbing to despair, but Ive been afraid of that before, most recently when I left my comfy job at CGR, and before that in 1994, when I graduated from law school and faced adjuncting at Santa Fe Community College as I moved into my tiny dump of an apartment at Sundowne. Speaking of which, why didnt living in one room facilitate my getting rid of more possessions. I think of myself as the least acquisitive of Americans, a sympathizer with the voluntary simplicity movement yet I have so many clothes I never wear, books I never read, tchotchkes I carry from place to place without my having any need of them. I promise that over the next year I will throw out unnecessary clothes, objects, and other possessions like the orange t-shirt Ive got on right now which has a tiny hole in the armpit. I know that in the next few months Im going to have some financial disasters: car repairs, dental repairs (the tooth seems okay for now) or whatever. My left upper arm is still a deep splotchy purple from last weeks accident. Right now I should be preparing for this weeks classes, but I cant even bring myself to sort out the textbooks from the various courses. Im such a mess. I feel like returning to my veg-out state of an hour ago; Im even thinking of getting a cover to put over me as I lay here on the single bed

(its low, just on the boxspring, but Mom says I cant leave it like this). Well, getting under the covers isnt such a bad thing as long as you eventually get up and face the world. Ive got classical music on. This apartment reminds me of my studio in Rockaway in 1979, and that scares me but also gives me a sense of hope.

Wednesday, September 3, 1997

4:30 PM. I didnt sleep well last night, maybe getting four or five hours, so I hope I can have a decent English 1102 class tonight at FAU at least better than the barely-salvaged disaster (but a learning experience) of a week ago. Im going to hold off leaving until 5:50 PM and see if I run into traffic. These three-class days are killers, so I should be grateful I have only one this week. Up at 5:30 AM, I exercised half an hour late to Body Electric, while I kept on as I listened to NPRs Morning Edition. I stopped at my parents to fetch the New York Times with its blue wrapper from the ground and made it to my classroom at Nova just before 8 AM. We went to the MicroLab today, and Id expected some kind of tutorial, but I was on my own. So I got the students into Microsoft Word

 the Office 95 edition and we did some freewriting and discussed the advantages and disadvantages of writing on computers. This generation is totally familiar with the technology and had no difficulties, though a few were not fast keyboarders. We also set loose the spell checkers, the grammar checkers, and the other bells and whistles, and I noticed some students applying lots of different font types and styles to their writing. For the last ten minutes of class, I told them to play. and most gravitated to the Web, where they looked at music sites, tried to go to teen chat rooms or the home page of the Russian teen tennis star whose name I forget, and a couple looked at their E-mail. On Friday, were going to use the book of readings for the first time, and Ive got to come up with their first writing assignment, which according to the syllabus is due next Monday. If I think Ive been busy now, just wait till I have to start grading papers all the time. I got to FAU before 10 AM and read in the cafeteria, though I have to admit my reading the paper kept being interrupted when I was distracted by the cute young guys around me. Last night I took the phone off the hook so I could get to sleep without a call from Michael, but of course I didnt get to sleep for hours anyway.

It was I who phoned him on Sunday, so Im obviously giving poor Michael confusing signals, which is because Im confused about our relationship myself, but well see what happens. In Creative Writing, we spent the whole period on the first story: a spacy, preachy dialogue about enlightenment and spirituality that Jonathan might appreciate. I tried to be as kind and gentle as possible, and the students also treaded lightly, but the boy who wrote it apparently felt attacked and devastated. Well, the grading in my class is easy, but they need to listen to reasoned, intelligent criticism. Nobody was rude or cruel. I know its hard for them to have criticism when theyre at the age when all their creative efforts have gotten only praise because of teachers, parents and friends wanting to be polite and build up the students self-esteem. I realize how utterly unsophisticated about literature most of the students are, but I hope I can connect with them. They are decent critics despite their lack of literary knowledge and reading experience, however. I spent the afternoon at home reading and lying down. The public mourning for Princess Diana is unlike anything I can remember since John F. Kennedy. God knows what it means for the future of the monarchy.

A year ago I showed Medium Cool to my class in Gainesville as a meditation on the medias effect on society. The opening and closing scenes of Medium Cool feature photographers snapping pictures of a fatal auto wreck rather than helping anyone might still be alive. If one of my Gainesville students this week thought about the film in relation to the Paris death of Diana, I feel I did a good job.

Tuesday, September 16, 1997

9 PM. I dont expect to get enough sleep tonight, but I slept fine last night, and tomorrow night I can relax because I have Thursday off. Last evening I had a nice class at FAU in Boca, spending the last half-hour reading Salingers A Perfect Day for Bananafish, which seemed to entertain the class. It was 9:30 PM before I came home because I stopped at Bread of Life and the Racetrack gas station, where regular is now $1.13 a gallon. (I was just interrupted by a student calling.) Yesterday I bought some laundry tokettes from Marie and told her that the key to my top lock had never worked. Actually, they gave me two keys to the bottom lock, but in any case, Marie

gave me the right key without admitting their error. In the mail yesterday, I got an application from the Ucross Foundation in rural Wyoming. (I guess all of Wyoming is rural.) Their deadline for the season that ends in June is October 1, and I debated whether to apply. Today I decided its worth the limited investment of a $20 processing fee and few dollars of xeroxing and a little time. It looks like a beautiful place, in the kind of environment Ive never lived in before the high plains of the Rocky Mountain West but Im afraid I might feel isolated there. There might be no New York Times delivery, no town to visit as I did in Lake Forest at Ragdale, and Id be hundreds of miles away from the nearest big city. Could I deal with that? Either Id get a lot of work done or Id go nuts. Anyway, its probably difficult to get in, and my very old to whom it may concern letters of reference probably wont help, but I cant ask anyone to write a recommendation on such short notice. Dad went out this morning, and when he returned at 10 AM, Mom called to say that while Jonathan felt ill with a bad sore throat, Dad and I could bring the bed over here. I decided it would be better to have three people and said Id wait till another day. Ive

lived here for two weeks with this little bed in the living room, and Ive grown accustomed to sleeping here. In fact, I rarely go to the bedroom at all and find that I dont really need all this space. I wanted to go to Boca and see if I could get the Boca Raton News, so I took the Turnpike and got four copies from a vending machine near the exit. Even at a distance, I recognized my photo on the front page by the first column just above the fold. Lately Ive been thinking a lot about my looks. Beardless in the photo, I look better than I thought I would. I have a cleft in my chin. But the lines on my face seem so deep. Mom said our deep nasolabial folds are a legacy from Grandpa Herb. I feel old. Despite my persistent acne, Im at the point where I can no longer pretend that Im a young man. I thought Id accept the transition to what I consider middle age with more aplomb. After all, its my brains, not my looks, which have always been what Ive gotten satisfaction from. Its not like Im one of those gay pretty boys who cant face the loss of his youthful beauty. I was never beautiful; rarely did anyone ever give me a second glance. Yet I find it hard to accept that Im the person behind this face. Well, I suppose Ill adjust to it by 2000 or so.

The article, Only Deadbeats Pay Off Their Credit Cards, was, of course, very short, about the length of my longer New York Times letters to the editor. But in a number of short paragraphs within a narrow column and bolder type, it almost looked like a real column. Several of my students phoned during the day, and of course they cant all have these health problems and family emergencies at the same time. I had only six of eleven students show up at Nova tonight, and another had a friend send over her paper so that makes only seven papers to grade by Thursday, before the 8 AM class and the Saturday class hand in their papers. Tonight I talked about encyclopedias, card catalogs, periodical indexes, and other reference sources, and they discussed the proposed topics or general areas for their research paper. It was an okay class, nothing very interesting. Despite the Diet Pepsi I drank while I taught, Im getting slightly drowsy now. Well, I have a lot of things to do if I do stay up much of the night.

Thursday, September 25, 1997

4:30 PM. My first impulse is to record that I didnt grade any papers today. Its so typical of me to want to cite my failures first. I need to give myself a break, no? Last night I was still very congested, but I managed to collect the FAU 1102 classs papers and keep them until 8 PM, discussing the same Alice Walker essay that I covered at Nova last week. Home, I was happy to get into bed and watch Ellen. But later, I couldnt sleep after waking up at 1 AM. I read a little for my classes, but mostly I ruminated and sniffled. My head started to open up a little, and when I woke up at 5:30 AM after another couple of hours sleep, my nasal congestion had dissipated mostly. Ive got a trace of a stuffed nose, but aside from tiredness (which could be attributed to lack of sleep), Im fine. That tells me the zinc lozenges and the other stuff I took to boost my immune system actually did work. But the cold happened, I think, because Im feeling a bit lost these days. I know Im in a holding pattern, and Im dissatisfied with my life. Although Ive made so many changes in the past six months since I left my job at CGR, after a month of teaching at FAU and Nova and three weeks of living here in

this apartment where Im not even settled to the point of having my bed here yet (Im writing this on my mainly bare bedroom floor, propped up against a pillow), Im already looking to the next place, the next job. . . This is definitely Gail Sheehys passage of crisis men go through in their late forties. I feel so old. Getting a haircut, I could hardly look at my face in the mirror all the while. I didnt shave today, wondering if Ill look better with a beard again. Short of plastic surgery I cant afford, I dont know what I can do to keep my appearance except accept my face and body as that of a man approaching 50. Perhaps, like the men Sheehy writes about, Ill feel more youthful once I get off this plateau onto the over-50 level. This sounds ridiculous, I know, but I cant imagine myself living much longer. Theres nothing I can point to with regret, which may show how hopeless I am. I dont regret pricking my adventures over a life of stability. If Id stayed at Broward Community College all this time, like Patrick, Id be miserable. But Id probably own a house and a late-model car and not worry about providing for myself. I knew there were tradeoffs when I chose to be a nomad. Or did I choose this lifestyle? Use the word lifestyle and people immediately think

gay lifestyle, but of course my sexual orientation has nothing to do with this. Im rambling. This morning I read the paper, ordered a TV and VCR for my FAU classrooms on Monday so I can show videos, wrote very short and very belated notes to my Ragdale friends Theresa and Matthew, and got my newer story files on a disk so I could take them to Moms to put on the desktop computer. Alice is probably wondering why I didnt send that package of stuff for book editors. When I showed Mom the photo of the first June group at Ragdale, her first reaction was that I look as young as the people in their twenties and thirties. How we see what we want to see. Sean is an insecure as he figured hed be: he didnt realize I was joking when, after seeing the photo of him in New Orleans, I congratulated him on losing his baby fat. I replied right away to say I was kidding, he was skinny in 1982 and he still looks thin. He and Curtis are going to Italy tomorrow, and I hope they have a spectacular time. I got my first phone bill today; after this one, the money will be deducted from my checking account. Capital One said if I deposited $99 in my security account, theyd raise my credit limit by $500, to $1000 total.

Ill do it, but I cant seem to get comfortable with borrowing money the way I did a decade ago. Im trying to run up balances on my Household credit cards so more arent canceled, but Id rather not pay interest. Somehow the money seems real now. Of course I may get desperate again over the next year and I want all the unsecured credit I can get. At least Household did send me a new GM Card today, so that $250 credit line seems safe for another year. Brooklyn College sent my B.A. and M.F.A. transcripts, so I made copies I can send to Arizona State, still the only grad school Ive applied to. Next Thursday Ill be taking the GRE, so Id better get moving. When I went to xerox the transcripts at Office Max, I also bought my 1998 diary: the red Daily Reminder hardcover was the only one they had. Since my first diary was 1969, this one will become the thirtieth volume of unreadable daily scribbles. The Times had an obituary notice for Bernard Lenahan of the New York City school system; he was either the principal or assistant principal at P.S. 203 or assistant principal at Meyer Levin J.H.S. 285, Im pretty sure.

Tuesday, October 7, 1997

9 PM. Yesterday afternoon I decided to do some laundry so that Id have one less chore to do today. I left the house at 6 PM, and either because of the heavy rain or my inattention, I got off the Turnpike at the Sawgrass Expressway. There was no real harm done except paying a 75cent toll: I got off at the next exit, at Lyons Road, and took that north till I got into Boca and then used the streets to get to FAU. I had an interesting class discussion on Bruce Webers 1987 profile of twenty-something yuppies, The Unromantic Generation. In a way, leading a classroom discussion is like being Oprah Winfrey or Phil Donahue racing around a studio audience with a microphone. I feel I learn a lot from hearing what my students have to say. For example, on Saturday, when we discussed campaign financing, my class was adamant that nothing out of the ordinary happened in the Clinton campaign in 1996. It must frustrate Republicans to hear people say, They all do it, but my students are more resigned and disgusted than outraged and angry. I like getting the perspective of people of different ages, and as one young Iranian guy reminded me tonight when I heard a lot of

students say that everyone is materialistic, Were in Boca Raton here! Last night I started to read the last two issues of the Times Book Review before falling into a deep, restful sleep. I always get four or five erections during a decent nights sleep, and this morning I thought Id do some research on Lexis to see why men get these erections during REM sleep. The best guess is that its a way to keep the system functioning. Its amazing that mine still works so efficiently. I answered some E-mail today. There was a brief note from Tom and Annette (the TimesPicayune wrote roll for role in a headline), and I also wrote to Teresa and Camille. Apparently the weather in New York is so nice this week, theyre going to Fire Island. Teresa seems less busy; yesterday she was on her way to a luncheon Sandy sponsored to raise money for a battered womens shelter in Hempstead. Claire continues to commute to and from Purchase every other day, and I suspect Teresa doesnt mind the company at home. Teresa told me not to work too hard. Alice said she and Andreas had a great time in Venice, and the most interesting thing that happened since she got back is that she replaced call-waiting with voice mail and got a separate fax/modem phone number.

Alice is off to British Columbia for a writers conference and said she hopes to get my manuscript and other stuff soon so she can start sending it to editors. I guess taking advantage of Alices skills as a literary agent hasnt been a priority for me because I dont really expect any trade publisher will be interested in publishing my next story collection. I did decide to relax today by going to Barnes & Noble at 10:30 AM. Laurie wondered why I hadnt been in lately for my usual iced tea, and I said that unfortunately, life has interfered. (In a way, Laurie is like a bartender at a familiar tavern.) I read the Definition chapter in The Structure of Argument, which I taught from 6 PM to 8 PM tonight. But I didnt get to grade the LANG 1500 papers, nor did I try to write my grad school applications statement of purpose. What I did do at the bookstore caf was read todays Sun-Sentinel, the 30th anniversary issue of The Advocate (David Leavitts essay on how terrible so much gay fiction is really seemed perceptive; Im actually glad that Im not considered a gay writer), and a few other periodicals. On the way home from Barnes & Noble in Plantation, I stopped to xerox a page from Anything But Sympathy that hadnt come out

right and to get some groceries at Bread of Life. Then I ate lunch during All My Children the show has really taken out after reparative therapists who claim they can change sexual orientation and read the Times. Class tonight went fine, though the room was freezing. I really prefer dealing with students who are black and Hispanic adults to ones who are white teenagers. When I came home, there was a message from Brenda Patterson in Lakeland, who needed a bio note from me tonight because Onionhead was finally coming out with my story Willie 95. Id despaired of it ever getting published. Brenda seemed very nice when I called back. I gave her my book titles and Ragdale residency to put in the bio note. I cant believe that finally Im going to see that story in print. Well, I feel tired, but on nights like this one and last night, when I have a good class, I also feel a sense of accomplishment. Tonight I probably wont get enough sleep, but Ill get through the day. And Thursday Ive got off, without a GRE test to take up half the day like last week. Its been getting perceptibly cooler out the last few nights.

Thursday, October 23, 1997

Its barely Thursday, 1 AM, and I just got home from the hospital in Coral Springs. Dad had a massive heart attack in the store tonight. When I arrived home from Boca at 9 PM, exhausted after teaching, I found two messages on my machine from a hysterical Mom, urging me to call her immediately. When I called, she told me about that Dad got the heart attack at work and they were taking him to the hospital. Immediately, I took off and went to Moms but I couldnt understand why she wanted me to go with Jonathan, but that she was staying home.

We screamed at each other, and I ended up following Jonathan in my car. The admitting nurse told us Dad was being TPAed, that hed had the big one. Is he dead? I asked. No, the nurse said. A nurse from the emergency room came out and told us that Dad was having a heart attack right then and they were giving him TPA as well as morphine and nitroglycerin, that a lot of people were working on him and he was very unstable.

Jonathan tried to call Mom but got no answer. Panicked, he couldnt understand why mom wouldnt answer the phone unless she were ill or had collapsed, and the only thing I could think of was to call 911 and talk to the sheriffs office. I told a deputy the story and he said Mom might be suicidal; I said I doubted it, but he said hed send someone over to the house, and Jonathan was going to drive back, but after he left, he came back, saying Marc had just driven up to the parking lot with Mom in the car. I called back and canceled the 911 message so the cops wouldnt break into the empty house. The cardiologist spoke to Jonathan and me and said the usual; there are no guarantees, the next few days are critical, that Dad had suffered the attack in the left anterior chamber the worst place and there wasnt much they could do now except let the medications work. The big danger, of course, is another massive heart attack. We got Mom to come into the hospital and had had the doctor speak with her. I went out and let marc go in while I sat in his car with China, who was shaking with fear. Jonathan, too, had been trembling in the ER waiting room, and Mom was hysterical, but very quietly, and Marc couldnt stop belching and looked very ill. I alone seemed to be calm, so much so that when the doctor came back, he looked first to me to talk rather than address the others.

The more other people panic, the calmer I always seem to get. Does my sang-froid signify that m a monster, or am I just expert in total denial? Just last week, I was so angry at my parents that I wished they were dead and not for the first time. Of course, what I really wished for was they theyd be different, not dead. Still, I had a feeling one of my parents would have a medical crisis soon. Maybe that was why I was so calm: because I believe wont die, perhaps because I know Id feel irrationally guilty if he does. If he does live, Dad and Mom will have to sell the house and change their lives. A man his age shouldnt have been putting in the backbreaking hours he has been at a job he dislikes. I figure Dads body, his heart, rebelled and couldnt take it anymore. I cant believe I feel so calm because its very possible Dad will die in the next few days but I guess I cant fathom that possibility. What does it say about me that I feel theres absolutely nothing I can do at this point and theres no sense in my worrying? That Im well-adjusted? Or that I have no heart myself? This is terrible to admit, but Im annoyed with Dad for picking a bad time to have a heart attack: just when I was so exhausted that all I wanted to do was get some sleep.

How do I live with myself? Very easily, it seems. Am I nave to assume that Dad will recover? But in any case, my familys life has irrevocably changed tonight. * 4:30 PM. I saw Dad today at 1 PM in the Cardiac Care Unit. Mom and Jonathan had been there since 11 AM. He looked the way he normally looks, except he was in a hospital gown and had all these tubes coming out or going into different parts of his body (like his nose). Dad knew he was having a heart attack, and hed had a similar feeling the night before at just the same time. He said he didnt feel a sharp pain or a pain near where his heart is: just a terrible dull pain across his chest and shoulders. He lost consciousness in the store, but only for a very brief time. Dad told the paramedics that he was 61, not 71, because thats the age he pretends to be for work, and only later when he got to the hospital did he tell them his real age because they needed to know he was on Medicare. I sat with him for an hour after Mom and Jonathan left, and Marc is going at 5 PM. We were told that the CCU is open to visitors only at 11 AM, 1 PM, 5 PM and 8 PM, but they let us, as immediate family, stay there.

Dad described being worked on and said that he got scared when they all started to panic when his blood pressure dropped to 60 following increased doses of morphine. He was hooked up to a monitor that measured his heart rate, which fluctuated a lot, and his rhythms had been irregular, the cardiologist said. Well, I feel relived although hes still not out of the woods; he may need an angioplasty or surgery, Im sure. But the longer hes stabilized, I assume, the better his odds. I was up the entire night except for some halfsleep between 5 AM and 8 AM, and I felt awful this morning. So naturally, I went out and got a haircut, and I exercised, and I was going to tell Jaime that I was still willing to meet him when he said he couldnt make lunch because he had to take care of his dogs. Yesterday hed E-mailed that he was happy to be seeing me. Fuck him. Why do I spend my time on guys who arent at all as nice as they pretend to be? Im so much better off taking care of my family, dealing with my real friends I just had a great talk with Teresa and doing my work. Dad said hed never thought he would have a heart attack, and I guess I dont think I will,

either, although I have a fast heartbeat (due to Triavil, perhaps) and low HDL levels. I guess I probably will have the big one someday, though my personality is much different than Dads or Grandpa Nats. Im more optimistic. Well, Ive got to call Aunt Sydelle and listen to her go into hysterics. Jesus, what a life.

Friday, October 24, 1997

8 PM. Dad was better today, complaining about his night nurse and saying felt good enough to go home already. The cardiogram showed no damage to his heart. Despite that, and despite the fact that his heartbeat was regular all night, theyre not even going to let him out of CCU until at least Sunday, and after that, theyll need to do stress tests and other tests to measure his progress. Mom said it will be the end of next week at the earliest when hell be released. Aunt Sydelle did get hysterical when I called her. She was crying and moaning, but after I gave her the cardiologists number, she felt reassured and seemed to be relaxing a litter. Jonathan said she was even encouraging when she phoned him later.

I fell asleep at 8 PM last night and slept well for the first night in a week. Id decided to use Dads heart attack as an excuse to avoid teaching at FAU today, so I phoned Rebecca and she said shed cancel my class. So I didnt bother to shave before teaching my 8 AM class at Nova; I just threw on some clothes and got back into a t-shirt and boxers when I returned home at 9:15 AM. The reason I needed to stay home was that Mike Murphy from the Orlando Sentinel wanted me by a phone in case his editor had any questions about my column, which is going into the paper on Sunday. But Mike called at 11:30 AM to say he had no questions for me. I exercised and replied to Josh in an E-mail. Josh may be paranoid, but hes always good to someone when something bad happens to them. He just cant deal with good things happening to friends, so Ive learned not to tell him about my publications or any other good fortune that happens to me or others. I spoke to Teresa for a long time yesterday, and she, of course, was wonderful, as was Alice, who phoned me after she called Mom this morning. Gosh, its good to have friends; I just wish I had someone like that here in Florida, but you cant get as close to someone in two weeks as you can over decades, and Ive got to accept that.

I went to the hospital after lunch. Mom and Jonathan were sitting with Dad; Marc had been there last night. They left after half an hour, and I stayed and started reading Dad some of my students essays and the Woody Allen piece, On Slang Origins, from our text. Its amazing how quickly one accepts what just a few days ago was unthinkable, that Dad has had a heart attack. Yet everything seems the same. When I wrote that Dads heart attack would change our family irrevocably, I may have underestimated his ability to recover even though my suspicion even while he was critical was that he would be back to normal soon. I guess I now have a better idea of what to expect when I have my first MI someday. Now my family history has changed when I go report it to my own doctors. Tonight, after I got home, did laundry and had dinner, Mom called to say that someone left a message from the New York Times letters department. I expect theyre pissed because my charges against Bork werent totally accurate, though it will be interesting to see them refuted tomorrow or Sunday. Will Bork himself respond to my letter? The virulence of homophobia can be seen in the Sixth Circuits upholding of Cincinnatis anti-gay law despite what seemed like a clear

Supreme Court message to reconsider it in light of Romer. The conservative appellate judges distinguished Romer and went back to the language of special rights.

Sunday, October 26, 1997

7 PM. I slept well, although I was awakened in the early morning hours by a dull pain in my right shoulder, which still aches now; its sort of what Ive heard bursitis feels like. (I remember once taking Grandpa Nat to a doctor in Brooklyn who gave him a shot in the shoulder for his bursitis.) At 11:30 AM, after eating lunch (it was really an hour later to my body, which doesnt know from the end of daylight savings time), I drove to Aventura to pick up Aunt Sydelle. Its hard to believe, but this was my first time in Dade County since I arrived in South Florida nearly three months ago. Sydelle showed me the work on her terrace, which is driving her crazy because of the noise of drilling. Some of the buildings terraces were found to be unsafe and liable to collapse unless they were completely rebuilt, and now she has to pay for new tiles.

She was an incredibly nervous passenger, warning me about going too fast even while I was doing the speed limit and getting anxious every time I changed lanes. On the other hand, she was very grateful and seemed to view my taking her from Aventura to Coral Springs and back as a Lindbergh-like accomplishment. Dad was still in CCU today; apparently theyd been unable to find a regular room for him, though he viewed the doctors promise to move him as someone trying to humor him. The way Dad tells it, youd think it was all a conspiracy to keep him tethered to his heartmonitoring devices, and he had half a mind to pull out the wires and leave the hospital on his own. Meanwhile, hes still having irregular heartbeats, a situation I can see from his monitor when he stands up or gets excited, both of which happens frequently, sometimes simultaneously. By now I can see that nothing is going to change, least of all Dads excitability, and I predict that hell have a second heart attack. If this one had been worse, perhaps it would have persuaded him to change. Mom, Jonathan and Sydelle say a man cant change his personality, but I disagree. Attitudes and behavior may not be easy things

to change, but if it means the alternative is premature death, most people would change. Apparently, for Dad, who actually said today that hed rather be dead than be in the Coronary Care Unit, changing isnt an option. Maybe the cardiologist put a scare in him by saying Dad might need an angiogram. Late in the day, the nurse let Dad disconnect the plug that connects his wires to the monitor.

Tuesday, October 28, 1997

8:30 PM. Theyre moving Dad to Florida Medical Center tomorrow to perform an angiogram and possible angioplasty. Mom phoned me this morning, upset because the cardiologist called to tell her that they had to stop Dads stress test and that he probably needed either angioplasty or a bypass. She was annoyed when I told her not to get upset. I guess she and dad, so good at denial, heard only what they wanted to hear, the part about his going home tomorrow and not the qualifier if the stress test is okay. I just got home a little while ago, and I called Mom, but I dont think its necessary for me to go to the hospital tomorrow and wait around.

While I know that Dad could die from the procedure, Id rather be working than sitting around waiting. This afternoon I saw Dad, but that was before the cardiologist told him the news. We were asked not to tell him about being transferred and the angiogram, but Dad didnt look or feel well today. He said that before last night he felt fine, it was as if the heart attack happened to someone else, but around midnight, he awoke with aches in his back and he started to get a little scared. Eventually, hours later, he fell back asleep, but he still felt achy. He realized the cardiologist had curtailed the stress test but wasnt sure why. Naturally Dad is very nervous, and I suppose anyone would feel the same way. On the other hand, if theres a problem they can fix with angioplasty or bypass surgery, they should do it, no? What alternative is there? Myself, Im trying not to stress out, and probably my heavy teaching schedule helps me cope even though it wears me out. My coming out in class at FAU last night (Im gay and I dont think that is the way I did it) was stressful, but I feel better about myself, and although Im sure some students were freaked out, nobody said anything, though I could see that religious West Indian woman sort of rolled her eyes.

Hey, Audre Lordes essay was The Transformation of Silence into Speech and Action and is about precisely the silences that kill us little by little, day by day. (I wish I had spoken more to Audre when we both taught at John Jay.) God knows, I have a long way to go before I can deal with all the truths of my life. But I dont want the ease that denial brings, because its a false sense of security. My class at Nova tonight went all right, though I still havent been as focused as I want to be. I E-mailed Josh, Alice and Teresa and spoke to Alice and Teresa this afternoon. In a way, Im glad Dad isnt just coming home tomorrow because that would be as if nothing had changed. Im certain Dad would have had another heart attack within months or the next few years. Im concerned that he might die tomorrow, or later, if he needs surgery, but theres absolutely nothing I can do that will change anything; Im not a cardiologist. After being so warm and humid yesterday, todays dry, cool weather was a relief. I still havent read most of the Times, but if I dont read the paper at all, so what? At least Dads illness has helped make me less compulsive.

Saturday, November 1, 1997

8 PM. I slept deeply last night, and for a long time from 8:30 PM to 6:30 PM the way I do only when my sinuses get clogged. I exercised at 7 AM and left the apartment an hour later for the Nova campus. When my Business, Government and Society students were slow in showing up, I decided to start off by showing The Politics of Trees, the Bill Moyers PBS show from his Listening to America series. After that, I lectured on the two chapters on the environment and pollution control. It was a good class, and I was out by noon. When I visited the house, Dad was on the couch, lying down and watching TV the way he always does. He asked if I could pick up his paycheck at the store in Coral Springs on my way back from Boca Raton on Monday, and I decided Id do it today. So after lunch at my apartment, I drove up to the Coral Square Mall and got the check from the manager, Norman, whos the first person ever to tell me that I look just like my father. It was almost a pleasure to drive up and even to walk around the mall; with teaching and Dads heart attack and angioplasty and

everything, Ive had so little time to relax and do normal things lately. Dad was both surprised and grateful when I returned with his check. He said he feels a little tired, but this morning he took his first shower since he had the heart attack. Mom was finally able to find the medication he was prescribed, and Dad, so far, doesnt seem to be in danger of overdoing things. Marc begins a job as an $8-an-hour exterminator on Monday. At the hospital the other night, Dad told me about Marcs job, which he got from a friend of Lew. Speaking of jobs, Richard Kostelanetz sent me a draft of his Year-End Report, most of which dealt with his not getting the arts super-chair at Florida Atlantic University. He still thinks Im in Gainesville. I guess its ironic that Im the one teaching at FAU, albeit as an adjunct. Kosti seems to have no idea how he comes off, so Im not surprised he misjudged his chances to get the endowed chair. But I relish his descriptions of FAU as a backwater and thirdtier university; it really isnt a very good school at all, especially for someone whos just been at the University of Florida. But FAU isnt even at the level of the University of Central Florida or Florida International University, much less UF, Florida State, or the University of South Florida; it takes students with lower GPAs and test scores.

The English Department seems moldy, even for an English Department. As far as I can tell, the people in the Liberal Arts Department at Nova are so much more contemporary, and thats not saying much. Poor Kostelanetz: Im actually surprised he was one of five finalists for such a prestigious chair, though he probably would be an inspired choice if only he could control his solipsism, navet and egoism. I got the North Central Florida Human Rights Council Guardian, which highlighted the hearings on a sexual orientation antidiscrimination law before a committee of the Gainesville City Commission that consisted of Bruce Delaney and Pegeen Hanrahan. There will be more hearings and probably a vote in the winter. After I left my parents house, I dropped off the videos and the Skip Gates audiobook at the Davie library and went to Publix on Orange and University for some major grocery shopping. Home at 3:30 PM, I read the newspaper and went on AOL. Annette answered for Tom and told me that Lolis Eric Elie at least mentioned the book his Times-Picayune column yesterday I saw it on Nexis before Toms reading tomorrow at Barnes & Noble. Thats something, even if Lolis never actually read the little book.

I also returned E-mail from Elihu and a couple of other people. I thought that tonight Id have lots of time to catch up on things Ive been meaning to do, but right now I already feel sleepy. Well, Ill lie down for a bit.

Friday, November 7, 1997

10 PM. I woke up early today, as usual, but since I did half an hour of abdominal exercises yesterday evening, I didnt rush to get out of bed and work out. I didnt even put in my lenses this morning and instead dressed in my glasses. I wore my expensive green plaid Tommy Hilfiger shirt, which I got three ago, over Levis and I felt I looked fine. Before class, I chatted with Scott Stoddart, asking him about HEAL, the student group whose position is that HIV doesnt cause AIDS and its all a big scam by doctors and insurers. Scott said hes been active in the AIDS community for years and hes seen the film this group shows, which is the work of one crackpot physician. In LANG 1500, we went over Ellisons Battle Royal, and while it went okay, its impossible to get people to discuss race honestly. The lone black girl in the class never talks and I wasnt going to put her on the spot today.

At FAU later in the morning, I saw Dr. Murtagh as I went into the English department to check my mailbox, and I invited him to observe my class. He couldnt make it today but will come on Monday. Years ago I would have tried to avoid being observed, but I welcome it now. Whats the worst that can happen? The class will be terrible and hell think Im a lousy teacher. Big deal. But if its good, hell get to see me doing good work for him and maybe give me a chance for the full-time job, which I probably dont want. I did have a good session with my Creative Writing students today, and theyre getting sharper and sharper as critics. Shayna wanted to tell me why shes missed so many classes (her brothers wedding was one excuse) and said it wont happen in the future. Ive never heard so many excuses as I have this term, and I seem to have more fuck-ups than usual, like the ones who cant meet deadlines for papers. I got only six or seven papers from the Nova class today, but that means less work for me this weekend. Back home from Boca at 12:30 PM, I spent the afternoon reading the paper, going online, exercising, and watching All My Children. Later, at the Davie library, I dropped off the video from last night and the Thurber book,

and at the post office, I mailed out a new submission to Another Chicago Magazine, which yesterday rejected Sympathy, but nicely; they felt it was too long. Tom said only fifteen people showed at his Sunday reading at Barnes & Noble, and he knew five of them, and the others were looking for spiritual enlightenment. Tom invited me to NOCCA to do an afternoon workshop and a morning session as a guest on February 6 for $100 and plane fare. It will be good to see Tom again and to meet Annette and visit New Orleans for the first time in three years. I left the apartment at 6:20 PM, just missing a call from Ronna, who said shell be in and out this weekend. Nobody was home when I got to my parents, but Mom and Dad pulled up after me with China and their Italian dinner. I went in ahead to get my mail, and when I saw a big envelope from the Ucross Foundation in Wyoming, I knew Id gotten a residency. Congratulations! the letter began. I havent really looked at all the material yet, but my dates are for six weeks between April 27 and June 5. So that takes care of May; now I need to figure out what to do between Villa Montalvo, which ends on March 28, and April 27, when I go to Ucross. I guess Id like to stay out West that month and do something.

Im a bit scared about going to Wyoming, although it looks so beautiful. But Im not used to the wide-open spaces far from any decentsized city. And Ill have to give up my New York Times and AOL addictions and all the other rituals and routines I fill up my life with. In stays at colonies in 1984 (Millay) and 1987 (MacDowell), I wasnt very productive. Im scared I wont accomplish much at Villa Montalvo and Ucross, either. What I need to do is go there with a plan, not some vague hope of figuring out what to write about when I get there. Anyway, Im really excited. This means Ill give up the apartment at the end of February, lease or no lease. I showed my parents in their world atlas where Ucross was: far away from any city with jetliner service. (All of us need to use the magnifying glass to look at a map these days.) Dad seemed to blink, as if he was completely unaware of any plan Mom has for them to move to Arizona when she mentioned that they had to give up the house; he reminded of the way people with Alzheimers look when theyre uncomprehending. Dad cant even seem to believe that Jonathan will be moving to Flagstaff in a few months. But when I spoke to Jonathan as he ate dinner after work later (Dad had already left the table), I was convinced that Jonathan is serious.

Mom said Flagstaff is too cold for her and Dad, but if Im going to be off somewhere, shed at least like to be in Phoenix, within a few hours drive of Jonathan. I dont know if Marc will end up staying with my parents or not. Mom isnt moving so fast the way she said it to me is that for now, she cant deal with any changes. Thats another look: deer in frozen headlights. But she shows less denial than Dad (denial is an anagram of Daniel, it occurs to me). While Dad is recovering from his heart attack, I dont want to push them, but its frustrating to see them avoid reality as they have for the past few months (the past fifty years?). I went to Wal-Mart and then to Publix and got home at 9:30 PM and had a bowl of Frosted Cheerios.

Sunday, November 23, 1997

7 PM. Last evening I surprised myself by how excited I got when I turned on the FloridaFlorida State game and watched the Gators, whove had a bad season, beat the numberone Seminoles with a touchdown just two minutes before the game ended at The Swamp back in Gainesville.

Evidently I was affected by the towns football fever more than I thought. Another surprise last night was that I graded eight papers, leaving me with an easier job of grading today, one I completed by 3 PM. I slept well although my sinuses throbbed when I awoke several times during the night. Today was a gray, dreary, humid day. Up at 7 AM, Ive been alone all day, reading the papers, listening to and watching news-related radio and TV shows, exercising, eating and going online. I went out only to get some items at Wal-Mart, a trip that caused me distress because my car is making a terrible noise, as if there was something that was going to fall out of it. Tomorrow I have to go to Boca twice, and I fear getting stuck with car or it dying and me having to rent or borrow a car or use Tri-Rail. Even though this is the easiest week of the whole semester because after tomorrow, I just have the Tuesday night class and only Creative Writing on Wednesday I figure, pessimist that I can sometimes be, that Ill have some problems to deal with. And car trouble has eluded me for too long. On the other hand, I should be grateful that I got through the semester. I have to make only three trips to Boca this week and two next week and two the week after.

If the worst happens and I think back to 1993 (the last time I went to the Miami Book Fair) and my car totally dies, I will probably call on my credit lines to buy a used car. That used car might get me to California and Wyoming so I could save money on plane fares and car rentals. Another potential disaster that worries me is a dental problem, as Ive been experiencing a throbbing pain today. Still, I havent really had to shell out major bucks for dental work in many years, and I cant expect that to last much longer. If I do have a major dental problem, Ill get upset, but its only money Ill have to shell out. Its not as if either a dental problem or a dead car will change my life the way something like Dads heart attack changed his. And Ill be better for having handled the situation. Ive been listening to Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway on the cars Walkman for weeks now, and yet the messages dont seem to have fully sunk in yet. Old habits die very hard. Last night Bill Hatch called. Hes the guy whose AOL ad I answered. He seems like an intelligent guy, so I could relate to him better than the other Bill or that Portuguese guy or anyone else Ive met on AOL. Im snail-mailing him a photo (from my columns in the Boca Raton News) because he wants to see what I look like. He looks okay

from his GIF, but its hard to tell, given the fuzzy resolution. Bill is 41 and has owned his own business and house (near Biscayne Bay, on NE 73rd Street in Miami he bought it for $40K and its now worth $140K) for a decade. Originally from Kalamazoo, he attended Western Michigan University there and has degrees in business and education. Hes lived in Detroit, Seattle and a few other places, and hes taught and done many things. He mentioned that he headed a local chamber of commerce and he has even given money to the Human Rights Council of North Central Florida. I get good vibes from him even as I doubt that Id be incredibly attracted to him but maybe I should consider that a plus at this stage of my life.

Monday, November 24, 1997

2:30 PM. Last evening I reread On the Duty of Civil Disobedience and Letter from Birmingham Jail, which I plan to go over in tonights class. Though of course Ive read Thoreau and King before, I found something new in these pieces this time. They really are classic documents in

American history and make me feel good about human beings when I read them. Then, after watching The Simpsons and King of the Hill, I got into bed and read some other things before dropping off to sleep. I woke up at 12:30 AM, however, and unable to get back to sleep, I went on AOL and read at least half of Mondays New York Times. Because of my presbyopia, its actually easier to read a computer screen about ten inches away than it is to read the newspaper, which is blurry unless I take off my glasses, or, if Im wearing lenses, put on my reading (magnifying) glasses, as I did before class in the FAU cafeteria this morning. When I finally did go back to bed at around 2:30 AM, I had a dream in which I was making love to Sat Darshan, though she appeared as the 18-year-old Avis in the dream. I wonder if all gay males sometimes dream about heterosexual intercourse dreams that are intensely erotic or if theyre rare. In another dream, Grandpa Herb died and Mom said she wasnt going to his funeral. That must relate to feelings I had expressed to myself related to going to Dads funeral if he dies while Im away. When I got up at 6 AM, I felt exhausted, but I knew Id be better off if I forced myself to work out before breakfast. It will be another week before I have to teach an 8 AM class at Nova,

so if I wake up earlier, it will only be because I want to. I spent half the Nova class talking about Lawrences Horse Dealers Daughter and half introducing the subject of the research paper. Coincidentally, Teresa E-mailed to ask if I could write to Claire, whos moaning about the two research papers she has due in two weeks. I did send Claire a note and hope that she doesnt lose the tremendous respect Teresa says Claire has for me. I wished my LANG 1500 students a good holiday after giving them back their essays. Immediately, I left for Boca, not wanting to spend time relaxing at home because I was concerned about my car. I had my FAU Creative Writing class do their teacher evaluations today before our workshop, so I left the classroom for the first twenty minutes. Im sure Ill get some stinker evaluations, as I know there are students who dont like my method or the whole workshop process. Many would have preferred that kindly old Prof. Peyton had not retired, though I have to know more about creative writing than she did. Still, there are also some students who like the class, so Ill get some good evaluations, too. In any case, Ive decided not to apply for assistant professor position at FAU.

Talking with Judy Cofer about her experiences at FAU made me realize that theyll never value someone under their noses, and if I have no chance of being hired, I might get more respect as an adjunct if I maintain that I have no interest in a full-time English professor position. That also has the advantage of being the truth, mostly. Before class, I used the web browser in the library to get on the Boca Raton News site because it has frames, my home computer cant read it and I discovered that my column on cheerful Turnpike toll takers Hectic Workdays Dont Take Toll on These Folks appeared in Local Opinion on the front page yesterday. So, after leaving campus, I drove way out west on Glades Road to the new regional library, and because the xerox machine wasnt working, I God forgive me put the first section of Sundays paper into my backpack (which is about to end its lifespan any day now) and got on the Turnpike, going south. The car is still making all kinds of terrible noises, so I might get stuck with it tonight. Anyway, Im going to lie down under the covers for a while to rest up for tonight. Its another dark, gloomy day, and perfect for spending the afternoon in bed.

Tuesday, November 25, 1997

8 PM. This is the first Tuesday night that Ive come home from teaching at Nova on which I dont have to also teach at 8 AM on Wednesday. Tomorrow I have only my 11 AM Creative Writing class, so I can relax. Or can I? Last evenings FAU class went all right, I suppose, though I knew that of the half the class that attended (I neednt have graded all those late papers, since the students who came last Wednesday were absent last night), only a couple had read Civil Disobedience and Letter from Birmingham Jail. I was tired by the time I arrived home at 9 PM, so I went to sleep right away. This morning I awoke at 5 AM but fell back asleep till 6:30 AM, and then I lay in bed another hour. At 10 AM, I stopped by my parents house to collect the mail. Dad was again out, which sounds like its a good sign. My mail included rejections of Salugi at Starbucks (not what where looking for) and Anything But Sympathy (Good material, but does it hold together? Try us again). Ive got to remember that many of my favorite stories like Twelve Step Barbie and Reflections on a Village Rosh Hashona were rejected two dozen times and that it takes only one acceptance to get a story published. The length of my recent work is a handicap in that

it limits the number of magazines I can send them out to. It occurred to me this weekend that while I consider Judy Cofer to be a great success, she probably feels shes not on the same level as the three Hispanic novelists whose reading I attended at the Miami Book Fair. Judy is probably a better writer than they are, yet her books are published mostly by university presses and she hasnt been invited to the Book Fair, so I suspect she must feel underrated. Dont all writers, even ones that win the Nobel Prize? At the Barnes & Noble caf, I graded the papers from tonights class, including two first drafts of the research papers by the young Jamaican women who sit in the back row when they come. As I filled their pages with red-ink scrawl, I became increasingly frustrated. They were such bad papers that I truly believe that the worst of my seventh grade classmates at Meyer Levin Junior High would have done a better job. Its as if these students didnt listen to anything all semester: their papers cited no sources and were broad, vague summaries about nicotine patch therapy and phobics without any focus whatsoever not to mention their being written in tortured prose (which has affected my own style here).

I suppose that getting so upset made me sick by the time I came home: all afternoon I felt dizzy and agitated, as if Id had an adverse reaction to some drug. Is it just that my students dont have the ability or interest to do adequate college work or am I a total failure as a teacher? It will be a very long time before I can bring myself to teach composition again. I learned a good deal this semester, but I just cannot stand reading such lousy writing. It hurts me in a visceral way. I exchanged E-mail Thanksgiving greetings with Kevin, whos spending the holiday in Los Feliz as the guest of a woman he knew at Goddard College. Teresa is having dinner for twelve: she and John, her parents, her sister and her husband and the kids, her sisters in-laws, and Martin and Sal. Teresa convinced Claire to visit her mother in Vermont, since Claudias other children live far away. Teresa and John are still dealing with the IRS and with student loans, and shes not as busy with catering jobs as shed like. Alice E-mailed that she and Andreas are going to Cape Ann for the holiday while Peter is going to stay home and sleep late (his preference). She got a $33,000 royalty check for the KISS book, but of course she has to send 85% of that to her client, the author.

Tom thanked me for the Austin papers mention of his book with all the other life-afterdeath titles. Hes beginning to think hes crazy since nobody can see The Little Book isnt meant to be taken seriously. Annette is visiting the Bay Area this weekend; she spent the first eleven years of her life in Berkeley, which is why she doesnt have trouble with the INS about being here. Although going to Wyoming is five months away, I find myself worrying about how Ill adjust without the New York Times, National Public Radio, Body Electric all important parts of my daily routines, ones I managed to keep in New York and Chicago last summer. Even though part of me is scared and resistant to any change, another part of me is glad that Im going to force a drastic change in my routine.

Wednesday, December 3, 1997

Noon. I barely slept at all last night. While the insomnia enabled me to get all the grading done and return the first drafts of their final essays to the 8 AM class this morning, it didnt do me much good otherwise. How come I now sleep during the day and am wide awake all night? My mind couldnt stop

racing. I know Im foolish to even think about Gianni. Its so silly for me to imagine that I could have a relationship with someone so different from me, someone whom I have no reason to believe will be a attracted to me. Im certain hes as handsome as Jay and Terrence were; dont ask me why, but I assume all skinny gay black guys in their twenties look like fashion models. If I do get to meet Gianni tomorrow, and thats big if, it will probably be our only meeting. At least I should keep my mouth shut and let him talk about himself. In a way, its pathetic that Im so lonely and needy, but in another way, I have to smile at the eternal optimism of human beings like myself who never seem to flag in their determination that given enough time, hope will triumph over experience. Probably we couldnt go on without that hope, and I believe that if its not Gianni, it will be someone else. Hey, Im not seeking a spouse, just some intimacy and affection, and I want to give it as well as receive it. Hell, Id settle for just giving it for now. Id like to hand some flowers to another guy, the way I did with Terrence. Anyway, I struggled out of bed this morning only to shave, mousse up my hair, and put on my clothes from last night so I could go and

teach. I was so fuzzy, but today I took my class to the MicroLab, where I let them do Web searches and then discuss it. I printed out some stories, graded and handed back the late papers that I got today, and then had the class discuss their Web experiences some more frustrating than others trying to research their topics with the blunt tools of the Internet search engines. Upstairs, I spoke to Scott about Angels in America; hes never seen the play, and he says his students hate reading it and find it disgustingly dirty. Its a very conservative generation, Scott said though of course if we were teaching at Purchase or Brandeis or Berkeley, we would have different experiences. I composed and printed out and xeroxed my final essay exams for ENC 1102 at FAU, and LANG 1500 and 2000 at Nova while I was in the Liberal Arts office with Maria. Then I came home to a message from Michael Murphy that the Orlando Sentinel will be running my Saturday Special column on career changing this week. He remarked how my column on McCollums bankruptcy bill certainly elicited a great deal of reaction. I would like to drive to the Orlando papers circulation area on Saturday afternoon, but I doubt my car would make it without breaking down. But Ill get to see the piece

eventually and a new publication always cheers me up. Because I dont have to go to Boca even once today, I can relax though I have four sets of papers to grade or comment upon. Still, I need some time to goof off. * 9 PM. Ive just watched the tape of Howards End, the Merchant/Ivory film I got at the downtown library this afternoon. To me, Forster pulled off a nearly perfect novel in the story of the Schlegels, the Wilcoxes and the Basts. Its incredibly beautiful. I went to the library to see if they carried the daily Orlando Sentinel, which they dont, so Ill have to order Saturdays copy from the back issue department, as my car will never make it to Palm Bay the way it did when my last Saturday column appeared in mid-April and I drove up and down I-95 and the Turnpike listening to the tape of Howards End that Id brought with me down from Gainesville. That was near the end of the last Nova term in the spring, the weeks before I left Gainesville for good, when I brought some things down in a rental car. How extraordinary that Howards End the audiotape kept me company then, ad now, nearly seven months later, after being with my parents, and with Teresa and John and Claire

on Long Island, at Ragdale in Chicago, at the house in Williamsburg in Brooklyn, and now starting my fourth of six months in this apartment in Davie after a semester of teaching at FAU and Nova, after Dads heart attack, and so much else to be back with Howards End again. It makes me feel that just as the Schlegels were fated to get Howards End, if I put myself in the hands of the universe, everything will turn out as its meant to be. If I meet Gianni tomorrow and it doesnt work out, its because its not meant to be. With Sean, back in the spring of 1982, everything that happened was meant to be. It was with Ronna, too. Ronna called today, and it was so good to talk to her. She and Calvin and the children will be coming down in two weeks, to stay from Thursday night to Sunday morning, for Billys wedding here in Davie. Her mother will fly to Orlando, and shell drive down here with Ronnas sister, brother-in-law and aunt. Beatrice, who still hasnt recovered fully from the stroke and probably never will, plans to spend the winter in Orlando, staying at her house with a home aide all day and sleeping at Aunt Violets at night. In March, shell go back to Philadelphia to stay with Ronna and Calvin and the girls.

For Billys wedding, Ronna and her family will be staying with Calvins sister in Kendall. With the money theyre saving by not staying at a hotel, they can stay an extra day and get an airplane seat for little Abigail, whos got a baby-dress she can wear to the wedding. Chelsea will be the flower girl at a nondenominational Christian service for fifty guests. I hope I can see Ronna and Calvin and their kids in two weeks. Tomorrow will be my half-birthday, and Ive got six months to go till Im 47.

Monday, December 8, 1997

1 PM. It was about 50 and seemed very chilly when I left the house this morning at 7:30 AM. Some of my LANG 1500 students asked if they could take their finals on Wednesday, as other teachers have canceled class on Friday or scheduled finals that conflict. So I agreed, explaining that Id be in class on Friday to give the final to anyone who didnt show up on Wednesday and that Id have conferences with students who wanted to talk with me.

I then left the room while my students filled out the teacher evaluation forms, and then I taught grammar for the last class. Moving up the final means all Ive got to do in class the rest of the week is proctor exams and talk with students. In response to an E-mail I sent last night, Gianni wrote that he wasnt sure where this is heading, if anywhere, but I know that I definitely enjoy your company. You are also very charming. I wrote back that I wasnt certain, either, but that I enjoyed spending time with him. And I related a dream that Id had about him in which we opened a restaurant on Miami Beach together. (In another dream, I was appointed to fill out an unexpired term as Senator.) Later, Gianni wrote that he didnt want a physical relationship to interfere with what we have. I replied, I agree. Not that I still dont think youre really cute. I feel a mixture of disappointment and relief. I never was overwhelmingly attracted to Gianni, but I could have gotten there, Im sure, because I did feel a frisson. I suspect that he was less attracted to me; anyway, I can take care of myself, but I wanted to assure Gianni that I did think he was cute. I hope hes serious about wanting to be friends, though, because now I feel I could relax more with him and not feel I have to look good when

I see him. And I do think we could be friends, the way I am with Kevin. I didnt really see Gianni and me as a couple, but for me, it would be nice to know someone from the world of beauty and fashion. Alice wrote that she had most, if not all, of the book editors on the list I have her on the list that she drew up herself on Friday. She wanted to hear more about Gianni she used to get her hair done at Bumble & Bumble, as did the whole Seventeen staff, and Alice said shes glad Im dating a more sophisticated, older guy. In my reply, I told her that Gianni was half my age. Tom asked me to see if I could get someone to tape him on tomorrows Sally Jessy Raphael show, and I said I could do it. Im sure hell be good.

Saturday, December 13, 1997

8 PM. Ive just gotten back from Barnes & Noble. Id forgotten how magical it could be to be out at night in South Florida in December. Of course, Ive been out before, teaching four nights a week, and its probably being on vacation which has gotten me thinking back to old times: when I first came here in 1979-80 and was so enchanted.

Just yesterday I was driving along University Drive noticing the intensity of the light and remembering that first day here, Christmas 1979, when went out with Dad for a ride along a very different landscape than todays: instead of superhighways and endless development, this area was semi-rural. Anyway, I definitely see it differently now, and not only because my vision is now so bad that I gave myself eyestrain trying to read with my contacts the introduction to an edition of Jane Austens Persuasion, the film version of which I watched on video this afternoon. I definitely need to see an eye doctor soon and get reading glasses or bifocals or whatever. I was in all day until 4:30 PM, when I went over to see Mom and China and to pick up my mail. Mom said shell soon have the brochure of the house that she wants me to type up. I said that if she really wanted to stay, perhaps she and Dad could refinance by taking out a second mortgage with Marc and Jonathan as co-signers. No, she said, Jonathans leaving. So theyve made up their minds to sell. Well, Ive wanted them to do that for months, but now I feel bad for having been so pushy about it. Mom said that yesterday Marc ran into a neighbor of Clarices, who told him that Clarice

had died of a brain tumor seven months ago, a few months after she sold her house and moved to New Jersey to stay with an aunt. I knew that Clarice wasnt healthy, given her history with the brain tumor. Mom said she felt very bad about it; I guess Clarice was a member of our family for w while. She certainly was always nice to me. Im sure Marc must feel strange, knowing that the woman he loved and lived with is dead. Anyway, I came home with the copy of the Orlando Sentinel that arrived in todays mail, and I was just about to have dinner and then go out to photocopy my article in the paper when I decided to log on to AOL. There was a message from Gianni from just five minutes before I logged on, saying that he was moving to Coral Gables next week and that on January 10 he was flying to New York to see about what could be a regular gig there. He said hed call me in fact, Im going to call you right now so I got off and phoned him. Hello, Richard, he said (he has Caller ID) and we chatted for a few minutes. I told him I was going out because well, I didnt want to press my luck and partly because I didnt want him to think I was just sitting around and mooning over him. But he said we could have coffee this week and I said Id love to and would get back to him. I

told him, I still want my sweater back, and added, Im joking! I suppose I should know you by now, Gianni said. See, I was totally wrong about him. Imagine what a fool I would have made of myself if Id come on all hurt in an E-mail. Maybe we are going to be friends. Anyway, I was very happy about Gianni contacting me. Last evening, I answered three personals ads on Yahoo!, but I havent heard from anyone; I also placed my own ad there. I read and did enough push-ups to make the sides of my chest feel that pleasant soreness when I awoke this morning. Alice asked if I could write a few paragraphs of the cover letter to send with the book proposals, which arrived on Thursday but she didnt get back to me after I asked her what kind of content she wanted. What do I know from writing book editors? My own books werent published in the usual way, after all. I slept deliciously, in part due to sinus congestion, and I spent most of the day doing a variety of neglected chores: commenting on papers from my Creative Writing students who gave me envelopes to mail back their stories; telling Christy apologetically that I dont have the vocabulary to write criticism of her work for Karl Youngs Web page; E-mailing Micki to give

her the names of FAU Business faculty she should contact to do adjunct work for Nova in Boca.

Sunday, December 21, 1997

5:30 PM. Gianni is coming over in about an hour after he gets off from work at The Gap. Last evening we didnt go anywhere; instead, we sat outside the Borders caf overlooking the water on a mild evening. As Gianni drank coffee and smoked and I drank iced tea, we talked for about two and half hours, though the time passed quickly. Gianni spoke a lot about hair salons and the beauty industry, all stuff thats new to me. Hes a bit of an Anglophile snob his training is British and he was telling me about a conversation hed had with a cultured British woman who came into the store. It still startles me how fem Gianni is; I guess I worry about him when hes on his own, but he seems to have that tough inner grit that a lot of fem gay guys develop. Anyway, it certainly doesnt bother me, as I like fem guys. Actually, Gianni seems to be getting betterlooking every time I see him. Which is why Im a little concerned about his coming here: I dont know whats going to happen, although I

know theres no way Im going to fuck him. God, I hate that word. What Id like to do for now is just kiss him for the first time and touch his face and maybe hold him. But its presumptuous of me. After we saw each other two weeks ago, Gianni proposed to make our relationship nonphysical, and I agreed, though I feel a stirring in my groin whenever I think of him. Anyway, Ive got to get three film videos, and maybe we should actually go out. Last evening he wanted to pick up more of his stuff in Pompano when we parted at 9 PM. On my way out of Borders, I discovered I could buy the Sunday Times, and I spent the four dollars, even knowing Id get the paper delivered in the morning, so I could read it last night which I did, till midnight. I slept okay and was up at 8 AM today. Ronna called at 11 AM, telling me the wedding was beautiful. She arranged for me to come to the airport at 2:30 PM to see them before their flight, and I arrived a bit early, glad that nobody stopped me as I went through the Delta terminals metal detector past the point of Ticketed Passengers Only. I passed a woman who looked a bit like Ronnas sister, but I wasnt certain because she was so obese. But as I approached her, I became sure it was indeed Sue and I could see in her eyes that she was trying to place me.

Richie! she said. Youre so thin and Im so fat! I sat down with Sue and we talked. Her new house is in Concord, in Contra Costa County. Her husband wanted to buy a house, and it was a question of staying in Alameda and paying $350K or paying $250K for the same house an hour to the northeast. Sue works as a recruiter for VirX, a San Francisco based company that is working on HIV and hepatitis research. Ed is still working in Alameda, and he takes their son, whos three, to day care there every day. Soon, Ronna came along with Abigail in the stroller. I couldnt believe how big Abigail had gotten and how beautiful the baby was, with dark hair and dark eyes (she resembles Sue quite a bit). Ronna looks fine, and her hair is now a light brown rather than the gray it was this summer. Calvin and Chelsea came along later, after returning the rental car. Chelsea is still a little pixie. She was very shy at the wedding as a flower girl and walked down the aisle with Vanessa and her brother, who was escorting her, hanging on to Vanessas train during the ceremony. I could see how well Chelsea gets along with the baby, and the girls look adorable together. I still feel awkward with Calvin, and he with me, but I admire him enormously; he seems to be one of the most caring fathers Ive ever

observed, though Chelsea now seems comfortable enough with Ronna, whom she calls Mommy. We went to eat at a table near the Miami Subs concession, and I even got to hold Abigail while the others were occupied, although I still feel a bit weird about holding other peoples babies. Sue fed Abigail while Ronna ate her salad and we all took turns with different chores. They said Billy and Vanessas wedding was at the Unitarian Church in Fort Lauderdale, with the reception at a Pompano nightclub. Both Ronna and Sue rave about their new sister-in-law in a way they never did about Melinda who Sue told me got everything out of Billy in the divorce, so much so that he had to borrow money from Aunt Violet for the wedding, leading Sue to wonder why Billy insisted on a European honeymoon. Robby, the best man, was late, which irritated Beatrice, but it turned out that the bride and her Brazilian relatives were even later. All of them said the Brazilians were charming, from Vanessas dreamboat brother to her distinguished-looking vov, and the food and music at the reception were wonderful. Violet dropped Sue off at the airport as she and Beatrice drove back to Orlando, where Beatrice is going to have a woman stay with her days. She manages to do stuff, even make the bed,

despite her useless right arm, but its all very frustrating for her. Calvin played with Chelsea, whose making faces caused Abigail to laugh, and Sue was wonderful with her nieces. It really made me feel good to be with such a warm family, and Im so happy for Ronna. Ronna and Calvins flight left at 4:30 PM, and after I said goodbye God, its hard to travel with two little kids I sat with Sue for another 45 minutes or so as she talked about her family. She said I could stay with them in Concord, and their house sounds wonderful. Sue is still as dismissive of Ed as she always was, but I know thats an act and she told me about sweet and smart their son is and did acknowledge grudgingly that Ed is a better father than she ever figured he would be. I need to get ready; Gianni should be here soon.

Monday, December 22, 1997

11 AM. This is the morning after the longest night of the year, which I spent with Gianni. I dont know if what happened last night will be repeated, but I can live on the memories of it for a long time.

We didnt have sex to orgasm, anyway but as Gianni said, it was pretty intimate. He got here very late. The poor guy spent half an hour in the complex before he could find my apartment and he did that only by going to the building manager. So he was tired: hed gotten screwed up on the drive over here, too, and he lay down on the couch and smoked and relaxed and we talked for a while until finally he said, Would it be okay if we cuddled? I immediately got next to him and began holding him and hugging him and kissing his back, shoulders, chest. WLRN was playing jazz Christmas songs, and I guess we lay there for hours, shirtless, in one anothers arms, though it was mostly me who was the aggressive one. It was wonderful. For me, someone whos gone for a long time without physical intimacy, it was something important. And Gianni is beautiful to me: his face, eyes, body which I know is not perfect, but certainly neither is mind. I liked the stubble on his chest, a result from not having his body waxed recently; it was nice to rub against it and kiss it. Does that sound sappy? Well, I felt sappy and I still feel sappy. How can I describe something so sincere without being either ironic or sappy? There are things about him I find really cute and I guess I could go on. Ive still got the feelings of him around me.

Earlier, hed talked about us going to meet his friend Kelly in Fort Lauderdale (after he left me on Saturday night, he went out dancing with Kelly and other friends), but we just kept lying there. Around 11 PM, he felt hungry and I made him Weight Watchers Sichuan chicken and noodles and gave him kimchi as he sat wrapped with the sheet around him. Somewhere around there, it was decided hed spend the night. I stripped to my boxers, and he to his briefs, and things got a little too close to being more intimate than either of us had wanted. This is such bad timing, Gianni said, more than once, meaning hes just starting a life with Alejandro, moving in with him in Coral Gables. He doesnt want to deceive Alejandro, and I dont want to be a party to that, either, but is it superstition to pretend that just because we didnt have sex, there wasnt a physical and emotional intimacy between us? At first, I figured Id sleep on the couch and give Gianni the bed, where all 62 of him could spread out, but I joined him in the bedroom, determined to stay awake all night if I couldnt sleep and just enjoy sleeping next to a guy and cuddling. I did sleep, actually not all that much, but more than I thought I would. We awoke late maybe 8 AM and didnt get out of bed for an hour, again getting a little carried away as I lay

on top of him with us grinding into one another. He doesnt seem to like to mouth-kiss, which is something I really like, but I like kissing, so I kissed his cheeks, forehead, his cute ears with the studs in them, his neck, back, stomach, etc. Im certainly not an accomplished lover and know Im probably inept compared to guys Im sure Gianni has known. But whatever I do, I do with feeling. Still, Im glad we didnt go further, if only so as not to reveal what an incompetent lover I am. We talked, agreeing that we dont want this to interfere with our friendship, and I dont know if thats bullshit, but we decided that we probably wont let this happen again. I dont connect with that many people, Gianni said, and thats even truer of me. If I dont lose Gianni as a friend, I can try to take satisfaction and comfort of our one night of physical intimacy. This morning I learned he thought hed told me before that Gianni was once in the hospital (Sheppard Pratt) for eating disorders, which doesnt surprise me. His first partner, Eric, was a psychiatrist: I scored a Jewish doctor on my very first try. I kissed Gianni lightly as we went out to go home to Coral Gables and shower and change before he goes back to work at the Galleria later today.

How do I feel? Weird and snuggly. Snuggli was the name of that carrying bag Ronna and Calvin had for the baby. Anyway, I feel pretty good as 1997 comes near its end. Life has a lot of possibilities, and my connecting with Gianni someone so different from me makes me feel good. I did say I love you once, not being able to help it but it wasnt in the heat of sexual passion, at least.

Monday, December 29, 1997

4 PM. As I came into the apartment just now, I was greeted by the smell of stale cigarette smoke, which I thought would have had dissipated by now. Gianni, of course. He spent the night here. That meant I didnt sleep more than a couple of hours, but certainly I was happy for his company. Gianni showed up at 6:30 PM, and after I let him use AOL to send email, I drove us to Pine Ridge Plaza, to the restaurant Chinatown, which was fairly empty except for a loud group of Jewish seniors holding some kind of reunion. Gianni decided to have the buffet, and I had vegetables wor-ba. Although we sat in the smoking section, Gianni told me hes planning to give up cigarettes for

the new year. I was glad to see him eating well and happy to pay for the meal. In bed later, he told me he weighed closer to 135 pounds rather than the 155 pounds hed put in the personals. He really does need to live healthier, as he said. Gianni has joined a gym near his house in Coral Gables and says hell go regularly. After dinner, we came back here Id already asked him to stay the night and talked, or rather, I went on giving a long monologue to a simple question hed asked (What do you think of historically black college?). When I finished, he just said, Wow, do you chatter, and immediately I felt totally embarrassed. I apologized and told him to stop me if he can if I ever do that gain. Im so narcissistic. Okay, part of it is, I love to talk about ideas, and my mind flits from one topic to another so I go on these verbal riffs. But you dont do that with your friends. Thats one New Years resolution I need to make: no more long-winded lectures. We watched a video of the film Another Country while lying on the couch and cuddling. He wore his usual dress pants and shirt but had taken off the sweater he drapes elegantly over his shoulders. Whats weird about me and Gianni is that our styles are totally different. In the restaurant,

Im embarrassed to say, that I wondered what other people made of us because we look like such an odd couple given the difference in our ages, races and heights. Hes obviously gay, and while Im certain that I dont care what anyone especially strangers think, I havent completely gotten over the hangups of a closeted youth. But that is something Im working on. The movie got a little fuzzy as we became more interested in each other than in the plot, but we just lay and talked, and when I could sense that Gianni was beginning to doze off, I shut up. When I could tell from his breathing that he was asleep, I got up from the couch and lay on the floor near the kitchen and read Platos Symposium. Yesterday Id discovered a quote from Judge Posner saying hed read it to fill in a gap in his education and was surprised to find much of the Symposium was a well-reasoned defense of homosexual love. In reading it, I did recall various details like about the three sexes, when people had two faces, four legs and arms, and how, after humankind was split, all of us now search for our missing halves: the man/woman search for the opposite sex and the man/man and woman/woman for the same sex.

Around 12:30 AM, Gianni stirred and we got into his bed, he in his briefs and me in my boxers. By that time, Id already turned on the heat so that it was warm. He doesnt like to be against the wall, and when we werent holding one another or having sex, I was too uncomfortable to sleep. Part of it was my usual difficulty in dropping off, but Gianni tends to spread all 62 of him diagonally. Luckily Im fairly small. We got up a couple of time in the night to hug; it was nice to feel his warm body against mine. I guess I wasnt sure Id experience that with someone again, at least not this soon even though it had been years since I last slept (really slept) with another person in the same bed. Late last night, Gianni cried out, Oh, Richard, what are we going to do? He meant what were going to do about our relationship. I told him I was too tired to talk about it then, but we do need to talk about it. At 5 AM, we were both wide awake, and Gianni was ready to explode, so we mutually masturbated, and I think his sense of relief and pleasure was about like mine. We held each for a while, and then he got up at 6 AM because he wanted to drive to Pompano to get more of his things. I opened the door to get the paper and saw how hard it was raining so I gave Gianni an umbrella.

He bent down so I could kiss him lightly on the lips (either I have bad breath or hes afraid he does or hes just not into kissing as much as I am), and after he left, I ate breakfast and then got back into bed to listen to NPRs Morning Edition. It was 7 AM when I really got up and exercised and went on the computer. I emailed Gianni a short note and later got a reply; were so exquisitely polite with one another, me formally thanking him for his company, him expressing gratitude for dinner. I did give him a copy of With Hitler in New York last night, warning that I wrote the stories twenty years ago and saying he shouldnt hold me responsible for it today. I didnt do much today. At the South Regional Library, I found the 1996 compilation of H.W. Wilsons reference book Short Story Index. I Survived Caracas Traffic is listed, and I leafed through the volume to see what subject categories my stories were listed under. The title story surfaced under Florida, Homosexuals, and inexplicably, Brothers. Other subject listings for my stories were New York City, Experimental Stories (Im always there), Grandfathers, Roommates, Psychologists, and Fantasies. I got a call from Unemployment, and the woman didnt seem to understand why I wasnt working, but after I read her my adjunct

contracts, she sounded satisfied and said shed be sending my paperwork through to Tallahassee. Even if I dont collect unemployment, its not the end of the world; I may even be better off, forced to work. This is the start of the third week Im not teaching, and I feel unproductive. Still, Im not going to berate myself for being lazy, not just yet. Its supposed to get down to 45 tonight. My refrigerator light burned out, but I didnt get a new one yet.

Tuesday, December 30, 1997

4 PM. Yesterday, after I finished eating at 5:30 PM, I went for a half-hour walk along Davie Road and SW 39th Street, buying a refrigerator bulb at Eckerds. Although I had on my Walkman, my ears were chilled by the time I got back in. I slept very, very well. Although I awoke at 6:45 AM and turned on the radio, I drifted in and out of sleep for the next two and a half hours before I made myself get up and have breakfast. Gianni called at 10:30 AM and we ended up talking for two hours. He gave me his Coral Gables address and new phone, along with his

parents address and phone in Owings Mills so I can always get in touch with him. He related a sadly typical story about getting stopped by the police last spring, when he lived in an apartment in the nearly all-white area of Mount Washington. One night he was at his door, about to put in the key, when a cop yelled, Drop the knife! What knife? Gianni said. I dont have a knife. Drop the knife! the cop repeated, and Giannis instincts told him not to talks as smartly as he would have liked. He dropped the keys, and then, on the cops orders, Gianni fell to the ground and lay face down. He explained that he lived in the apartment. Yeah, you mean if we tried these keys, they would fit the door? the officer now joined by three others said sarcastically. The cops explained that they got a report of a black man running from a nearby burglary. Gianni explained that he worked as a colorist in a posh salon, and showed them his manicured fingers: Do you think Id risk these fingernails to burgle houses? They let him sit up, still on the ground, while they checked things out. Of course the key did fit the lock; the only thing that surprised me was that the cop in charge (not the first one) apologized.

Gianni was smart to keep calling the officers sir and to resist the temptation to challenge their authority. I wasnt surprised to learn that Gianni thinks O.J. Simpson is innocent. I told him Mom does, too. We talked about a lot of things, including the line of succession in the British royal family, the perks that accrue to former U.S. presidents (for some reason, Gianni gets incredibly agitated about this subject), and Gwyneth Paltrow and her mother Blythe Danner. I got off the phone when Gianni got another call, exercised lightly, showered, and then spent the afternoon reading and watching TV. Maybe Ill take a walk now.

Wednesday, December 31, 1997

8 PM on New Years Eve. I went over to my parents house at 4:30 PM yesterday, just as Mom and Dad and China were driving up. After seeing that I got no mail, I offered to join Dad on his walk. He got ready, but I was already in my jeans, sneakers, and denim jacket. I was afraid Dads pace would be too fast for me, but I had no trouble keeping up with him as we walked around the curves of Oak Knoll Whatever-the-

Development-is-Called, along Nova Drive, and left onto the main street of Pine Island Ridge. Dad showed me how one could take a short cut to his backyard from the apartments behind the house, which are about a mile away, by walking with certain streets. It was a chilly night, so the weather was perfect, and we ended up walking for 45 minutes or what Dad said was 2 miles altogether. Tonight marks ten weeks since Dads heart attack, and he said hell never forget lying on the table in the Coral Springs ER with the doctors frantically working on him. Next week he has his stress test in the hospital, and he has to sign a waiver because some people get heart attacks during the stress test, although if they monitor Dad the way they did a week after his coronary, theyll stop the test if they see somethings wrong. Dad mentioned how hard it was raining on Monday morning, and I replied, I know. My friend stayed over and he left at 7 AM and it was pouring so I gave him an umbrella. Dad didnt say anything, of course, but Im sure he understood what I was saying. For some reason I want my parents to know that Im seeing Gianni.

Back home at 6:30 PM, I had dinner, read, and then watched the video of Spike Lees School Daze, which Gianni recommended. It had some brilliant moments, but it was even because Lee was trying to do too much. Still, as Gianni said, you rarely see the issue of color prejudice among African Americans the way School Daze presented it. I was a bit restless during the night, but eventually I slept well, and I can remember some good early-morning dreams that took place on the block, East 43rd Street between Church Avenue and Linden Boulevard, where Grandpa Herb and Grandma Ethel lived from before I was born until 1968, when they moved to Rockaway. I got some email replies to my Christmas cards. Renee said she enjoyed my Orlando Sentinel career-switching essay as someone who still hasnt figured out what shes going to do when she grows up. Harvey in Santa Barbara told me about the time he tried his luck as a standup comic and comedy writer. He eventually became pretty good, but the smoky nightclubs made him ill. Harvey hopes we might get together while Im in California. Sat Darshan expressed her anger with her sister, who refuses to help with caring for their father. She and her sons came to visit last weekend, but left after a day and a half

because, they said, they couldnt stand being around me, Sat Darshan wrote. Her father is now totally incontinent, and Sat Darshan said they didnt even notice that hed peed all over himself and the floor. I wrote back supporting Sat Darshans statement that maybe its time for her father to go into a nursing home. Shes made incredible sacrifices to take care of him while her sister has done nothing. Even Sat Darshans daughters have given up their bedroom for their grandfather. Of course, I come from a family where nobody takes care of elderly relatives at home; even seventy years ago, Great-Grandpa Max put his elderly parents in a nursing home. Yesterday afternoon I got a call from the editor of the Jupiter Courier, who wanted to confirm the letter Id written about Florida changing its gay adoption law. He said hed run it soon. I found the paper on Nexis and see that it comes out on Wednesdays and Sundays. Not ten minutes later, Randall Murray of the Boca Raton News phoned, saying he planned to run the column on the editorial page on Thursday, New Years Day. So just two weeks after I wrote the article, it will be in a newspaper. That gives me a lot of confidence in myself as a writer.

This whole year, my acceptances from newspapers for my op-ed columns and other pieces and the five New York Times letters gave me the same boost and sense of accomplishment that I got twenty years ago from all the little-magazine acceptances of my stories and poems. After seeing each other on AOL, I spoke briefly to Gianni. The only time I can see him before he drives up to Maryland on Saturday is just before he goes. Hes leaving directly from the Galleria after his workday ends at 3 PM, so I said Id meet him there for coffee or some food. The next few days, hes busy, obviously with Alejandro and his friends, but Im content with seeing Gianni once a week. He wont be back from Maryland till the middle of next week, and then hell be taking off in a few days for New York City. I got a phone message from Special Counsel, one of those legal services temp agencies I faxed my rsum to; Ill call them on Friday. At 4 PM I went out for another 45-minute walk. Today was sunny and milder, warm enough so that I was comfortable wearing only a shortsleeved sport shirt and jeans. Walking into the rodeo grounds and then over to Davie Town Hall on Orange Drive by the canal, I was reminded that its sixteen years ago 1982 when I ran for the Davie Town

Council. Its nice at the end of the year to have accumulated so many pleasant memories. Well, thats all for 97, folks. . .

Thursday, January 15, 1998

2 PM. My relationship with Gianni has been so I dont know what word to use. Im lying on my bed and I just got a fain whiff of the cologne he wears. Hes taught me a lot. I wish I could be better to him. By far, hes a more admirable person than I am. I guess Id characterize our relationship as a romantic friendship, like the kind English schoolboys had in Brideshead Revisited. Last evening we went to the drive-in and then he came back here, we watched Ellen and cuddled, had a spirited discussion that lasted till 2 AM, and then we got into bed, and well, Id call it making love but I dont know what Gianni would call it since he seems to reserve that term and sleeping together just for anal intercourse. Hes been having sex with men since he was a pre-teen and was quite promiscuous as a teenager. But he said hed never not even if I were drunk, not even if I were on drugs do anything without a condom. Im so

embarrassed writing about sex, and Gianni doesnt like to talk about it. In saying that he finds it distasteful for the gay guys who worked with him at the Miami Beach store to discuss sex graphically, Gianni said, But Im not a prude. Well, I am. I was very mean to him at the drive-in and I feel bad about it. He was getting so much junk food at the snack bar, I was afraid we were going to miss the movie, and like the asshole I am, I yelled, What the fuck are you doing? Were going to miss the fucking movie. Gianni said, with great dignity, Please dont ever talk to me like that again. We were pretty silent during the first half-hour of Wag the Dog until we laughed at something and Gianni took my hand. Later he said that what Id one is what he and Kelly call bringing out the nigger, but he was totally right and I was totally wrong. I dont think I can forgive myself as easily as he did me. Im glad he came home with me and glad he stayed the night, although neither of us ever seem to count on what seems to happen naturally happening. I got an air freshener to deal with the cigarette smoke, but the few hours a week of exposure to second-hand smoke wont kill me.

What I like about Gianni is his sense of responsibility, of taking it for his smoking, his mistakes. We had this long discussion in which once again, I felt he was blaming the victims: women who get pregnant, guys his age who get HIV, homeless people, etc. But he says he comes from a family of drug addicts and alcoholics, and that if his relatives in Baltimore City havent ever gotten above North Street, its their own fault. Its hard for me to be so judgmental, even if my background except for being white, of course was no more privileged than Giannis. But hes stronger than I am, or at least much stronger than I was at 23, maybe because he spent his childhood and adolescence being called a faggot. It saddened me a little that after talking so much about race, Gianni said that if he has any relationship after Alejandro, it will only be with other African-American men who can totally understand him. Alejandro is okay because hes Hispanic, but Gianni said even Alejandro is an elitist with his Castilian pronunciation (thinko for cinco) and his feeling that Spaniards are superior to other Hispanics. We also talked about how our relationship affects his partnership with Alejandro and what the consequences would be. Gianni said hed be very upset if Alejandro were having a similar

friendship with sexual overtones, but he said he just wouldnt want to know about it. He said he thinks were always going to be in touch, but I know this closeness wont last, and its probably good that Im leaving South Florida in six weeks. It makes everything we do precious, sort of the way it was with Sean back in the late spring of 1982, incredibly intense and sweet. (Giannis trying to stop saying Thats sweet after I say something mushy.) Even though I didnt fall asleep until very late and even though I was sort of squashed up against the wall in bed, I slept soundly and had interesting dreams, including one in which I visited a mausoleum where practically everyone I knew was buried. At 8 AM, I quietly left Gianni to his sleep and went into the kitchen, had breakfast, listened to NPR, and got on AOL and Lexis. Gianni doesnt like to be looked at in the morning when he awakens and doesnt like to kiss then, either. After 9 AM, he finally got up and put on his jeans, boots and usual black shirt. (He hates his feet. Ive never seen him without socks.) Gianni felt his meeting at the modeling agency yesterday went well, and it sounds as if he knows the difference between ripoff artists and

reputable model scouts. The guy told him he needed to gain twenty pounds. When he left, I exercised, showered and dressed. Then I dropped by the department office at Nova to ask Maria if she could pick up my paycheck today. When I went to see my parents, Dad was leaving for the store, Marc was out getting bagels, and Jonathan was in his bathrobe. Mom mentioned the flea market, and when I said Id been near there last night, that Id been at the drive-in, she asked, Who goes to that drive-in? Were a lot of black people there? Well, as a matter of fact, I said, I did notice that there was one in the car sitting pretty close to me, and that ended that. Later, I thought a great deal about Moms question, but I handled it well; ranting about her being racist wouldnt do any good, and by answering her good-humoredly and honestly, Ive probably given Mom stuff to think about.

Tuesday, January 20, 1998

10 PM, and Im feeling very sleepy. My interview at Unemployment seemed to go all right; the woman I spoke to took my filledout forms and gave me back the pages of job

listings Id printed out because they couldnt be sent to Tallahassee. Then she introduced me to the guy who handles professional placement, but I ducked out the back door before I got through the line of people waiting to see him because I knew my paperwork had already gotten done. Earlier I called to file for the $250 in benefits for last week. Hopefully, Tallahassee wont check on my job search, and I can get the next six weeks of benefits. I dressed in a suit and tie, which probably didnt hurt, although clearly it wasnt necessary. Back home, I read the paper, went online, did a load of laundry, got a haircut, filled my gas tank and picked up my mail (my America West E-ticket for the flight to San Jose) at my parents house. I also walked for forty minutes while listening to NPRs All Things Considered. Speaking to Gianni for an hour tonight, we made up that Ill see him Thursday after he has the photographer take his pictures for the modeling agency. He was stressed out over several things, including learning from Jack that the Nissan dealer lied about the amount they were allowed for the trade-in. Gianni now feels he would like to get rid of the car. He was also upset that he got a call his Caller ID listed as Unknown, which had to be from

Alejandro in Argentina, only Alejandro didnt leave a message. Also, Alejandro had two messages from guys hed slept with. Although he said that it was from before Gianni moved in with him, Gianni feels upset about the calls. He was also upset that a phone number Alejandro left him turned out not to be a hotel. I pointed out that if Alejandro didnt want Gianni to know where hed be in Argentina, he wouldnt have provided the phone number in the first place. Tonight I learned that Kelly had advised Gianni not to move in with Alejandro because felt Alejandro was too closeted; she was worried about business and family situations where Gianni would have to disappear. I dont know if all his anxiety over Alejandro is Giannis projecting his guilt over seeing me. Tonight he asked me why I wasnt dating anyone, and I told him, honestly if a bit sheepishly, that it was mostly because of how I felt about him, though also because I wont be in South Florida much longer. I couldnt possibly deal with another relationship, which is why its good that neither Will nor Corey called me back.

Wednesday, January 21, 1998

9 PM. Early this morning I got an email titled Survival from Tom about his hearing: Survived. 3 hours. Child being removed from program. Mother can now do her worst. My performance not at top form in the first act, but I saved my best for the final act and had tears in the Area Supers eyes (and mine, too, it goes without saying. Union and my brother there. Bless you for your help. You and Tim and Stu my main support during this ordeal. I know its not over, but I think the worst of it is. If Tom has survived, I doubt President Clinton will not the revelation that came out today that indicates he may have pressured a White House intern he had an affair with to lie about her relationship with him I her deposition in the Paula Jones sexual harassment suit. After 3 years and $34 million, it looks as if the special prosecutor, Ken Starr, finally came up with some credible criminal charges against the President suborning perjury, obstructing justice even if Starr used underhanded methods, and the woman who taped conversations with the girl, Monica, had a political motive. The Clinton-haters will finally get their wish. Republicans are already talking impeachment. I assume Clinton would resign before that. I never was much of a Clinton fan, and I think

the guy succeeded as much because of his faults as his virtues, but who wants the country to go through another mess? Nobody really cares about the affair except the usual Clinton-haters, but this sounds real. At 5 PM, I heard Clinton on NPR and saw him an hour later on PBS, and Ive just had the feeling its all over, although this could drag on for months. I dont like Gore very much, but at least he doesnt have Clintons character flaws and as President, he might be able to win in 2000. He should pick a woman (Dianne Feinstein is the obvious choice) or an African-American (Colin Powell, even if he is a Republican) to nominate as Vice President. If the end of the Clinton administration is coming, I hope it comes quickly. Remember 1974? After Nixon resigned, it seemed as if the economy collapsed into recession all at once, but it had only been that nobody was paying attention. The same things could happen now although everyone seems to be upbeat about Asia this week. Anyway, I saw the story on AOL this morning but didnt realize its significance until tonight. Im sort of bummed out. I dont know why. Perhaps I identify with Clinton and fear that my best times are behind me, too. Teresa wrote that she spent last weekend at a spa, a former bungalow colony near Liberty,

with Helene, and they had ball. They both lost three pounds, and Teresas added some macrobiotic elements to her diet. Shes got a big weekend coming up, and then no catering business for the next month. She and John finished fixing up the building on the lumber yard site that they rented to the organic birdseed distributor. Camille and Teresa are going to visit Teresas cousin in London in early March after Camille returns from her Ecuador trip. And she learned that Katy is coming back from Tucson to live on Long Island again, though not much more than that. While I was on AOL, I also wrote to Patrick, who said Vickis a finalist for the FAU fiction writer job; I hope she gets it. This afternoon I went to the Galleria and bought Mom the expensive Alexandra de Markoff Countess Isserlyn makeup (96) she uses. I charged it to my Neiman-Marcus card, and Mom gave me a check for $47.50, which Ill deposit when my unemployment check comes later this week. Gianni wasnt in The Gap, and tonight I learned that he went home sick at 1:45 PM. He needed to have his hair redone after hed washed it and undid the twisting. Gianni has now decided to go ahead and do all he can to get his modeling career started. Hes

realistic enough to understand that he doesnt have the South Beach look and that if he is to get work, hell probably have to go to New York or Europe. I dont know anything about the world of fashion modeling, and so I dont have the ability to gauge how likely Gianni is to succeed. But I agree that he has nothing to lose. Still, by his own admission, he seems to have made a lot of impulsive decisions that turned out badly. I didnt know the details about the car until after he got back from Maryland, and I dont understand how he could have made a bad situation worse. Is his being with me just another example of Giannis poor judgment? Id hate to think so. We spoke on the phone twice tonight, and I guess Im a little worried for him. As I said, I dont know what career path fashion models follow, but Im sure more people dream about being one than actually succeed at making even a modest living. Still, the same could be said for writers, and I know that Gianni is ambitious and fairly thorough. He hasnt discussed modeling with Alejandro, and of course his career decisions will definitely affect their relationship. Me? Six weeks from tonight Ill be in California, uncertain when Ill return to Florida. Hey, I can hardly believe that myself. I guess I dont

know where Im going exactly, either but I, too, am pursuing my dream. Tonight I filled out for myself the same FAFSA financial aid form that filled out for Claire last May when John and Teresa asked me to help with it. I guess I do expect to get into one of the three J-schools I applied to: probably Arizona State. But even thats not certain. Well, whatever happens, Ive got to trust that everything is working out according to some plan the universe has for me. Remember, this time last year, I was afraid 1997 would be a disaster once I left Gainesville, but the best part of the year happened after April: those happy days at Ragdale, on Long Island, and in Williamsburg; my Times op-ed piece and more publications; making a go of it as an adjunct in South Florida; meeting Gianni; and even getting through Dads heart attack. If I have flaws in my character, the way Bill Clinton does, theyll bring me down too, but that will be part of a learning and growing experience. I know I cant say, as Josh and Crad have, that my life is over not until Im on my deathbed. Ill hang onto life tenaciously, if only to find out what twists and turns the plot will take. . . I feel Gianni is like me in that regard. But I have the great advantage of twice his life experience.

Friday, January 30, 1998

9 PM. This is going to be a quiet weekend. For one thing, I have to rest the injury that I aggravated by walking so much during the week. Last weekend my groin hurt, and when I mentioned it to Gianni, he just joked about my being a hypochondriac. But I kept trying to walk, and that really long walk on Tuesday mad it much worse, to the point where it hurts when I put pressure on my left foot when I walk. I talked to Dad and researched it on the computer: its a common adductor (inner thigh) sprain or a groin pull. Between that and my recurring right shoulder problem and my teeth, which often hurt, I feel that my body is fast deteriorating. Last night Gianni returned my phone call and asked me to meet him at Borders at 11 AM today. He was fifteen minutes late, but I was busy reading the San Jose Mercury News to get a feel for Silicon Valley. It was chilly outside on the patio, so we sat in the sun for a couple of hours. Gianni surprised me last night by saying he was going to New York on Saturday, and I still dont understand why hes going. (Photos, he said.) He said he had an interview at a

South Beach salon yesterday and has another interview on Wednesday. The salon, Paulas, is upscale but unpretentious, and if hired, hed be the assistant to the owner, Paula, who only does coloring (thats very rare, Gianni said). He decided that the season in Europe doesnt begin until June, and hes really not ready to go there without enough money. His parents agreed to give him $3,000, but if he gets this job, hell get rid of the car (actually, he needs to do that in any case) and move to South Beach, where he can walk to work, network, and get into the scene there. Last night he went to a party and met some people in the fashion/modeling world. I remarked that I would have thought thats where he would have headed when he first arrived in South Florida last summer. Gianni said he really doesnt want to live with anyone, and hed made mistakes, first by moving in with Kelly (as best friends, they needed more space from one another), then with Rob in Pompano, and then with Alejandro. Anyway, he said he wrote down everything he plans to do, with alternate possibilities, as he was just about to go to The Gap to quit his job since there was no point in driving all that way for a job that wasnt paying much and led nowhere.

We spent the last half-our in one of our debates about abortion and criminal law. Gianni seems very judgmental to me, but I guess thats partly because of his youth, perhaps, and hell mellow and have more compassion for others with problems not of their own making after he has some of his own setbacks. It did seem as though he were a little cooler today; Im embarrassed to say that at first I thought maybe the trip to New York was just an excuse to get away from Alejandro and that my second thought was that New York an excuse not to see me but he could have just told me he wanted to take a break, right? Why does love or whatever it is I feel for Gianni make me think like that? If he didnt want to see me today, he certainly didnt have to. And despite his interview on Wednesday, he still wants to drive me to the airport, though Id be happy to take a cab. I guess Gianni would be crazy not to pull back from the intensity we shared in January, since Im about to desert him. And its not as if Im not making plans. Last night, at the Nova library, I got on the Web and printed out maps of the area surrounding Villa Montalvo and Libby and Grants in Woodland Hills. I also found the names of the other resident artists wholl be at Villa Montalvo in March, all

of whom who will have been there since January or February: two visual artists, Elizabeth Ingraham and Michael Cummington; the composer Joelle Wallach, and the playwright Paige Evans. Today I got a change of address form at the post office and threw out some more junk Ill probably never wear. Youll probably grow a lot from your trip, Gianni said, but right at the moment I feel I dont know what Im doing. Will this long trip west be like one of those impulsive decisions Gianni made that turned out to be a mistake? After all, I havent yet thought all this through, and the money cushion Ill be relying on is basically $6000 or so in the bank and another $10,000 in unsecured credit card lines. Still, how can I not do this? Its not as if I hadnt planned this for months. It will be scary but also exhilarating and Giannis right: if I do get through it, Im bound to experience growth.

Wednesday, February 4, 1998

9 AM. The power came on late last evening, and after fixing the clocks, I went back to bed. Gianni called again and said that earlier hed been unable to talk freely. Hell be over here after his 11 AM interview.

I told him he wouldnt be seeing me at my best. Leaving him is one reason Ive got a feeling of dread, not so much about the New Orleans trip, but about the traveling Ill be doing later. He said that well still see each other once I get settled in the summer, especially if I end up moving to Maryland. I called Tom last night; as Id figured, he had emailed me actually Annette did and said I should take a cab when I got in, which is of course what Id planned to do. I did sleep okay, thanks to two Triavils, although Ive got that nervousness-tiredness I get when Im anxious. This morning I went out at 7:30 AM, but the first Publix I went to had no dairy products or frozen food because of the power outage from the storm, and the ATM at NationsBank was still broken, so I went to My neighbor just rang my bell, telling me to move my car because there is a huge piece of aluminum stuck in the tree by it and the metal would likely fall down on the car in todays heavy wind. I was grateful, as I was planning to leave the car in that parking spot while I was out of town. Mom just called and she said maybe Marc could pick me up on Sunday. Gianni offered to pick me up, and he said Alejandro is leaving on Sunday, so maybe we could spend the day

together, but Id rather see him later and do stuff and rest Sunday afternoon. On AOL, I had long messages from Teresa and Elihu, and a question from Josh about James Atlas address. When I answered it, Josh IMed me and wanted to chat, but I told him I had to leave for New Orleans. I did reply to an old email from Patrick. Elihu complains about his job, as usual, and hes had no luck with dates, as usual. Well, I actually dont have that much left to do, but Id like to speed-read the New York Times and exercise and get my last-minute shit together. Naturally, Im way over-packed, but I have a big suitcase anyway. Im obviously not going to be able to get everything in my two suitcases when I go to California next month. Like Florida, California is experiencing horrendous El Nio storms and power outages. Why do I still get so anxious? These travel days are like days out of my life. I dont deal with disruptions well, yet it seems Im constantly disrupting my life. Wouldnt it be easier if I lived like Elihu or Josh? * 10 PM. Im in Toms study, the second room in the shotgun house, and despite the gas heater, Im chilly and dont expect to sleep much

tonight. Maybe Ill have time to read the students stories for Fridays workshop. Ive read three stories for tomorrow afternoon, and in the morning class, Ill just talk and let them talk and have them read or whatever. Gianni came over at 1:30 PM; Id missed him a lot even though Id seen him on Friday. Still, with his being in New York he also made a quick trip to Maryland it seemed quite a while. He said the interview with the salon owner was odd, and he was distressed that she didnt seem to know technical stuff; apparently shes a colorist by instinct, but since the position would be as her assistant, Gianni had wanted to be able to learn something from her. They have the same attitude about customers, but she didnt tell Gianni what the salary was and wanted him to begin part-time. Right now Im this close to buying a ticket to Europe, Gianni said. He drove me to the airport and I kissed him goodbye at the Southwest terminal. The flight was all right; I keep forgetting when I dont fly regularly that Im not afraid to fly anymore. Southwests seat yourself policy of no assigned seats seems to give them a quick turnaround, good on flights like these, where we stopped at Tampa before New Orleans and

then the plane was going on to Birmingham and Chicago. I got in a little after 5 PM CST, and I arrived here an hour later. Id seen Tom on TV lately, but he seemed to look me over since he hasnt seen me in three years. Im now beardless and wearing glasses, not my contacts. Annette arrived from work soon after, and shes very nice. As youd expect from a companion of Toms, shes very smart and very articulate. I was interested in hearing about German universities and Tom and Annettes experiences in Stuttgart. At dinner, I declined the salad because Annette, who has a bad cold, was handling it, but with Tom sick, too, I expect its inevitable Ill catch a cold here, as I did on my last visit. Afterward Tom began discussing of the nightmare hed been through during the hearings about his behavior as program direction. He said Brad had made all these mistakes last year which led to the disaster with the students. He told me about stuff like parents taking kids out of school to go fox hunting, the kind of thing I never hear anywhere else but in New Orleans.

Thursday, February 5, 1998

10 PM. Im tired after a very long, atypical day. Tom and Annette just retired to the bedroom, leaving me here as they did this time last night. Then, I was cold at first, but eventually the room became warm. I did sleep, if only from 12:30 AM to 5 AM, but thats not bad for an insomniac like me. Of course, my usual routine of eating, exercising and reading the newspaper was disrupted, but if I cant deal with that for one day, then I dont know if Ill ever do anything in this life. Besides, theres enough going on at NOCCA thats interesting. The morning class, a group of six, was pretty unreceptive, although Tom says theyre often dead-headed. Perhaps they didnt know what to make of me. I did meet Anne Gisleson before class, although Im sure I met her from when she was a student in the years around 1983-85. Tom gave me a very flattering introduction in both classes, saying my experiments in reflexivity were unique and comparable with Queneaus, etc. I asked the students about their interests, talked about my work, writing career and media stunts, and I had them do the Once I was. . . . Now I am. . . . exercise (and I did it myself).

After the morning class, Anne, Tom and I came back here to have lunch with Brad. The tensions among them werent evident, and we had a pleasant meal. In the afternoon class, I began with a workshop of three stories of the six students (well do the other three tomorrow). I dont think I would have done as well as I did without Toms perceptions, but I have learned something about creative writing workshops over the years. In the final fifteen minutes of class, I discussed my media stuff, mostly so I could get out in the open Toms experience on the Sally Jessy Raphael show, which has been the subject of gossip and speculation, but which the students have never brought up with Tom. At NOCCA, Toms appearance on Sally was being treated as if it were a scandal. We learned from one student that Tom made the show Talk Soup as their Quote of the Week, when he said of the dead, Its a terrible thing to forget ones name. Class began at 1 PM and ended at 3:45 PM, and then Tom and I came home and walked around the Audubon Park Zoo for an hour or so. I took special pleasure in seeing the tree kangaroo family, the sea lions, the tapirs and the gigantic rodents called I forget the name, but something like colybaras.

Annette came home after 6 PM and we had dinner, then Tom and I read the stories for tomorrows workshops, and we talked as we had the entire day. By now Ive heard Tom talk about his NOCCA problems so much that it seems as if hes repeating himself. I understand how traumatic it was for him to return from Germany to what seemed like a world that had changed, one in which he lost power to students and parents who wouldnt let him teach the way he always had before. It must be a shock, and I understand hes trying to undo damage, but I never had Toms dedication and I would just as easily let everything go. Of course Ive never created a program like NOCCAs Writing Program, nor have I ever felt, as Tom does, that he is the most qualified person in the world for his position. He created a miracle program, but todays parents and students are a different breed than they were seventeen years ago, when I first taught at NOCCA. Back then, the students were, or seemed to be, better writers. But more importantly, they werent so empowered and Tom could be tougher on them without worrying about their parents opposition not to mention their destructiveness.

As it was quite chilly here for a South Floridian, Im glad I kept on my sweater over my longsleeved dress shirt and t-shirt all day. Im so tired now, I know this diary entry is neither coherent nor cohesive (like many of the NOCCA students stories) but this day will remain more vivid in my memory than my writing here would make it appear.

Saturday, February 7, 1998

10 PM. After Tom and Annette got up and had breakfast, I walked with them to the bank and a store. In mid-morning, I accompanied Tom as he drove Annette to the bookstore and then to his tax preparers office. He told me to meet him back at the bookstore in 45 minutes, and at first I thought Id walk, but then I saw the streetcar stopping, and since I hadnt been on it since my first time in New Orleans in 1981, I hopped aboard and rode it the dozen blocks back to the bookstore. In the intervening time, I sipped iced tea at a caf, looking out at the passing scene the strollers and the streetcars and read the New York Times and chatted with an old black man about todays New Orleans mayoral election. At the bookstore, a great place with first editions and good used books, Tom introduced

me to the owner, Professor Cohen, who retired from New Orleans and set up the store. Cohen said hes gotten a lot of good libraries lately because some local book collectors had recently died. Its usually death that puts large personal libraries on the market. Back home, Tom and I had lunch and then walked through the park, spotting coots with the ducks and geese in the pond, to the dead Uptown Square center, to the Uptown Book Store. Mark, the owner, is dying of AIDS and is rarely in the store. Tom picked up the books had ordered, and when she got home this evening, Tom got even more books from Annette. Toms life is in books, and if he estimates that if he does move to Germany, it will cost $7,000 to ship his enormous library over. Compared to Tom, Ive barely owned a single volume. Im not really a bibliophile or perhaps its my prejudice against possessions but in any case, Im not even 10% as literary as Tom and Annette are. With Tom, I can be walking in the park and suddenly hell talk about some novelist or novel, usually one Ive heard of or knew about but havent read. Back home, I read some chapters of Toms The President in Her Towers novel, which he cant even get publishers or agents to look at. Its brilliant, I can tell, but too literary for todays

market, and unfortunately, today publishing has become only a market. If Tom had born twenty years earlier, today hed be the revered, if not widely read, retired professor whose books have been admired, praised and critiqued by the literary establishment. I saw all his rejections, and of course they make him bitter. How can it not? It wouldnt make me bitter, but thats because I wouldnt keep writing if Id had Toms experiences. Hell, I barely keep writing even though Ive been far luckier. I did get an email from Alice on Thursday, I discovered when I went on AOL with Annettes PowerBook. Alice said that an editor at Rob Weisbach/Morrow would like to see six more stories. Im sure nothing will happen, but its nice to get at least one person interested. I spoke to Gianni, who said he didnt mind picking me up at the airport tomorrow even if he didnt come back to hang out until later in the day. Tom and I picked up Annette at 6:30 PM and stayed as she closed the store, and then we enjoyed a good dinner at that Thai restaurant I liked the last time I was in town. Back in this room, we talked and talked; they said I was a good guest, but they are better hosts.

Tuesday, February 17, 1998

7 PM. I met Gianni at Borders at 2:30 PM today and we spent about ninety minutes together. He looked really handsome in a white t-shirt Id never seen him wearing white before and blue-tinted oval sunglasses. Of course he looks so unapproachably cool in public. I met him at that store two and a half months ago, and I remember being so intimidated by his appearance. Now, of course, I know his insecurities and problems and fuck-ups, but he hides them better than anyone else I know. Aside from a few tight but wide grins, his public self is not at all like the guy I know in private. I always feel that it seems as if he couldnt care less about me. Of course, he wouldnt email me what he did yesterday if he couldnt care less, and he also wouldnt spend so much time driving from Coral Gables if he didnt want to see me. He didnt hear from Vidal Sasson today, but the woman who talked to him on Friday was out. I really hope he does finally settle down. While its hard for me not to want to grab him, Im sure Ill get over that eventually, and in the

meantime we can see each other in public so Im not tempted. It just struck me that in the parking lot, I didnt kiss him goodbye but it wasnt consciously thought out; it just didnt occur to me at the time. Thats a good sign. We sat at an indoor table while he had a bowl of chicken soup. A guy came over to him to say hi, and when we sat outside on the terrace later, Gianni told me it was a guy who was really hot for him months ago but whom he never slept with because the guys dumbness was a turnoff. Also, hes had a really sordid life, Gianni said. It took me a while to get the word sordid. But then, so have I, Gianni added, and then, smiling: And Im sure you have in the past, too. I dont know whether to be flattered by Giannis assumption that I used to be promiscuous. I didnt get the feeling he was teasing me, though. This Saturday is his 24th birthday, and Alejandro is taking him away for the weekend to a surprise destination. But Gianni doesnt think itll be D.C., where hed prefer to go; he thinks it will be Key West. Maybe its the Bahamas, I suggested and Gianni brightened because hed love to go to a casino. At times like that, I realize theres

no way we could have been a couple: our values are so different. A year ago, Gianni said, he was living alone in Mount Washington, having just broken up with Jack, and he had a great apartment, career and life: My biggest problem truly was not having enough coffee creamer on hand. I know he feels this has been a topsy-turvy year in which hes made a lot of mistakes. He feels old: I cant believe I can remember when a song first came out and it was thirteen years ago. I told him I can understand his attitude because the most traumatic birthday I ever had was my 25th. Although Gianni may have seen more of the world than I did when I was ten years older than he is now, I do know that despite my own diffidence and hesitation and lack of confidence, I have a measure of security just knowing Ive experienced 46 years of life. Anyway, I was glad to see him, and we played as we drove west on Sunrise Boulevard until he let me in his lane so I could get onto I-95. I know Ill see Gianni at least one more time before I leave Florida, and well talk several times on the phone. This morning I brought stuff over to Moms garage and gave her the letters to send to the FEC and the collection agency. Mom said that Marc wants my bed. Back in 1991, I slept on the bed hes using now, and it was awful then.

I can go back to sleeping in the little bed in the living room, the way I did when I first moved in this apartment. Ive decided that whatever furniture my parents dont have room for, Ill just leave in the apartment. I dont intend to live in South Florida again. Mom asked me if Id come back here if I dont get into any of the J-schools I applied to, but I said no. And if I did, Id never rent an apartment; instead, Id try to get a roommate who owned a house or had an apartment in his or her name. I took some books to a used bookstore on Hollywood Boulevard, but the old lady who ran it said the buyer wouldnt get to it for a couple of weeks, so I left them there with my phone number. When I told her I was moving to California, she said, Better take water wings. Shed talked to her son in Los Altos Hills last night thats near Saratoga and he said the El Nio storms have devastated the area.

Wednesday, February 25, 1998

10 PM. My funk started to lift about this time last night when the phone rang. It was Kevin in L.A. He wanted to tell me that he quit his job at Warner Records that morning, giving only three days notice.

Wed talked about this a lot, and I guess I advised him to do this because I knew how crazy his office was making him. He said his feelings about work were proven right when his boss didnt try to get him to change his mind. Kevins scared, of course, but hes still with the temp agency, and hell call them tomorrow and hope he can get a new position soon. He wanted to tell me, Kevin said, because youve been there for me the whole time. Im sure it will work out for Kevin, and Im looking forward to seeing him in L.A. After a decent nights sleep, I was out at over at the University shopping center at 9 AM. I sent my printer and box of books and papers to Villa Montalvo via UPS at Mailboxes Etc. Next, a few doors down, I got a short haircut in SuperCuts, and then I bought some milk, bananas and sweet potatoes at Publix. I felt so good when I got home that I did what I said I wouldnt do: I called Gianni and left a message that Id be free any night but tonight. If he calls, fine. If he doesnt, the end of our friendship is his doing. Now how can I call him after being so upset on Monday that I was nearly crazy? Well, I think all that upset may have finally gotten him out of my system and that Ive accepted that he doesnt feel strongly about me.

Anyway, Ive got more to do than fret about Gianni. Its not as if I wanted us to settle down together: were not a good long-term couple, and I knew that right away. After exercising, I showered and had lunch and did laundry. At Moms, I put my 1997 diary away in the box holding all my other diaries; its in Marcs room, and I wonder how safe it is. What would I do if I lost all those diaries, nearly twenty years worth? Id be devastated, but writing them was the important thing. The other day Peter Meinke said he writes for four hours at the same time every day but this diary is the only writing Ive consistently done every day. While I was at my parents, I also put away some books and papers and I took away a batch of Miami Heralds from their recycling bin. Reading them at home, I discovered my name (and age) in Mondays paper, about the Black History Month Essay Contest sponsored by the Herald and NBC6. After I took a half-hour walk and had dinner, I dressed in a suit and tie and went to Walker Elementary in the Sistrunk Avenue heart of Fort Lauderdales historic black neighborhood. The crowd in the auditorium was mixed racially, and the oratorical contestants were mostly non-black (white or Hispanic or Asian, that is).

Because I couldnt find my essay at home and couldnt get it out of the computer, I had to get my original from Aline Dodd, the Herald reporter who was running the show. Following introductory remarks by the papers managing editor (an African-American man), there was a presentation of achiever awards to some senior citizens, kids, and two adorable 7- and 9-year-old Cuban-American brothers who took the essay topic (what black person in history you would like to have dinner with) literally and invited the family of a black friend to their house for dinner. Then the little kids, ages 6-9, read their essays, followed by four 10-year-olds in the 10-12 category. After two original pieces of choreography by the Walker Elementary Dancers, all girls, there was an intermission for refreshments, during which I met the other white adult finalist, a 61year-old gabby guy from the Lower East Side whos retired, disabled and living in senior citizen housing. When we started again, the 13-17 year-olds and then the adults read the essays, including me with Dinner with W.E.B. Du Bois. I knew that the black male lawyer for the sheriffs department would win for his essay about Sidney Poitier, and the single mother and paralegal who sat next to me would place second for Dinner with Douglass. I was thrilled to get third prize actually, my plaque says Outstanding Achievement and

be a part of it, especially since white or Hispanic students got the childrens category first prizes. On the way out, I got a Citibank gym bag with a Citibank t-shirt, sports bottle and other Cititchotchkes. Ill watch the 11 PM news on NBC6 to see their story on the event. Home by 9:40 PM, I caught most of an episode of Ellen in which a character dreams that gay people are the norm and heterosexuals are a minority lifestyle. This sounds corny, but Im really glad Im living in a time when diversity isnt just a clich but something we experience daily. Now if that doesnt show how jejune I am, nothing will.

Thursday, February 26, 1998

10 PM. I woke up at 7 AM, and after breakfast and I went out and got the Herald, which mentioned my name only in a little box (Richard Grayson, 46, of Davie) as tied for third place in the 18-and-up category of the Black History Month Essay Contest. Still, I called my parents to tell them to look for it; they hadnt known anything about it. Later, after I exercised, showered and dressed, I took my suit to the cleaners and sat for ninety

minutes in Taco Bell, drinking Diet Pepsi and reading the main section of the New York Times. I wont have a mail subscription at Montalvo because the minimum is 13 weeks, but maybe I can get it in Wyoming. Anyway, lets see if I can shake my Times addiction, though Im sure Ill read the paper whenever I can. I went to the cybercaf near here on University Drive to access AOL, but of my seven messages, most were junk or ads of forwards of funny Web stuff from Camille. The only email worth responding to wasnt from a friend but from Ross, the San Jose grad student whose ad I answered. I replied that I didnt care that he had a boyfriend because I wasnt interested in a sexual relationship, just a friendship. So much for being worried about losing email access for three days, though I did write to Tom, though. Gianni had called at 8:30 AM and said hed call me before he left his salon, probably around 6 PM. That was fine with me. The rest of the afternoon, I threw out some clothes and got other stuff together and I went over to talk with my parents for twenty minutes. At 3:30 PM, I got my new progressive lenses at Burdines. They are less hard to see out of than

I thought, but its still going to be difficult to adjust to. Im not wearing them now, as they hurt my eyes and made me a bit dizzy. But I do think that eventually Ill be able to get used to them. Still, I really havent solved the problem of my contact lenses and the discomfort of wearing reading glasses with them. Right now its still easier for me to do close work without any lenses or glasses, as I am now. Gianni got here about an hour after he left Stellas. He said hes committed to staying in the job for a year, at least. Alejandro got him on the apartment lease, and Gianni likes this salon, although its hard for him to be paying his dues all over again. There are five colorists, but only two of them work on the floor, and it bothers him to be assisting a guy only a year older than he is, with less training though Gianni admits the guys a natural artist. Still, next weekend hes going to New York for a class and a visit to the salon there, and after a year, he hopes to be working back and forth; in the Manhattan salon, they have more customers than the colorists there can handle, so he wouldnt need to worry about clientele. And he does feel much more productive and healthier now that hes working, saying hell

never let him get where he had been before he got the job at Stellas. In telling me about an old friend whom Gianni learned yesterday had died of an overdose, he said, Theres a lot you dont know about me. Between 14 and 17, he said, he was a cocaine addict and escort service prostitute who was totally estranged from his family. He never thought hed live to 18, and he nearly killed himself several times: in car accidents caused by DUI, by ODing on Special K (I remember people talking about what they were going to do with my body if I died). It all ended one morning following an afterhours party when he was cutting a line of coke. Hed avoided looking in the mirror before, but suddenly he saw himself just as the radio was playing the song Pressure by a gospelinspired disco group, and for the first time he listened to the lyrics and Jesus came into his life. Gianni realized that he was ruining his life. I wanted only to use men, he said, and if you let me alone in your apartment, Id steal your cash, credit cards, jewelry, and anything I could get my hands on. I did all this not in some crummy way but traveled in wealthy circles. But we used to say theres no difference if you do it on a park bench or Park Avenue.

Right then, he phoned his grandmother, who got him into Sheppard Pratt, the mental hospital where he stayed for four months, first in the ward for multiple addictions, where he detoxed (That was hard), and then in the anorexia ward, where his actions were constantly watched. In the anorexia ward, they got up at 6 AM and showered under supervision; they had to eat everything on their plates at each meal, even the condiments, for if they left out a mayonnaise packet, theyd be forced to eat it by itself afterward. If they didnt finish their meals, theyd be locked up with the food for an hours quiet time. They couldnt go to the bathroom at all for ninety minutes after meals, if they didnt eat solid food, they were forced to drink Metrecal, and they couldnt exercise away their weight. Eventually, in August 1992, at age 18, Gianni was released. He said hed always had many problems. At 14, he thought it was unattractive and needed to prove himself, and thats how he got started as an escort-prostitute. Im glad he told me this in such detail because it explains why he has such vehement views about teenage sexual activity and why hes a born-again Christian (though he doesnt call himself one, he did have an epiphany involving Jesus) or why hes repelled by abortions since his friends used them as birth control.

Anyway, we talked for about ninety minutes, and he let me vent some of my feelings about going away and my own insecurities. At the end, we hugged and I kissed him on the lips, though it was more friendly than sexual. Im so glad I called him. As I explained to Gianni, on Monday I had been crazed and my thinking was disordered: I totally overdramatized everything. Im glad Gianni never heard all the terrible things I thought about him on Monday. We didnt talk about our relationship, and Ill need to think about it a lot. But we were there for each other at a time in our lives that was transitional and confused. I feel surprisingly calm now.

Friday, February 27, 1998

7 PM. This week the weather has been so sunny and warm, its going to make it that much harder to leave South Florida for rainy, chilly Northern California, where the temperatures seem to be ranging from 40 to 60. Im taking my winter jacket with a hood, the one I wore in New Orleans. Today I took off and played tourist, driving to South Beach this morning. This may have been my first trip there in the seven months

Ive been back in South Florida, which is ironic, given that Id originally come here intending to be there a lot and maybe even live there. Instead, I ended up sticking with familiar Davie and adjunct work. Because of heavy traffic, I got off I-95 at 79th Street and went across to Miami Beach and down Indian Creek Road and finally Collins Avenue. It was such a pleasure to be back in Miami Beach, where I feel at home among the elderly and religious Jews, the gym-rat young gay guys, the Hispanic merchants, the Euro-tourists and the Gen X types. Why, when I could have done this so many times I the past two and a half months since teaching ended, did I wait till just a few days before Im about to leave Florida? I regret the inertia that kept me tethered so close to home. On the other hand, so much of my life since mid-December has involved Gianni, and although hes a part of South Beach, he would always meet me here in Davie or in Fort Lauderdale. I parked right across from Stella, which indeed is a beautiful salon in the colorful 404 Washington Avenue building one Ive always liked since it was put up. I walked up Washington Avenue past the chic boutiques and ugly old neighborhood dives, the

trendy restaurants and clubs like Madonna and Warsaw, past the Wolfsonian and the 11th Street Diner, up to Lincoln Road, which I roamed from one end to another, stopping at Books & Books and then for iced tea at Joffreys, where I read the papers and eavesdropped as the manager interviewed a potential worker, a guy whod worked at Java City in Santa Fe, where he followed friends from San Francisco whod joined AmeriCorps. Standing outside the Miami City Ballets storefront, I watched a large ballet class go through their moves as I stayed out of the way of nearby fashion photographers shooting welldressed models. Elderly characters from the old South Beach made way for tanned, muscular rollerbladers. If I ever come back to this area, next time Ill spend a lot more time on South Beach. It was a sunny, warm day, and I got perspired during the hours I walked around. When I returned to my parking meter, it occurred to me that if Gianni stepped out of the salon, he might see my car and think I was spying on him. I did think a lot about Gianni today and what he told me about his adolescence. Its a miracle he emerged HIV-negative and with relatively good health and he knows that. I dont know how our friendship will evolve in the future, but he meant a lot to me.

Back at home, I had lunch while watching All My Children. Then I headed up the Turnpike to Boca, where in the library I found my frontpage Local Opinion column on the state of Floridas children, which ran in yesterdays Boca Raton News. It made me happy to see myself in print again. Back in Davie, I walked over to Winn-Dixie and Eckerd Drugs to buy some things like Emetrol and Weight Watchers peanuts for my trip, as well as sweet potatoes and bananas for the weekend. I took out money from the NationsBank ATM and spent an hour in the Nova library, managing to sign into Lexis/Nexis via Telnet and get my saved clippings of articles. At 5 PM, I headed back to the apartment for dinner and All Things Considered and the New York Times and all the free weeklies I picked up in South Beach. I really do live the life of Reilly.

Tuesday, March 3, 1998

8 PM Pacific Time. What I said last night about not wanting to know the unexpected difficulties Id have traveling today: Im glad I didnt. The bottom line is that my flight out of Miami this morning was so delayed that I missed my Phoenix-San Jose connection, and so I had to

take a later flight to California, missing the 5 PM gate closing at Villa Montalvo. Which is why Im now in a crummy smokers room (the last one I could get: either its not as bad as the one I once had in Tampa or Ive gotten used to the smell of tobacco because of Gianni) at a creepy Motel 6 on El Camino Real in Santa Clara. Still, I survived. Last night I barely slept, and when I did, it was so lightly that when Dad appeared in my kitchen, it occurred to me that I was dreaming and I abruptly awakened from the hallucination. I got out of apartment 217B at Bala Gardens for good at 6 AM with two suitcases, my computer in Jonathans shoulder bag, and a backpack stuffed to the limit. I picked Marc up he was already at the door and I drove to Miami Airport, getting stuck in traffic, and finally getting off the Palmetto Expressway and crazily making my way through the streets. Marc helped me get to the America West counter in crazy Miami Airport, and thats when I saw that my 7:45 AM flight was now leaving at 8:30 AM. So I wouldnt make my later flight at 11:50 AM Phoenix time and had to be put on one nearly three hours after that. I did have the time to call Unemployment and file for a $500 benefit check my last one

except for a $445 check in two weeks and to call Gianni, whod gotten home to late last night to call me. He said when he called this morning, my number had already been changed. It was good to talk to Gianni. He said on Friday hed seen a car that looked like mine and that I was silly not to come into the salon to say hi. I closed by saying thanks and I love you and that Id page him from California. The delayed flight lasted five hours. The film, The Rainmaker, diverted me a bit; it was a good yarn from the best-selling lawyer novelist John Grisham. (Unlike Gianni, I wouldnt want to read him, but his books make good movies.) I had lots of food Id brought along for the flight, along with the juices and some snacks the flight attendants served. I also listened to the start of the four-cassette Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. At Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport at noon, I had over two hours to kill. I called Sat Darshan at work Id gotten her number when Id phoned from Miami and we chatted, and I got an invitation to stay with her and Ravinder in April. That would be great! Startled by seeing the mountains outside the airport, I went out of the terminal for a fifteenminute walk and then sat in the warm (60) sun, reading the Arizona Republic and the New York Times.

Avoiding caffeine at Starbucks, I got TCBY yogurt and walked around the airport shops and restaurants. I called Mom to wish her a happy birthday, and I picked up some Valley of the Sun home buyers guides to send to her. So my stay over in Phoenix proved to be interesting. On the two-hour flight to San Jose, I sat with two young Silicon Valley types a woman whod gone from a sales rep to director of sales at a four-year-old firm that tested silicon wafers for semiconductor makers (she wants to get a chunk of cash when they go public so shell have a million or so to open a childrens camp) and a guy at some other high-tech startup who also hopes theyll be so successful he can make tons of money from an IPO in a few years and then do something fun. It was nearly 4 PM when we arrived at San Jose (we got off the plane on ramps to the outside, from both front and back), so I left a message with Kathryn Funks machine that Id be in tomorrow morning. My luggage came out right away, and I got a cart with a credit card (one of my suitcases pull straps broke in Miami, but I improvised) and rented a car at Budget relatively easily. Not knowing where to go, I picked up one of those coupon booklets and figured Id go to a Howard Johnsons in Santa Clara. I had trouble figuring out which way to go, but finally I got

on 101 north and then took the San Tomas Expressway to El Camino Real Unfortunately, the Sikhs who ran the Howard Johnsons told me they were all booked up, and they assured me that it would be the same at all the nearby motels (on Monday or Tuesday) and they suggested I try the skeevy Motel 6 down the road. Still, its not such a bad place. Cops are here, but one assured me, Santa Clara is a sleepy little town, and after I got settled, I went to a supermarket, my favorite place to go when I first get to a new city, and then I drove up this road to Sunnyvale, in a higher-rent, more techie area. Its very expensive to live here, from what I can tell from the gas prices (the lowest price of unleaded I saw was $1.27 a gallon). Right around here, there are lots of signs in Korean, and in the supermarket saw East Asians, Indians, Chicanos and what looked like rednecks. I began to get tired a little while ago, and of course its 11 PM for me. Im reminded of the first night I spent in California, in a Best Western near LAX in April 1991, although (because?) I had jet lag, I couldnt sleep.

Wednesday, March 4, 1998

7 PM. Im in my apartment in Villa Montalvo. Ive got one of the two suites that are in the mansion itself as opposed to the three small apartments in a cottage off to the side. Its going to take me a while to adjust, but given all that was thrown at me today, Ive done fine. In the motel, I slept surprisingly well (no dizziness from the plane) but I awoke at 3:30 AM, my body thinking it was three hours later. But I lay in bed and listened to NPRs Morning Edition, and at 6 AM, I improvised exercises for half an hour, then went out to get some hot water to make oatmeal and grits and for some yogurt and a navel orange (one of the few items that are cheaper here). After I checked out, I drove to Saratoga and up the winding hill that leads to this fabulous estate. Since the office didnt open till 9 AM, I had time to walk around (the drops here a steep), look at the mansion from the outside as well as the huge amphitheater, the Spanish courtyard, the gardens, and the outdoor sculptures. Kathryn Funk didnt get here till 9:30 AM, but Catherine at the front desk gave me the initial tour and led me to my room. Because workers are renovating the kitchen, I cant get into the house the usual way, and Ive had trouble with the panic doors from the courtyard and the solarium. What makes this place different from the artists colonies Ive stayed in before is that

Ive really got a self-contained apartment, with refrigerator, microwave, sink, etc., and I have to cook all my own meals. I also have my own phone number and even voice mail. I havent met the other four ARs (artist residents) yet, though Ill see them tomorrow at 9:30 AM when we meet with the staff. On Sunday were having an open house for the public, and Paige, the playwright, and I will be giving a reading, and the artists and composer will open their studios. Unlike other artists colonies, here tourists are constantly walking all over the grounds and therell be a wedding here this weekend. Villa Montalvo is a fabulous place, and they really seem to maximize its use. But its quite far from the town of Saratoga, and it looks as if Ill probably need to rent a car all the time Im here. I left for two long trips today, first to buy groceries and supplies at Safeway on Saratoga/ Sunnyvale Road, and then I went into the town of Los Gatos and from there to more suburban Campbell, where I discovered Mall City, with a Barnes & Noble, Starbucks, the California trendy yuppie supermarket Trader Joes, and other stores. Theres so much to explore just in the Santa Clara Valley; I dont know when or if Ill get to see the rest of the Bay Area. Still, with the help of maps and my usual instinct for

directions, I feel comfortable that I can find places nearby. Luckily, yesterday and today were sunny days though its quite cool for me, and my hands are chapped, first from the planes dry air and now from the 45-60 temperatures. At least I didnt become completely messed up by jet lag. At the Safeway around noon, I started to feel faint, but I ate three slices of bread while on line for the cashier and the brought my blood sugar level back up. I had enough energy to do all my unpacking, make my bed, and put away all the groceries and household supplies I bought. Its funny the way my mind is such a blank now because youd think I could write pages and pages about all the new experiences I had today. Of course, its too much, and I dont want to overload my circuitry. The view from my rooms is incredible. My desk is in front of a window that looks out to the front of the house, so I can see trails, trees, and the Santa Cruz Mountains that were at the foothills of; my side windows also have great views, starting with the just-blooming cherry blossoms. El Nio has more rain in store tomorrow and for most of the weekend, so Im glad I got a dry day to get acclimated to the area. I bought the Times at Barnes & Noble but probably wont

have time to read it. This morning I read the San Jose Mercury News, and at the motel I watched local TV news to get a sense of the Bay Area.

Saturday, March 7, 1998

6 PM. This time yesterday I went out, dressed in a white shirt and tie, sweater, dress pants and shoes, to meet the other ARs and go to the San Jose Symphony. Joelle, who looked elegant in her gown (her publicity photos Ive seen are gorgeous and do justice to her beautiful face and gray curls) was pleased that I was joining the group. Theyve all known each other for one or two months, but I felt comfortable all evening though not so comfortable squeezed into the back seat with Paige and Liz as Michael drove. Someone asked, in all serious, Do you know the way to San Jose? and of course the question cracked us up and started us singing. Last night I got to know Liz pretty well, and I already feel I know Joelle, though they dont realize Ive read articles about them both.

Liz abandoned a middle class life as a wife and lawyer after she took a life-changing art course when she lived in Alaska. Its been very hard for financially, and like me, she has no real home to get back to and no means of support. I freed myself from my old life was the way she put it, and despite the difficulties of being an artist, she wouldnt go back. Joelle grew up in New York and Morocco and she became a composer after repetitive stress injuries made her unable to play the piano and her other instruments and she had to find another way to give voice to her musical expression. The first woman to get a doctorate in composition from the Manhattan School of Music, Joelle suffered a devastating blow when her husband died suddenly, and some of her recent work is about grief and mourning. The Tigers Tail, in contrast last nights piece is light and proved the perfect opening for a program featuring Shostakovichs Sixth Symphony and a Brahms concerto. Im a musical ignoramus, and I didnt understand the pre-concert talk by the two guys from the San Jose Symphony. Joelle, by contrast, was warm, plain-spoken and dynamic when she spoke. I talked a little before the concert with Paige, whom I gather has family money: her parents

live in Bal Harbour, and her father is a trustee at Teachers College. But I dont really yet know her or Michael, who, like most visual artists I met, isnt a big talker. We had comp seats in the grand tier, in the center of the concert hall, and I really enjoyed Joelles piece. My mind, as usual, wandered during the Shostakovich and the Brahms, which seemed frenetic. In the car going home, Joelle said the conductor, Leonid Gris, did a poor job, and the orchestra had sounded better in rehearsal. But she was satisfied. Perhaps theyll do better at tonights performance. We assure Joelle that her bow onstage was not too fast. It must be wonderful to get that kind of applause from a big audience like that for something she created. Liz and I let ourselves into the house and she went to bed (shes been ill, first with a cold Paige has one, too and then allergies from all the construction work being done around here. I read for an hour before I went to bed, and finally I slept till 6 AM. Right now theres a wedding reception going on downstairs dancing and music and lots of voices and because I wanted to stay in all afternoon (who wants to see some schmuck like me traipsing around during their wedding ceremony and reception?), I left early this morning.

After picking up the New York Times at Barnes & Noble (I finally caught up with all this weeks papers), I drove into San Jose, downtown again, and then to different neighborhoods old faded elegant ones, poor Chicano and Vietnamese ones and past the arena where the Sharks play hockey. Finally I got to the Valley Fair mall, where I sipped diet Pepsi at the food court, read the paper, and filled out applications for credit cards Id picked up at Nordstrom and Macys. I also mailed Mom the Phoenix housing market magazines Id gotten at Sky Harbor. Its so frustrating to use my computer. Its so slow and poky now, Im constantly reminded what a bad job Notebook City did on it and how they screwed me. The desk here is too high for me to write comfortably; Im used to writing on the floor. I made a quarter-hearted attempt to begin a new story, but finally I started at work to put together the manuscript of a new book. Its just ones like the samples Alice sent out: relationship stories, no jokey celebrity pieces or conceptual ones, no real meta-fiction. I figure that Id like this collection to be more coherent than my other books, which are hodgepodges. Besides, Im probably going to have this book done by a gay or gay-friendly small press. The problem is, I dont have enough material for a regular-sized book

unless I include older stories which may be dated and which dont have much gay content. Lets face the truth: for years Ive been living off the hard work I did from 1974 to 1980, when I wrote the vast majority of my published stories. Since then Ive produced some good work, but Ive written only when struck by inspiration, and I never developed discipline as a fiction writer. Still, this is no revelation. If I feel like a fraud here, its because I know I wont get all that much done amid the distractions. Im lazy and prefer to read rather than to write. Ive always said Im accumulating experiences I can use someday, but mostly theyve been used here in my diaries, where theyre presented in a raw and unpolished manner. I know Im taking advantage of artists colonies on the basis of past work, and basically Im relaxing while Im here, the way I did last June at Ragdale. Yeah, I wrote a few stories there. I always say that if I really had an outlet people who readily publish my fiction Id write more. Newspapers have published me more easily, and thats why I want to do journalism. Teresa called, and it was great to talk to her. She lived in Santa Clara County, in Palo Alto, for years, and we talked a lot about the area.

On Monday she goes to London, and shes worried because Camille is already not happy about their staying with Teresas cousins in the suburbs. Shed rather stay at a fleabag hotel and she could afford a good one, Teresa said. I wouldnt be surprised if they have a big fight in England. Tomorrows the big open studios thing.

Sunday, March 8, 1998

10 PM. I just got in from the Carriage House Theatre, where jazz, blues and gospel pianist Cyrus Chestnut put on a wonderful show. Liz said she enjoyed it better than the Symphony, and so did I, especially since I was able to leave my apartment at 7:25 PM to walk to a 7:30 PM performance. Im finally adjusted to the time change. Despite the noise from the wedding reception the buzz of talk and music ranging from The Bunny Hop to Do the Hustle I fell asleep around this time last night and didnt get up till 6:30 AM, after a dream in which Alice and Peter visited me in California and I told them how glad I was to get out of my apartment in Florida. After breakfast and exercises, I went out and bought the Sunday papers and read the Mercury News and started on the New York

Times while I was the lone patron of a Hispanic-owned Jack-in-the-Box in Campbell. Ive tried to wean myself from newspapers, but the habit is part of me, and right now Im not ready to give them up. Reading the San Jose paper tells me a lot about life in Silicon Valley. God, the want ads are bulging with companies recruiting for these hard-to-fill high-tech jobs. I bet I could make a go of it here, despite the very high cost of living. Hell, I probably could move anywhere. The Times had a feature spotlighting a day in the life of an overworked adjunct teaching English at New York City Community College and Pace. Her life is familiar to me and the majority of part-time college instructors, and as the adjunct situation worsens, Im glad to see the press paying attention to it, though Im pessimistic anything will be done. The open studios and gallery opening started at 1 PM, and I went first to the gallery, where Daniels installation, The Ambient Ear, was on display. If Im a musical ignoramus, Im also not well-informed about conceptual art, but I liked this piece, a floating ear in a desk whose open drawer stretched out for ten feet, bisected by a chair; the drawer contained a projection of a headless naked body that appeared to be just the surface of the water.

I told Daniel it gave me a feeling of vertigo. He apparently viewed the piece as a commentary of sensory and information overload. Next, I went over to Lizs studio and was impressed with her work, which are skin figures based on her own body, in different materials (lace, skin-diving suit fabric, luggage-like weaved material). Liz works so meticulously, and her latest piece is a body made up of needlepoint patterns that will require 70,000 stitches. Jackie and I went to Michaels apartment/studio, where his work was on display. He takes plywood, shellacs it, and then paints still lifes on the surface of real xrays trying to keep the radiological effect. We met Michaels mother, brother and cousin, and of course chatted with other people including Judy Moran who was Kathryns predecessor, the one who signed my acceptance letter. At 3 PM, our reading began, and after Kathryn introduced all of us resident artists, I went first. I was a bit scared to read Spaghetti Language, but ultimately I decided against being safe with a familiar crowd-pleaser like But in a Thousand Other Worlds or Twelve Step Barbie. This story was riskier, and I didnt get a great reaction, it seemed, but afterwards many

people came over and said they enjoyed it and said it was funny. Paige read part of her screenplay, and all I could think of was how her great descriptions would be wasted in a film because no one would see the words on a screen. Joelle, who had me into her studio for tea before the reading, played tapes of a choral piece based on a St. Teresa poem, and her String Quartet, a beautiful piece that was triggered by the sudden death of her husband. (She came home from a dress rehearsal of her first opera to get an answering machine message saying hed dropped dead.) Afterwards, there was a reception with wine, chees, and finger food, and I spoke to a number of people who were very kind. But during the last half-hour, I got trapped by a 72year-old naturopathic physician who told me a long story of how he discovered his healing abilities which everyone has and related all these anecdotes of his helping sick people. Talk of aura and orangutans telling people how to get in touch with their chakras, and I definitely knew I was in Northern California. We were the last ones at the reception, but finally his wife, on the volunteer committee, took him away and I could go upstairs to my room. Gianni called, but the connection was bad only on my end (it sounded as if there were a

dozen toddlers playing noisily all around him) and it also felt as if we didnt have much to say to one another. Work is good, Gianni said, and then there were two big parties he went to that were workrelated. He said hes getting off AOL and his home phone is changing to a number hell share with Alejandro (Im smart enough so that he really didnt need to tell me to avoid endearments on voice messages). The truth is, my life and Giannis are so divergent now, I dont expect well be in touch often. I like his calling me babe twice, and Im glad were friends, but like Gianni, I realized our relationship was meant to be transitional: we got each other through unsettled times in our lives.

Monday, March 9, 1998

8:30 PM. Last night I slept less than five hours, from 2 AM till 6:30 AM, but it was merely my usual insomnia, not any time zone problem. Obviously Im adjusted to Pacific Time, so much so that only a couple of times a day do I think that its three hours later back East.

I was fairly productive today. My plan is to gather up all my realistic stories i.e., avoiding pure satire and comedy and the experimental stuff that doesnt deal with autobiography or credible characters into one book manuscript and tightly edit each story. I plan to type in stories from the old collections if I think theyre usable. A publisher can look at everything, or I can send some of the stories (the gayer ones, the more 90s ones, the older ones) as smaller collections. I worked for a couple of hours on this. Earlier, I went out and bought the Times at Crown Books (for 97 as opposed to $1.08 in most stores; I cant find newspaper racks here) and then read most of the paper over iced tea at Peets Coffee & Tea, a nearby caf with the cutest young gay counter boys and interesting California types. I love the idea that Im in California; today I even wrote a little about Stacy and how back in the early 70s, when we were in college, she had such an obsession with the Golden State. In the afternoon, I went out again, to the Saratoga library, where on Lexis, I read some of todays Supreme Court decisions. There were some complicated cases on copyright and criminal procedure, and I like to read cases so I dont lose my sense of legal reasoning. Just as I exercise my muscles every day though without a TV and VCR, its a lot harder

to think up varied routines for half an hour in the morning than I thought it would be I need to exercise my case-reading skills or theyll atrophy. The last time I was out today was after an early dinner, at 5:30 PM, when I took a walk along the 1-mile nature trail. According to the Montalvo map, it may not be steep, but it did cause me to huff and puff slightly. It was incredible, though: the view of the Valley from its highest point, and all those tall trees and gurgling brooks and stuff. It was brisk out, and I wore my hood; even the Walkman headset playing NPRs All Things Considered on KQED helped keep my ears warm. I got Moms first letter, containing two checks (from Unemployment and FPL), two credit card bills, and a couple of other items.

Thursday, March 12, 1998

3 PM on a rainy afternoon. I felt better last evening after I got into bed at an obscenely early hour and fell asleep soon after. Mom called and said they were being hit with the cold wave thats struck the Midwest and East. Yesterday it was warmer here (75) than in Miami (65).

There hadnt been any mail of consequence all week, so Mom hadnt sent anything out to me. I told her a little about things here, but she couldnt really understand what I was talking about as usual This morning I worked on the manuscript, shuffling stories and changing characters names and stuff, for an hour before I do my make-do exercises. Then, at 9 AM, I drove up to downtown Mountain Vista, to the cybercaf on Castro Street again. On AOL, there were messages only from the people Ive been in recent contact with and there were of Camilles inane forwards, which I automatically delete. Patrick said he wished he were here; at Broward Community College, they seem to have reopened the department chair search, and people want to draft him as they should, since he would be the logical choice and would be superb at the job. Ross, the guy her in San Jose, gave me his phone number and sent me a picture of him and his boyfriend; since Im not attracted to either of them, I feel comfortable calling him. Sean said hes fine, that he went skiing in February, and not much else. I emailed Tom and Josh brief notes. There were two notes from Alice, and yesterdays said that Colin Dickerman at Rob

Weisbach Books sent back the three extra stories yesterday, saying theyd published only one short story collection (Gene Steins) and wouldnt know how to market my book. To me, thats honest. And of course, its also flattering if its sincere and I interpret it in its best light: they rejected my unmarketability, not the quality of my writing. Alice seems to think Michael Pietsch of Little, Brown actually wants to see my book. Well, Ill have it ready before I leave here. Let Alice knock herself out sending out the sample package to editors. Eventually Ill find a publisher for it among small presses or do the job myself, borrowing someones imprint. If I have to self-publish, it will mean delaying the book for a few years, till I have money. Still, that wont matter and as I said, it would be kicky to publish a book in the decades of the 70s, 80s, 90s and 00s (00s?). Alice has sold only two small books this year, but she doesnt seem to be discouraged and shes not letting it stop her from taking another European vacation: she and Andreas are going to Amsterdam. I wonder if the economics of New York trade publishing will eventually cause even as commercial a literary agent as Alice to suffer financially. But shes so relentlessly upbeat.

I left a good tip with the Vietnamese couple who run the cybercaf because I intend to come back every week to check my email just in case theres anything urgent, which I doubt. (Al Gore and the Russian prime minister were coming to the area today, to visit hightech worksites, the buzz in the caf went.) From Mountain View, I took a freeway east to Milpitas, in the northeast of the Valley. On the shelves of their library, I found With Hitler in New York, a very well-preserved copy that had probably never been taken out. I telnetted to Lexis/Nexis to see my clippings and other stuff. The only Wal-Mart in the Valley is in Milpitas at this huge power center, and there I bought $67 worth of stuff; at the center, I also bought newspapers at Borders and got the cheapest gas Ive found, $1.15 a gallon, at Arco, which takes only debit cards. On the way back to Saratoga, I saw a Florida license tag with Broward on it and an FIU sticker on the bumper, and that reminded me of home. It was 1:30 PM before I returned here, just as the rain had begun to fall. There were messages from Sue in response to my message at her house Ill call her tomorrow at her toll-free work number at VirX and from Michael and Kathryn: tonights potluck is being moved to the apartment next to mine, where Daniel was staying last week. Ill bring

blueberry muffins and a pomelo (the giant grapefruit). This is terrible, but I dont feel so bad about not working today, partly because I know that my work is nearly impossible to market. And marketing is everything these days of art and journalism as showbiz dominated by Wall Streets winner-take-all mindset. The New York Times articles on adjuncts inspired a lot of adjuncts and former adjuncts to write letters to the editor today. In some Western states, legislators have introduced bills to raise adjunct salaries.

Sunday, March 15, 1998

4 PM. You sound as if you like having adventures, Gloria Klaiman said when she was interviewing me yesterday. This morning, when I got up after a good nights sleep, I decided to go to San Francisco. It hadnt occurred to me before I woke up and saw that it was going to be another nice, warm day but once my instinct kicked in, I made sure I left at 8 AM, taking I-280 through the mountains around Los Altos hills and beyond. It was a beautiful ride, and I got excited as I neared San Francisco, which now seems to be even more beautiful than it looks in pictures.

Of course, I expected the hills, but what hills! I was thrilled to the point where I exclaimed to myself in the car, Im in San Francisco! as I got off I-280 and took Highway 1 /19th Street north. The first person I saw as I passed the city and county line was a homeless man, so I know San Francisco is no paradise. I took the streets into Golden Gate Park and then right up to the Golden Gate Bridge, getting off at the observation point parking lot. The bridge is beautiful, and the bay is gorgeous, and everything else is a clich. No brilliant observations from me. I thought of walking across the bridge, just to challenge my agoraphobia, but I didnt do it, more because of time than fear. However, I did walk across about a quarter of the span which is still pretty damn good for an agoraphobic. I smiled at the Asian tourists clicking away on their cameras. Back in my car, I drove down Divisadero Street I mean down as in south. The hills were incredibly steep and the stops at each corner made me wonder if Id go into reverse. Divisadero turns into Castro, and I found parking on 18th Street, a few blocks away. Again, Id seen movies of the Castro, but experiencing it something else again.

Its unlike any gay neighborhood in Manhattan or South Beach. Instead, its a city filled with gay men and not only beautiful young ones but real people of all ages. I walked up and down Castro Street, looking at the storefronts and the people. Years ago, I would have felt weird, but today I felt comfortably at home. A boy of about twelve asked me to sign his petition asked calling on the Boy Scouts to change their policy on gays, and after I signed, the boys father, Scott Cozza, thanked me. We talked about the New Jersey Dale case victory two weeks ago and the upcoming California Supreme Court decision. Scott and his son, Steven, have founded a group called Scouting for All, and I wished them good luck. On Market Street, I paid a quarter to try an experimental self-contained, self-cleaning bathroom; I wish every city had them. After another long walk, I got back in the car and drove on Market Street toward Fishermens Wharf, and then I drove around North Beach and downtown. It was too crowded to find parking even on Sunday morning, so I just continued to drive, checking out the Transamerica pyramid, the Moscone Center, the Italian restaurants in North Beach, and the colorful houses in the hills beyond. San Francisco houses have a

distinctive architecture, though I dont have the vocabulary to describe it. I took Highway 101 back home rather than I280, and so I got to smell the air from the bay and see the airport and 3Com (formerly Candlestick) Park, etc. Getting off for a detour to check out the somewhat slummy East Palo Alto and the more expensive homes around Embarcadero Road, I again got on a freeway, the 85. Id bought the Sunday New York Times in the Castro, but I stopped at Crown Books for the Merc, got $1.15 gas at Arco, and discarded parts of the newspapers that I didnt want while drinking Diet Coke (hoping it would cure my headache) at the Jack-in-the-Box at Campbell. Back here at Villa Montalvo, there are more weddings today and lots of people on the lawn. While I was in San Francisco, I first removed my light denim jacket and then my sweater, and now the sky is cloudless and its warm enough for shorts and t-shirts here. Mom called and said she had bad news, but it was only that I didnt get accepted at Berkeley. Naturally, Id be ecstatic to have gotten in, but I wasnt upset and in fact was quite relieved that was as bad as the news got. I just figure it wasnt meant to be. If I get into Maryland, that will be great, and if I dont get

into J-school there or at Arizona State, Ill figure out some other places to go and something to do. I could stay in New York City this fall, or I could go back to Florida (not Fort Lauderdale) or I could go to Phoenix anyway or go somewhere else. When Gloria interviewed me and I told her about the different jobs Id had at LIU and at the Teacher Education Center at FIU, at BCC and at CGR in Gainesville, at Nova and FAU and CUNY and elsewhere it sounded as if Id walked into these positions without having done any planning. Well, in a way, I hadnt. Im convinced that there are no bad choices, that wherever I end up, whatever I end up doing, it will be a learning experience. Berkeley would have been great, just as having a book published by Rob Weisbach would have been great but Im glad I first tried places where it was hard to get accepted. Sure, if Id wanted to go to J-school in California, I could have played it safe and applied to Cal State-Northridge, but why not get rejected by the best? This is not to say Im not scared, but all day in the car Ive listened to Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway, and right now Im just enjoying this amazing day.

Monday, March 16, 1998

8 PM. Yesterday at 6 PM, I met Joelle in the parking lot and I followed her directions to get us to downtown San Jose, to the brand-new theater of the San Jose Repertory, a splendid building in a well-designed complex of shops and other building. Our complimentary tickets were at the box office, and we had great seats in the center of the portico (like a mezzanine). Old Wicked Songs was a terrific two-character play about a young American piano prodigy, stuffy and burned out, whos forced to study with a Viennese voice teacher Schumanns Dichterliebe in 1986, when Kurt Waldheim is running for president of Austria. Though the play is a bit schematic, both Joelle and I loved it; she, of course, appreciated the musical background, and we both related to the Jewish themes of the play. The two actors were excellent, and the younger guy was real cute. Joelle and I kvelled about the play on our way out, and then I said, What makes it even better was that it was free. . . Im so Jewish! She thought it was funny. The plays themes, like Schumanns song cycle of finding joy and ecstasy amid sadness and suffering, resonated with me. And I thought

about my own lack of Sitzfleisch, what the professor character talked about: the ability to sit and work at my writing. I didnt mind driving to the theater and back, and now Ive learned how to unlock the gate to the estate in case I ever come in late again. This morning, it occurred to me that when I typed up My Basic Problem, a story from the mid-80s in a female voice, I should revise the story to make the narrator Helene the protagonist of my 1970 Kent State story, Coping. I worked to the piece for about ninety minutes this afternoon: not much Sitzfleisch but better than nothing. However, after a magical day like yesterday, today was bound to be a letdown. It didnt help that I awoke at 2:30 AM and stayed up for a couple of hours. Because NPRs Morning Edition comes on KQED at 3 AM (its 6 AM Eastern Time), I have an unfortunate excuse to stay awake and get my news-junkies fix, thus contributing my sleep deprivation this afternoon and evening. At Peets Coffee this morning, I sat reading the paper and drinking iced tea at the next table from a woman who was giving another woman a hard sell on her companys Web service, the point of which was hard to discern. I really knew I was in Silicon Valley.

At 11:30 AM, I got back here, loaded with frozen food and produce from Luckys, and I called Budget and kept the car for two more weeks, till March 31. I realize I could be paying less at Enterprise, but Id rather just stay with this Tracer till the end of the month. If my original plans had remained, Id be leaving one week from this Friday along with the others; that seems like such a short time away, so Im thrilled that I got another month here at Villa Montalvo. As Joelle pointed out, Ill be the only artist resident here from March 27 to April 3.

Tuesday, March 17, 1998

9 PM. This morning was chilly and overcast. I went out at 9 AM, and remembering how I got to downtown San Jose on Sunday night, I drove to the same area around San Carlos and market. I hung out at the city library till 10 AM, when the Tech Museum of Innovation across the street opened. Filled with classes of school children, the museum was a bit disappointing. Still, it was fun to watch kids interact with the hands-on exhibit. One thing that seeing children made me realize is that diversity is not just a clich. Not only

were there white, black and Hispanic kids, but there many different Asian kids. At most University of California campuses today, Asian-Americans are the largest ethnic group, and that will only get more pronounced this fall, when undergraduate affirmative action ends. Anyway, at the Robot Zoo, the biggest exhibit, I watched CAD software create digital rhinos and saw kids change the patterns of a robot chameleon. I also observed a computer robot arm pick the correct blocks to spell out the name of a little girl who inputted the letters (Lakishma). Along with a bunch of kids, I went through one of those clean rooms to watch computer chips being made out of raw silicon. My father makes chips at Intel, one JapaneseAmerican little boy told his friends. And I discovered Id weigh 23 pounds on the moon. Back at the villa, I complete the revision of My Basic Problem, wincing at some of the toocute stuff I let get into the story when I first wrote it in the mid-80s. Just now I heard Jane Hamilton give an hours talk on radio about the life of a writer, and not for the first time did I realize that compared to someone like Jane it was nice to hear her voice, though she sounded as rushed as she

always did at Ragdale, as if she had to complete her next novel by morning Im no writer. On the other hand, I did finish the story and put it somewhere in the book manuscript, which now runs 210 pages. After lunch, I went to the Saratoga library and got on the Internet, checking out Lexis and Justin Clouses diary on his Koool Page and other stuff (the CGR Florida Bar fellows symposium next week is on domestic violence); then I walked around the campus of West Valley College for half an hour. I do miss teaching. Ive been thinking about how little I think about Gianni although for two months it seemed as if he were the most important person in my life. Well, he was, I guess. From the perspective of 3,000 miles away, Gianni and now appear to have been a highly unlikely couple. At another time in both our lives, we probably wouldnt have had enough in common to have one decent conversation. Yet we talked endlessly, and for a while I was in love with him, or I loved him, and he was very fond of me. How strange and wonderful. Except for my hysteria on the day my hard disk crashed, I handled the transition from lover to friend less badly than usual, though I dont

know if Gianni was left feeling disgusted with me. Im glad we dont need each other anymore, and Ill always be smiling when I remember the good times we spent together. Corny, huh? Well, if this were for publication, Id be revising and heavily hitting the delete key. But this is for me, and its spontaneous. Paul Fericano called, and hell be over Friday afternoon, after he takes his daughter to school. This afternoon became warm and cloudless; Im glad it isnt raining as much as it was earlier this month.

Saturday, March 21, 1998

7:30 PM. I just got in, and the Saturday night wedding is going full steam. This ones got a live band instead of a DJ and there are lots of kids running around the villa. The band just played With a Song in My Heart, and I have the strange if pleasant feeling that I live above a catering hall. Driving on I-880/17 from Milpitas just now and listening to Garrison Keillors Prairie Home Companion (tonight its local, from San Francisco) ten minutes ago, I marveled at how adaptable human beings are.

I feel so acclimated to my life here in California even though Ive been here only two and half weeks. Today I ran into Liz a couple of times: doing laundry this morning and at the Westgate Mall this evening. She said its going to be hard to leave Montalvo in a week, but shes been here three months and the artists who stayed here only one month complained about how fast the time went. Perhaps its because the days speed up now that Im older, but I remember when three or four weeks at MacDowell or the Virginia Center for Creative Arts or Millay seemed a long time. However, as Liz pointed out, here were not isolated (as I will be later this spring at Ucross) and constantly working in our studios but are essentially living our normal lives in the community. I wanted to go to the city today (here, San Francisco is the city, the way we in Brooklyn used to mean Manhattan when we said we were going to the city) because it would be my last chance without rain for this whole week, but things kept interrupting. Oh well. Each time I go to San Francisco, Ill take in as much as I can. I needed to do laundry at 9 AM, after Id exercised, washed myself around (there was still no hot water, but I managed I adapt easily) and dressed. While my stuff was in the

washer, I got the papers and filled up my gas tank, and while it was in the dryer, I bought a few staples (bananas, yams, cheese) and went to the library. After lunch, I went back to the library to email a letter Id composed to the New York Times. Its about the gay factor in teen suicides (a recent study found black youths catching up to whites in suicide rates, probably because more African-Americans are middle class now), and if they print it, Ill be ecstatic, but I cant expect them to, not after all my letters that theyve already printed. I did an extra twenty minutes of exercise with the weights this afternoon to make up for not working out yesterday; Ive adapted to not having Body Electric tapes. Unexpectedly, it rained this afternoon but after 5 PM it cleared up, and I went out, though I was not sure where I was going. I thought maybe the Borders bookstore would have the Sunday New York Times on Saturday night the way the Borders in Fort Lauderdale did, but I had to settle for tomorrows Chronicle & Examiner. In the meantime, I sat in a comfy couch at Borders and read about Wyoming. It looks as if the best way for me to get there is by jet to Billings, Montana. The three-hour bus ride from Billings to Sheridan arrives too late for the Ucross people to pick me up, so Ill either spend the night in Billings or maybe rent a car and return it later if I can arrange for

someone to pick me up at the Sheridan bus station. Or I guess I could stay overnight in Sheridan. Those commuter planes still scare me. Of course Ive still got an unused ticket from San Jose back to Miami via Phoenix on America West. Well, Ill work on figuring out what to do. No, I didnt write today, and I dont feel guilty about it, either. I can wait till Monday to get back to my wiring. In the outside world, the President is still mired in the sexual soap opera, with Monica Lewinsky taking a back seat to Kathleen Willey and Paula Jones this week. As long as the Dow rises 300 points in one week, past 8900, and were enjoying prosperity and peace, few people except media pundits seem outraged to know that Clinton is a womanizer. The Clinton roman clef movie, Primary Colors, opened yesterday, but it wont do a fraction of what Titanic did at the box office.

Wednesday, March 25, 1998

2 PM. Its a chilly, rainy afternoon. Were going out to dinner tonight, Kathryn and the artist residents. Till then, I plan to stay in.

Yesterday, as Id hoped he would, Thien called, and we spoke for about an hour. Hes so lonely, and he knows I wont be around for that long (I havent given him an exact date). Thien was telling me that in a competition for singers, he was one of five picked out of 500 contestants. Apparently the Vietnamese recording industry is located in Southern California probably Orange County, where Westminster is the seat of the Vietnamese exile community and they arrange these contests to pick people they train to be pop stars. But Thien said he didnt want to go to because of course Im not relating this as he said it he was afraid being a singer is too risky: either he could become very rich and successful, or like most singers, not get anywhere. He understands how risky the arts are as a career, but he envies my happiness in pursuing writing (and he said, Maybe someday you write book that very popular and you make lots of money); for him, though, security and stability are more important. I cant provide Thien with either of those things. If I had a relationship with him, hed end up getting really hurt when I left, so its not fair of me to lead him on. Look at how attached I got to Gianni, though I now feel I acted terribly that last week when I felt our relationship had been a lie. From the

perspective of three weeks in California, I now see that what Gianni and I had was real but temporary, and it went about as well as it could have. Even if I wasnt leaving Florida, if there was no Alejandro Gianni and I couldnt have been a permanent couple. I want to write about our relationship, but I can quite figure out how to do it yet. I expect Ill see Thien again, though Im concerned he might mistake my interest in him for the kind of love he craves: his parents kind of love, which kept his mother going through many years when his father was a prisoner of the North Vietnamese. Funny, when I answered Thiens ad, I was expecting some sophisticated Bay Area gay guy; I guess I pictured someone who was Asian but born here, as so many younger people around here were. Sue called yesterday and I joked with her about my not having the right kind of blood (HIVpositive) to her to phone me from VirX. VirXs ads are prominently displayed in the back page of The Bay Guardian; the recruitment for the blood tests say, Call Sue at 1-800-960-VIRX. Anyway, we chatted about her work and family and made a lunch date for next Wednesday, when she has to stay late because theyll be getting blood samples all day; at 6 PM, she has

to put them in the refrigerator and then at 8 PM put them in the freezer. Today I spoke to Libby. Shes fine, and so is the family. She knows this area and had planned to come up to Santa Cruz for Easter to stay with friends, but she volunteered to do the Easter egg hunt at church and cant come up now. Lindsays finding it hard at her new gymnastics gym because most of the girls are older 14 or 15 while at only 10, shes a relative baby. Plus, they all have been together awhile. Wyatt has a piano recital this weekend, and hes doing well in school except for his behavior; its hard for him to sit still. I asked Libby about her brother and she said that he and his wife are fine no kids yet and still living in Brooklyn while he works at LIU. I told her Id be staying here till the end of April but left open the possibility of visiting. Last night I slept soundly from 9:30 PM till 6:30 AM, so I caught up on my rest. This morning I drove to Mountain View and got on the cybercaf computer for an hour. There were only two messages on AOL. One, from Alice, wanted to know when Id sent the book manuscript out to Michael Pietsch at Little, Brown; I guess I have to find a way to print it out in the next day or two.

The other was an acceptance of Anything But Sympathy yay, finally! by 12-Gauge Review, a Park Slope-based hard-copy literary magazine and Webzine. I really feel gratified that the long story the last one in my book manuscript was finally accepted. The Webzine version should be out in April.

Sunday, March 29, 1998

9 AM. Friday night seemed a long, lonely one. I read, listened to the radio, got in bed and slept, waking up several times during the night. Unable to sleep, I listened to a talk show on KGO, with liberal callers and host decrying the lack of gun control which led to this weeks Jonesboro, Arkansas massacre of fifth-graders by two boys, aged 11 and 13. I had a bad dream in which Mom accused me of using a saw incorrectly; I got so mad, I said, Fuck you! and wanted to use the saw on her. Reading The Artists Way, it occurred to me that this dream was really about my inner censor, my shitbird, my chatterbox, telling me Im not good, or not good enough. Its hard for me to acknowledge that as an artist, Im blocked. I fill up my days with newspapers and radio news, but I also avoid writing fiction. Im very cynical and resistant to the ideas in The Artists Way program,

especially the morning pages: filling up three pages every morning. In the morning I want to exercise and listen to the news. Besides, I tell myself, I write in my diary every day. But I know its not the same. I tried writing the affirmation I am a prolific and successful writer a dozen times, and each time I noticed the blurts: Sez who? and No, youre not, etc., which softened to Maybe, relatively and Okay already. I need to do more of this, but I am very resistant and I find excuses everywhere. But I did finally open my printer box and plug it in, though I havent tried to attach it to the laptop. Yesterday morning, after I exercised, I went to the Boulangerie in Los Gatos and read the Times. The caf, and all downtown, was filled with rich people from their twenties to their fifties, most of them dressed like me in jeans, sneakers and flannel shirt (though some wore shorts while I was bundled up against the unseasonable cold). When I got back, I saw Liz loading up her car with a friend, and we talked and I hugged her goodbye. Apparently the others have left by now, and I never got to say goodbye. When I beeped Thien, he wanted to meet at the Pruneyard Barnes & Noble at 5 PM, so I had the afternoon to think about my work. I also called Budget and renewed my car for two weeks, till April 14.

And I finally phoned Kevin. Hes been okay since he left Warner Records. Hes signed up with an agency to get work as an extra on TV shows. Its very tedious since hes got to call in every half-hour every day and go call a casting director when a part for his type is available. The casting director calls up Kevins photo on the computer, and if hes right, they tell him to come down. Often he has to take a two-hour bus ride, though most of the work is in the Valley. So far hes been a man reading a newspaper in a caf on Frasier, a patient in a wheelchair being attended by a nurse (whose nametag read that she was a gynecologist) on E.R. (it will be on May 7), and in the background of Melrose Place and 90210. On Monday hes going to be a geek on a pilot for a new sitcom about Silicon Valley. The pay is minimal, but he got a credit card just before he left his job, and Unemployment should kick in with about $185 a week to add to his meager $80-a-week pay as an extra. Talking to Kevin made me want to go to Los Angeles. I know I feel less and less like going to Wyoming, but a lot of that is fear that it will be so isolated, fear that Ill go crazy without my usual routines. Maybe I should leave here in two weeks and spend a week in L.A. before I go to Wyoming,

especially since Libby and Grant seem to want me to visit. Thien came to the bookstore right on time at 5 PM; Id been there for fifteen minutes. Right away I realized Im not really attracted to him. We looked at books and then went to the caf for coffee and tea, and I bought him carrot cake. We talked for ninety minutes. I dont understand everything he says, but I also know that hes brighter than his limited English proficiency makes him appear. Almost casually, he told me that he wrote a book in Viet Nam, stories about people in his community, things he observed, and stuff neighbors would tell him. Even here, I can see that hes got an acute sense of observation about his neighbors, so Thien must be a great storyteller in Vietnamese, and its no wonder hes got a lot of friends. I probably would have said goodbye at 7 PM but he asked if I wanted to go to the movies, and I thought I needed to break out of a pattern, so I drove to the only movies I know, the AMC 14 at Paseo de Saratoga, and I selected As Good As It Gets, which won acting Oscars for Jack Nicholson and Helen Hunt. Thien wanted to see a Jackie Chan action comedy, but I was paying the $15 (with my

Visa). Later he told me hed never been to anything but action pictures. We sat up in the balcony, and it was one of these new cineplexes with stadium seats with high backs and lots of room, sort of like individual living room chairs. The movie was a bit long, and I was worried Thien was bored and confused, but I liked it and so did he. I could relate to the Nicholson characters obsessive-compulsive behavior and with that he needed to get out of his patterns. I could also relate Greg Kinnears gay artist, who suffers a terrible beating, poverty, insults, hostile parents, and a despair that prevents him from doing his art. As I said to Thien after the film ended, it was about three lonely people who break down barriers to reach one another. Thien wore only a sweater, and it was so clod when we got out of the theater and we were parked so far away that we decided to race to the car to get warm. People looked at us as if we were weird, and we got out of breath and it was fun, and when we got to the car and I started up the heater on high, I couldnt help exploding in laughter. On the classical radio station they were playing Joelles The Tigers Tail from the San Jose symphony concert of three weeks before. I dropped off Thien at his car back at The Pruneyard (site of a famous free-speech-in-

shopping-mall case I studied with Prof. Baldwin) and said Id page him soon but not today. Then I drove back home. Home its odd to say that about Villa Montalvo. I handled the dark roads, unlocking and relocking the gate, and returning to this huge empty villa with my flashlight, a clear canopy of white stars above me, making my way to the rear Spanish courtyard door when the front solarium door wouldnt open. And I felt very secure and content as I got into bed.

Saturday, April 4, 1998

Its 11 PM according to my clocks, but Ive already turned them ahead one hour for daylight savings time. Its been a long and wonderful day. Last night I read some more of The Artists Way. Though I resist some of the authors ideas, I really do feel shes right in that we need to get in touch with the God or whatever inside of, and all around us, and to be childlike and playful and open, especially to the coincidences and lucky breaks that are the signs the universe is trying to help us, signs we often ignore.

Actually, I operate pretty well on these principles when I stop worshipping logic and reason, as Gianni often accused me of doing. Last night I wrote some random stuff, freewriting about a Russell Baker column on Viagra, the new impotence pill, and the impending end of Seinfeld, with its four characters on the brink of middle age, refusing to grow up. I thought about myself and accused myself of the same refusal to grow up, of trying to be a boy forever, even as my knee keeps going out of whack (this is been going on for two days, and its painful now), my farsightedness grows worse, and wrinkles and wattles appear. I date guys in their twenties, I never settled down with one person, with one career, in one place, and I have no permanent address. On the other hand, on the radio I heard a speech by Anna Quindlen urging people to follow their hearts like she did when she quit her New York Times column to write novels. I slept deeply and soundly, and at 8:30 AM, Mom called to read me a letter from the University of Maryland journalism school. Pending approval of the graduate dean, Ive been admitted to their M.A. program in journalism I think I need to follow my heart and the Godvoice telling me to go to Maryland. Ill be in D.C., close to friends not only in D.C. and

Maryland but also to those in Philly and New York. Ill be combining these loves: politics, journalism and academia. Ill be learning, and as a Capital News Service reporter one semester, Ill cover public affairs at a good journalism school at a big state university in the nations capital in the final years of the Clinton administration and the twentieth century. Ill be in a metro area thats pretty liberal, with lots of Jewish and gay people. So basically Im all but certain Im going. There are financial problems and all sorts of logistical problems, but Im going to ignore them the way I did seven years ago when I started law school at the University of Florida. Eventually I got that scholarship someone else turned down, and if I need money for grad school, Ill get it from somewhere. And I can feel less guilty about reading newspapers and listening to NPR. So Im kind of excited. At the library I emailed Teresa and Patrick and Gianni and Josh. Teresa still wants me to stay with her and John, and she said her parents would be happy if I stayed in their brownstone in Williamsburg again, that unlike what Id thought, they werent upset about the flood or the way Id left the house. I probably will go to Teresa and Johns and then to her parents and then get my car in Florida

and drive up to Maryland. Mom said there was as slow leak in the back tire and it had to be replaced, but the car still rides okay. I hope no, I know everything will work out, despite the difficulties. And even when I read the bios of the Capital News Service reporters who are half my age, I dont feel intimidated. Ive got a lot to do to prepare for grad school, but its still five months till August and Ive got time. Although I came back to the villa for lunch, I left before the wedding started at 2 PM and returned after 5 PM, when it was over and the bride and groom were posing for their last photos on the lawn. Thien called and we met back at Barnes & Noble at 6:30 PM. He bought me an iced tea, and we talked and looked at books for what I thought was ninety minutes but it was really more than three hours. His familys story is amazing. His father and mother were rich in Da Nang and had ten kids, two years apart except there was only one year between Thien and the next eldest sister, who died of cancer at sixteen. She and Thien were in the same grade at school. When his father went to prison after the fall of South Viet Nam, they sent his mother and the kids to the country. Shed been a housewife with a lot of money but was forced to work to survive.

When Thien was ten, his mother sent him to Saigon to stay with his uncle, her brother, because there was no food in the country. But while he ate better, his uncle treated him like a servant and he was always cleaning, cooking and working in his uncles business selling bicycle parts. Thiens father returned from prison after seven years, but when his father came over to kiss him, Thien recoiled because he was scared of him; he barely remembered him and what little he remembered seemed so different from the man who returned. His father, once strong and well-built, had become frail and old, but Thien eventually could see how happy his father and mother were to be back together again: My parents, I think, like Romeo and Juliet, a big love story. We discussed Diem, Thieu, Ky, Madame Nhu, et al., and it was interesting to hear a Vietnamese take on these characters in the American war and on the French colonization. Next time we see each other, well go to Vietnamese restaurant. In the afternoon Id driven to Milpitas and used my new Mervyns credit card and the 15% discount to buy, for an incredibly cheap $9 and change, a blue fleece hooded sweatshirt the kind I had several of back in the 70s in a boys extra-large size.

Sunday, April 5, 1998

10:30 PM. Ive just come from the Carriage House Theatre and the sound of the Art Farmer Quintet playing Thelonius Monks Blue Monk is still reverberating in my ears. I sat in the first row with my complimentary ticket to see the film documentary A Great Day in Harlem, about a photo of the many jazz greats of the time that was taken in 1958. Farmer, who is Dads age, 72, was one of the younger musicians in the photo. His horn playing is still impressive, and it was nice to hear traditional jazz from him and his quintet, three young African-Americans and a Jewish guy on piano. I sat with Catherine and her husband and enjoyed the music immensely, though my mind kept going back to my stories. My left knee, which began to give out in the last couple of days, is very bad now. It feels inflamed, and walking is difficult at times. I know that knees are hinges which cause a lot of trouble Tom and Justin are both victims but Im not sure this is a temporary problem, that I somehow injured the knee, or if this is going to be long-term or recurring and how debilitating it will become.

This afternoon I put a plastic bag of frozen vegetables on it to ice it, but Im wondering if it needs heat instead. Oh, this is why Id better go to journalism school now and hope Im not already too old. After all, I can remember that time, thirty years ago yesterday, when Martin Luther King Jr. was shot, as clearly as if the thirty years had not intervened. Last night I didnt sleep well, and the time change didnt help. Nevertheless, I left Montalvo at 8:30 Am because it wasnt rainy, as predicted, and I took I-280 into San Francisco. Unlike my last two trips to the city, I didnt have a problem with anxiety as I drove up or back, also on I-280. I got off at Army Street, renamed for Cesar Chavez, and I guess thats the poor Latino neighborhood. Men gathered on street corners, and I wondered if they were waiting for someone with a truck to pick up day laborers. I parked at a meter on Castro Street, heeling my car with the front wheels turned to the curb because the space went downhill. My inability to walk, plus the lack of a really pleasant caf where I could read the Sunday New York Times I bought the Castro has a lot of homeless people, and the gay people I saw this morning werent the most upscale crowd

I limited my stay to a quick stroll and browsing in A Different Light, the gay bookstore. There are an incredible number of gay books, and so much of the fiction looks mediocre though there are many volumes Id love to read. Back in my car, I drove the winding road up to Twin Peaks, the highest point in the city, and a vista thats spectacular to the point of scariness. Then I drove around till I found a nice neighborhood near Golden Gate Park and UCSF, and settled in at a Starbucks on Irving and 9th Avenue, where I read the paper, people-watched and eavesdropped on conversation. Compared to here, in New York City everything is hard, I heard someone say. Including ordering a ham sandwich. After about an hour, knowing that my knee prevented me from doing too much walking, I got back in the car and rode through Golden Gate Park. Then I just drove around a bit; by now Im familiar with San Franciscos pastel houses with the garage door in front and the traffic signals and signs and the buses with electric wires overhead. The landscape has become so second-nature, I forget to notice it. I stopped at 19th Avenue at the Stonestown Galleria, where I used the mens room in

Macys but didnt see anything cheap enough for me to break in my new Macys credit card. On the ride back home, I began listening to the Feel the Fear audiobook again. Back in Saratoga, I had some gunpowder green tea (hot I used to adore that blend when I was a teenager) at Peets and scanned the Sunday Mercury News. It was mid-afternoon when I got back to Montalvo, had a late lunch, read and did some abdominal exercises for a half-hour despite dizziness and shakiness caused by I-dontknow-what. My old Franklin School friend George Schweitzer had a funny item in the Times Sunday Business section about the time he was giving a presentation to CBSs affiliates about their new shows. Hed shipped his informative, colorful slides about the new shows and strategy and the previous hotel room guest received them and took Georges slides to Tokyo. ''I scrambled, George wrote, spending the night before my presentation with crayons and a flip chart, hand-drawing pictures of the images I remembered from my slides. Murphy Brown, David Letterman and Dan Rather had never looked so, well, unusual. ''But, it worked. The next morning I prefaced my presentation with the story of the missing

slides and then turned to my flip chart. The first drawing: the man in Tokyo with my slides. It was all smiles from there.'' Its a good lesson about how we have to improvise and be creative in the face of what seems like a disaster. It was still light out at 7 PM when I went to pick up my ticket and the box office and take my seat for tonights show.

Monday, April 6, 1998

9 PM. Im still running an hour behind, starting with getting up later in the morning, and leaving the villa, after exercise and a shower, at 10 AM rather than at my usual 9 AM. Today I went to the Target store at Stevens Creek Boulevard in Cupertino to buy some item (shampoo, deodorant, razors, vitamins) that I plan to ship ahead to Ucross. I also bought a knee brace, which I wore most of the day, although, if anything, my knee seemed worse today, giving out and causing pain in the kneecap at odd times when I walked, particularly going uphill. I did beginning research on the problem, and I didnt learn much except that it was very common, as I already knew, among older

people as well as athletes and that one shouldnt ignore the symptoms. What Im afraid of, naturally, is that Ill end up with problems like Toms that will require painkillers, surgery and a cane not to mention paying doctors money I dont have. The Merc had an interesting analysis about the contradictions of Reaganism and Thatcherism and the triumph of the global economy that was written by, of all people, Pat Buchanan. I think hes right that capitalism, 1980s and 1990s style in the Anglo-American nations, has been unleashed too far. While its resulted in the enormous creation of wealth today the Dow hit 9000 as Citicorp and the Travelers Group merged into Citigroup its also dislocated people who are not skilled enough or swift enough to bend and shift with the global economic winds. Of course Ive been wrong for years about the coming crackup and it could all be wishful thinking on my part, but I still believe that freemarket American triumphalism will eventually fall victim to some unexpected event or be dragged down if Japan collapses, if the year 2000 problem is worse than currently believed, or if the introduction of the Euro proves chaotic. Enough of that. I reserved a Budget car for L.A., and theres no charge to pick it up at Burbank Airport and drop it off at LAX. I also left phone messages

with Kevin and Matt Irabarne, and I made a 4 PM appointment with Micki Anderson to interview me as an artist resident for a survey shes doing as a report to the directors. Kit Anders sent the issue of PlopLop with my This Planet Is Overrated in print. So thats another new story published. If I hadnt seen in listed when I was on the computer at the Los Gatos library, I never would have known it came out. The printer works! I made a hard copy of Anita Hill at the Roller Derby to submit to the next issue of PlopLop.

Friday, April 10, 1998

7 PM. Its chilly, and last night was ice-cold because there was no heat at all instead of a little heat. I just passed Melissa, and she too was freezing, so I spoke to a couple of buildings and grounds guys and they said it was because the gas had to be shut down after some plumbing work. I hope it will be warmer tonight, but if not, Ill sleep in my jacket again not to mention my socks and my fleece pants. The temperature here is between 45 and 60 every day, with no end in sight.

I fear Wyoming will be even colder: it hit 29 in Billings last night, although tomorrows high there is supposedly a warm 69. Yesterday at 5:40 PM, when I went to fetch her, Kathryn was still working, and Melissa was late, so we went out to dinner later than planned. As it turned out, the concert was sold out and I couldnt get a free ticket so it didnt matter anyway. We went again to the Willow Street Wood Fired Pizza place, and I split a goat cheese/sun-dried tomatoes pie with Kathryn. She was heading for a five-day vacation in Joshua Tree, an eighthour drive, today. Kathryn surprised me by telling Melissa how easy I was meaning that I accept everything. Well, Im the opposite of a diva, I guess. Kathryn said my attitude is very Californian, so perhaps I fit in here on the Left Coast. We chatted amiably over dinner. Melissas okay, but shes not someone I could feel really close to, as were too different. Still, shes pleasant enough. When Kathryn and Melissa exchanged white-water rafting stories, I told them that a bathtub was as adventurous as I got in water. There was a message from Shelley Wouk on the answering service. Her daughter, Laura, 23, found the email Id sent to Dr. Bob Wouk on Prodigy.

Unfortunately, Bob died three years ago (not a great shock to me, given that he was an overweight smoker), but Shelley gave me her office number, and we chatted for about twenty minutes. She said I sounded exactly the same I did twenty-five years ago. I didnt recognize her voice at first, but then it began to seem familiar, and she sounded youthful. We both agreed were about 28 in our own minds. She and Bob had Laura after they moved upstate. The Wouks moved to Piedmont, by Oakland, seventeen years ago. Shelley has always maintained her clinical practice and is on the faculty of UCSF in the pediatrics department. Laura is now back in San Francisco, Shelley said, at San Francisco State, after being at MIT. I told her how sorry I was about Bobs death and how I would have loved to talk with him, too; Shelley said that they still missed Bob terribly and that he would have loved to talk to me, too. (Shrinks know how to be nice.) Her parents live in Miami Beach, so shes in Florida a lot. I mentioned passing that funky office on Remsen Street and Henry Street in Brooklyn Heights where she and I had our sessions back in 1972, and I told her about my life and career blah blah blah. She said she was happy Ive had an exciting life. I told her I would send her one of my

books. It was awfully nice to make the connection with someone, a shrink who knew me well, when I was 21 and on the brink of adulthood. Today was Good Friday, and tonight is the start of Passover; I would have liked to go to one of those varied seders reported on in a front-page story in todays Times, which I read this morning at Peets Coffee & Tea. At 11:45 AM, I started out for the city, taking I280 and getting to Kerry Dolans apartment on 3rd Avenue, off Geary, with no trouble. We kissed and hugged and then took off, stopping so she could show me the nearby wealthy enclave of Presidio Terrace and Dianne Feinsteins mansion. I parked on California, and we went out to lunch at Food, Inc., a real San Francisco place. Kerry paid for my salad, which was very thoughtful. Shes teaching three comp classes at the University of San Francisco and working two days a week as an editor on the GMAT for Educational Testing Service. She gets her writing done mostly during school breaks like this one. She got into VCCA for three weeks in mid-July, and she asked me what colony life was like in Virginia. Kerry told me about the bad experience shed had in Hambridge, which she was about to go to the last time we saw each other, at OHare, at the end of June last year.

She also talked about the AWP conference and how hard it is to get stories published. She still hopes to get a book and the mythical tenuretrack creative writing job, though she knows the odds are daunting. Kerrys the first person in California that I told about going to journalism school at Maryland. She expressed surprise but said she can understand why I like the immediacy and recognition of being published that journalism provides. A sixtyish woman at the next table overheard us and snapped, A dying profession. I know, I said, I just want to go to school again. It turned out, of course, that she was a former newspaper reporter who lost her job a few years ago. I know that Kerry likes San Francisco, but she also shares my view that its inhabitants are too self-congratulatory. (New Yorkers are the same way, but they also complain about the city more.) After lunch, we walked up Fillmore and looked at all the pleasant yuppie places. At Tea & Company, I bought a lemongrass and sweet orange iced tea as we talked some more. Kerry told me her boyfriend owns a toy company that makes a toy he invented, but most of his income comes from his work as a patent agent.

We walked around Pacific Heights, which has gorgeous homes, and I got a great vista of the city at Alta Plaza Park before I dropped her off at her house. Then I drove through Golden Gate Park to 19th Avenue and down to I-280. In rush-hour traffic on the ride home, I listened to NPRs reports on the big peace agreement in Northern Ireland that was signed today.

Saturday, April 11, 1998

10 PM. The wedding music is still loud; theyre into Spanish songs now after playing stuff like New York, New York, Unforgettable, YMCA, and Thats Amore. No, its not Spanish music; theyre playing Love Shack now. Actually, it gave me the idea for a story: using sections with titles of bad (but catchy) 70s songs like Billy, Dont Be a Hero, You Light Up My Life and Feelings. Nice idea for a story about a relationship. Talking with Kerry yesterday got me to thinking. We were saying how literary magazines, particularly the second-tier ones I have luck with, prefer shorter short stories, and all my recent work has been long.

Back in the 70s, my stories were usually between five and ten pages long. Why not go back to that length, if thats what the market wants? If I could write five or ten stories of that length at Ucross, Id have lots of pieces to send out. I know age and the ease of generating prose with a word processor have made me ramble. Well, its something to think about. Last evening I went over to the Carriage House for the free 7:45 PM Soiree Musicale put on by the Chamber Music Society of Los Gatos. The crowd was sparse and elderly, but the musicians, both professionals and amateurs, were fine. They played three trios by Beethoven, Brahms and Khachaturian. Back in my apartment, I suffered through another cold night, the worst so far, with no heat. Normal San Jose daily highs should be close to 70, and weve been averaging 60. I didnt rest well, all bundled up and under every blanket I could find. But probably thanks to the weddings today, the heat is now on, and Im lying here in a t-shirt and boxers and feel comfortable. It was raining hard when I left the villa at 9 AM to get warm in my car. At Barnes & Noble at Pruneyard, I had hot tea and read the papers and looked at some books about San Francisco. Theres so much of the city that I havent seen that I feel a bit cheated.

Still, someday Ill come back. I do know Silicon Valley well by now, however, although this afternoon I got lost trying to find the Santa Clara Fairgrounds on the east side of San Jose. (There was snow at the top of the highest mountain east of the Valley.) When I finally got to the fairgrounds, I didnt want to pay the $4 to park to get into the otherwise free Cambodian New Year Festival, so I stopped at a few ethnic strip malls where all the stores seemed Vietnamese-owned, but I felt out of place, that people were looking at me as if I was not wanted there. Even in a McDonalds where all the help and most of the customers were Vietnamese, I felt odd as I sat and sipped my soda. Thien hasnt called in a week, but Ill call his pager before I leave. Mom called to say that Id gotten the official letter of acceptance from the Maryland dean of graduate studies. I told her to make this the last batch of mail she sends me here at Montalvo. I got back here at 4:30 PM, just as the bride and groom had been pronounced husband and wife. Luckily for the days second wedding, the sun had come out and they were able to hold the ceremony outside in the courtyard. Right now the wedding reception seems to be ending.

Wednesday, April 14, 1998

8 PM. Ive just returned to the villa, but it was still light enough so that I could open and close the locks to the front gate without my flashlight. Its six weeks since I arrived in San Jose, and I feel so at home here, so accustomed to seeing mountains in the distance, so used to my favorite haunts. It will be very difficult to leave. But the weather hasnt gotten any better; if anything, March was warmer and pleasanter than April so far. Today, like yesterday, was a crazy pattern of alternating sunshine, ominous clouds, heavy rain, and pea-sized hailstones, sometimes all occurring at the same time. And its chilly, too. Thanks, El Nio. Last night I slept okay but had bad dreams in which Jon Mills (who sometimes metamorphosed into Dad) made me go to a hostile Caribbean island, where the natives stole all my possessions, cursed me, and threatened to kill me. I went to the Unemployment office on Bascom Avenue in Campbell at 9 AM after stopping to get the Times, Chronicle and Merc at the vending machines on Santa Cruz Avenue in downtown Los Gatos.

Their front-page stories about the Bank of America/ NationsBank merger gave me an idea: the story of my checking account (okay, I fictionalized it) from Fort Lauderdales Landmark Bank to Citizens & Southern (C&S) Bank to NCNB to NationsBank and now to BankAmerica. I wrote the story in my head at odd moments over the next few hours. At Unemployment, I was given a 2 PM appointment for tomorrow and the interstate claim forms to fill out. I then went to Mountain Views cybercaf. I had no mail on AOL except those to my fake screen identity, a 21-year-old who posts to the XY message boards. James gets notes from other young gay guys who for some reason think hes hot, and no, I am not cruel enough to respond in kind and lead them on. Back home, I composed the op-ed piece about changing bank names in about 25 minutes; I printed out the 550-word article and Catherine let me fax it to the Chronicles Open Forum editor. He disappointed me by not calling this afternoon, so tomorrow Ill try other places; its timely, so I feel rushed to get it in print while I can. Notice how I get so much more excited by an op-ed column than I do by a short story. Anyway, I did feel less frenzied about Maryland today; Ill call the journalism school tomorrow, I guess.

I got the copy of the Herald which printed my essay on W.E.B. Du Bois. It ran without a headline and without a photo. I xeroxed twenty copies this evening and will send some to Mom, who called while I was out and left a message that I have to pay Carolina First Bank $399 by May 6. What she meant, of course, was that I could pay my whole balance of $300.99 by May 6 or make a minimum payment of 99 cents. Bless her heart, Mom gets really mixed up sometimes. The other mail I got was a check from Kevin Urick for the copy of Caracas Traffic I sent him. Ill have to write Kevin and tell him Im moving to Maryland. Just now Paul Fericano called, and we had an hour-long conversation. He apologized for not getting us all together, but Kathy was in Boston, etc. I said I understood. Hey, it looks like Im not going to get to see Matt or other people I wanted to, so Im just grateful I saw Paul twice already, and Don Skiles, and Kerry, and Sue while I was living here. I understand how the time goes by before we know it. Six weeks ago, my time here seemed to stretch into the future, but the weeks have flown by rapidly. When I get apprehensive

about Wyoming, I have to remember that time goes faster at my advanced age.

Sunday, April 19, 1998

4 PM. Its a heartbreakingly beautiful afternoon. Right now sunbathers are spread out on the great lawn, families are strolling the villa grounds under a cloudless sky, and birds are singing, as they have been since 5 AM. Im overtired but nearly ecstatic after a beautiful weekend that will make it all that much harder to leave here. My time at Villa Montalvo has been a privilege, and the past seven weeks here have been some of the happiest times of my life. Yesterday I started out for the city at 11:45 AM, and listening to the traffic on the 8s on KCBSAM, I didnt think Id make it to the taqueria El Toro on time but I did, exactly. It was the 92nd anniversary of the 1906 earthquake that nearly destroyed San Francisco, and I listened to elderly survivors tell their stories on the radio as I drove the nowfamiliar I-280. I knew exactly how to get to the Mission District, and when I parked at a meter at the corner of Mission and 77th, I immediately

smelled urine, familiar from New Yorks skeevier streets. The Mission is now trendy, with clubs and cool spots, but its also still a lousy Hispanic slum with beggars, homeless people, and street crime. I walked a block to Valencia and saw Matt at El Toro; Glori was right behind me. It was great to see them again. We put in our orders for burritos and found a table and sat on these uncomfortable boxes that are meant to keep people from lingering, but we lingered anyway. We had a lot to talk about. Glori and Matt, like Kerry, are recent MFAs learning how hard it is to maintain the literary life after graduation. Matt writes early in the morning before his job as a paralegal downtown, but hes trying to get adjunct comp jobs without success, since San Francisco is a pretty hard place to break in. He hasnt been sending out. Glori works as a secretary at the University of San Francisco and she has more time to write and recently got an acceptance from Black Warrior Review. I explained how much tougher it is today than I was starting out twenty years ago because in the mid-70s there were many more magazines, more arts money, and a lot fewer MFAs doing what I was doing.

Matts going to a colony in upstate New York this summer and hopes to write a lot there. Both he and Glori love San Francisco but bemoaned the high cost of living and the terrible parking situation. Glori moved here because her boyfriend is in a film program at San Francisco State, and they live in a small place in the Western Addition. After we surrendered our taqueria seats, we took a walk and I got to observe the Mission and some of its nicer architecture. On the edge of Noe Valley and the Castro, we went to a park on a hill with a great view of the city and sat on the grass overlooking downtown and the bay. Lots of gay men with buffed bodies stripped to their Speedos were lying around us; Glori said they call it Dolores Beach. My beans and rice burrito upset my stomach a little, but I tried to ignore it. Finally we walked back to my mater after the quarters Id fed it for a second hour had expired. I hugged and kissed Glori and Matt goodbye and then drove around for a while. I didnt experience enough of San Francisco, but at least I got to the city half a dozen times, and before I left yesterday, I drove along Haight Street past Ashbury (theres a famous Ben & Jerrys on the corner). There I saw a display of people there that made me feel a little like I did when I

discovered Greenwich Village in 1969; their crazy hair and body piercings and tattoos and dogs and skateboards made me feel a little like the world is on the brink of a much-needed youthquake. I do believe that were at the cusp of a new era, maybe not the dawning of the Age of Aquarius (from the song which I was to hear loudly at midnight in the dark, strobe-lit dance floor of a gay bar in downtown San Jose), then some kind of sea-change. As the economy crashes from the weight of the inequalities of wealth and income, theres going to be a populist revolt that seems unimaginable today. Of course, Ive been wrong about this before or maybe Ive just been premature. And it could be wishful thinking, though I worry that the next populist era will not be like the Progressives or the New Deal of the Sixties but instead something sinister, like what happened in Germany in the 30s. I had so much stuff to think about as I rode through Golden Gate Park and the Sunset and other San Francisco neighborhoods and left the city via I-280. Instead of going home at 5:30 PM, I went to Milpitas, to Wal-Mart, where I bought various things Ill need in Los Angeles and Wyoming, including a pair of gloves for what might feel like winter in the Rockies.

Back at the villa, I had to park very far away as there were an incredibly large number of wedding guests. After Id eaten, Thien called; hed gotten my chapbook, and although I was tired, I agreed to meet him at the Jack-in-theBox on Camden Avenue off Highway 17 at 9 PM. I felt a mess in dirty jeans (from sitting on the grass in the park), sneakers, and glasses instead of my contacts, so when we talked for an hour and Thien suggested we go to Hamburger Marys, a gay-friendly club and restaurant downtown, I was a little hesitant. As we were driving there, Thien said, You wear glasses, you no look very good. . . Me, I look very good. He was well-dressed and I felt very bad about my appearance until I realized he meant I wear glasses because I dont see very well. I told him the difference and he laughed; and thats how Thien Van Nguyen learned the idiom looking good. He directed me as I drove to downtown San Jose and found parking. Hamburger Marys isnt really a gay bar (mostly on Wednesday) but most people there were gay guys. Still, Thien and I came there to talk to one another. He paid my cover charge and I paid for our drinks (coke and club soda). Thien told me he knew he was gay from early on because he

liked girl things like dolls and he acted like a girl. Then he showed me how he learned masculine mannerisms and demonstrated how he normally held a glad (very daintily) and how he learned to pick it up fast and drink it sloppily like a guy. He says he can imitate butch gestures and mannerisms the way he can put on a South Vietnamese accent so well that people think hes from Saigon. Thien told me that his two-year-old nephew gets put in the day care center in the semiconductor factory where his sister works. Nearly all the other workers there are Mexican, and Thien said the kid talks to him in Mexican, telling him Spanish words for colors, toys and articles of clothing. Hopefully when the boy goes to school, hell pick up English in addition to Spanish and Vietnamese. But I love these examples of our cultural mix, and I love Thiens stories and his generalizations: Vietnamese people, they do this. . . he says again and again. I would love to have learned more about his culture. Thien says he doesnt know anyone like me, who could have money and new cars and clothes and jewelry but prefers not to work hard but he does understand I have something I do, writing, which I love. By 12:30 AM, I was getting very tired, and when I dropped Thien off by his car near where

he lives with his family, not only did we shake hands but I kissed him on the cheek before he could pull away. It wasnt sexual so much as affectionate, the way I kissed Glori (but not Matt) earlier. Back at the villa after 1 AM, all by myself Melissa went home for the weekend to escape the weddings I was too excited to sleep more than a couple of hours. After I exercised, showered and dressed this morning, I went out to get the Sunday New York Times, which I began reading outside the Boulangerie in El Paseo de Saratoga. It was and is a glorious California day. Spring is finally here, said a parent at the awards ceremony and reading by the winners of the annual Young Writers Contest in the Oval Garden this afternoon. Judy, the outreach director, had invited me, and I put on a white dress shirt, dress pants and shoes and sat in the sun as I listened to the three prize winners and the three honorable mention winners read their poems and stories. For high school kids, the work was good: better than my FAU creative writing students, maybe better than Toms NOCCA students. I didnt like everything, but most of it was fresh; these kids inner artists havent yet been shamed or intellectualized away. (Okay, thats from reading The Artists Way.)

At the reception afterwards, I tried to give the winners encouragement from a real writer though if theyre real themselves, they dont need it. Yesterday Matt said he once asked his teacher, Amy Hempel, if he had what it takes to be a writer. Aargh, I said, hed asked the wrong question and the wrong person. But then, even at 21, I could never imagine myself asking any writer that question.

Monday, April 20, 1998

9 PM. My last night at Montalvo is a sad occasion, but also a happy one, as I can remember the great times Ive had here in the past seven weeks. Ive used the word golden in relation to the time Ive spent here, and its not just because California is the Golden State and Villa Montalvo seems so Californian, an expression of James Duval Phelans sense of himself and the state he loved and represented in the U.S. Senate. Pompous? Watch it, kiddo. These auspicious occasions bring out the asshole in me. Anyway, last evening I had long, pleasant phone conversations with Paul Fericano and

Mike Fleming. I hadnt realized that Mike and Kerry were merely permanent part-time faculty at USF; as Matt said, jobs like theirs are hard to get in the Bay Area. Today some Carnegie Commission released a report saying undergrad education at research universities shortchange students, who get taught by TAs, and acquire no coherent body of knowledge when they graduate. This is the same reward teaching more and research less faculty line thats been around for thirty years which is always ignored. Mike wants to take off a year to write, and he hopes to go somewhere else, preferably a colony; so far, hes got only rejections this year. At 7 PM, after being away all weekend, Melissa came over. She left just a little while ago, and we had a nice talk. Melissa is sweet. I left a copy of The Greatest Short Story That Absolutely Ever Was in her mailbox in her mailbox along with an extra ticket for Fridays Paco Pea concert. Well, now Melissa has the villa to herself at night, until Joelle gets back here. (I left Joelle a copy of my chapbook, too.) Looking at the checklist Kathryn gave me, the same one I signed when I got here, I see that though I cleaned enough so that I wont look like a pig, I dont have time to all the stuff and

they can keep my $100 deposit for cleaning fees. I did laundry today, but I wont have time to wash my bedsheets and bath towel tomorrow, nor can I defrost the refrigerator and vacuum. The $100 deposit is spent money to me, so I wont miss it. Last night I didnt sleep as well as I thought I would, and at 6 AM, I felt icky. I went out to get the paper and a few items, and then I brought my printer and a box of clothes to Mail Boxes Etc. to be shipped to Ucross. Libby called and said theyre taking me out to dinner one night when Ill be with them and also next Saturday were going to a Dodgers game if I want; I said okay, though Im not really a baseball fan. I called Mom and spoke to Marc, whos leaving for Arizona next week. I gave him Sat Darshans address and phone numbers and I wished him luck on his move. As usual, I packed early and wont have all that much to do to prepare in the morning. On Monday, Ill be leaving Los Angeles on a 7:30 AM flight, but tomorrow I dont have to be at San Jose airport till 10:15 AM enough time for me to settle with the rental car people and get my Southwest cattle-boarding pass. I hope I sleep better tonight, but if I dont, Ill handle it and get to L.A. anyway.

Wednesday, April 22, 1998

10 PM. I wish I had more time to spend in Los Angeles. Still, Im grateful for the time I do have here and will try to keep making every moment count. Last night I slept okay though my back hurts today; still, Im taking care of it and I just did half an hour of light exercise while watching Seinfeld. Up at 3 AM, I listened to NPRs Morning Edition on KPCC but fell asleep again from 5 AM to 6:30 AM. An hour later, I came into the house and listened to Wyatt playing the Gilligans Island theme on the piano; the tune was recognizable in spots. It was pretty hectic getting the kids ready for school: they need this, they cant find that, they forgot about this, and they dawdle. After eating my cereal with milk and banana, I accompanied Libby to the take the kids to Woodlake Avenue Elementary (which is part of the L.A. Unified School District). Wyatt wanted to show me his classroom and meet his teacher.

Today I learned a lot more about the lives of suburban parents of young kids, but I also did some grown-up stuff on my own. At 10 AM I went to see Kevin in funky Panorama City. He lives in this seedy neighborhood in a house filled with antiques; outside are numerous antique cars from various eras that his roommate, the houses owner, rents to movie and TV productions. Kevin looks pretty much like his photos; Im not attracted to him, which is a relief. The house was a mess, but Helen, an elderly black woman, had come in to clean up. Kevin has to call his service every half-hour to listen to a recording of needs for extras or as theyre now called, background artists. For his last job, on Foxs Sliders, he got paid $300 in his first SAG role as a Kromagg concentration camp prisoner of humans; his hairy forearms had been shaved halfway up and they gave him a prosthetic face that took six hours in makeup to put on. We talk regularly, so even though we never saw each other before, it didnt feel like I was with someone I didnt know, and the time we spent together went quickly. At 1:30 PM Kevin called his service and there was a job for a detective role, and the guy called up Kevs photo on the computer and

said to be at the studio in North Hollywood in half an hour. If I hadnt been there to drive Kevin, he couldnt have taken the job, and of course Im pleased I could help. He had been pretty discouraged because he hadnt worked in two weeks, so I probably brought him luck. Although I knew we were going out of the way, I followed Kevins directions to the studio; I had come to his house from here with the streets, mostly Victory Boulevard and Sherman Way, and I know the basic layout of the Valley from maps and my previous visit. Anyway, I got him to Occidental Studios and wished him luck; at least we finally got to meet. I decided to drive to West Hollywood, where Id never been before, so I drove through immigrant (Mexican, Korean, Thai, Salvadoran) neighborhoods on Melrose to the antique stores and cafs further west. At @Caf, I went on AOL for half an hour and answered an email from Elihu, who, having gone through busy season at his accounting firm, has vowed not to stay on the job beyond this years bonus, no matter what. He mentioned going back to school. Quoting Rilkes Archaic Torso of Apollo, I told him to just get the hell out of there now and change his life.

I had a salad at the Java caf on the corner of Poinsettia Place, drank pear juice and read the Los Angeles Times as I listened to that song that Gianni had his born-again epiphany with when he was strung out on Special K and finally called his grandma to tell her he needed to go to Shepard Pratt. Walking through the young, hip crowd, I felt energized. Then I drove along Melrose some more, getting cruised by a hunky guy as I stopped for a red light at the really gay section. I returned to Woodland Hills by taking the Hollywood Freeway past Universal Studios and the Santa Monica Mountains to the Ventura Freeway. Near here, on Victory Boulevard, I found a Bookstar where I could get the New York Times, a Starbucks for iced tea, and a frozen yogurt place. I really like the Valley and feel comfortable in Encino, Sherman Oaks and this area. One day Id like to live here for a year or so, but first I want to experience D.C. I went to Ralphs you know I love supermarkets where an old Jewish man told me I should get eggs because they were on sale. Back here, I played catch with Wyatt before his game, and after a while, I went with Libby as she chauffeured the kids places. We dropped Lindsay at the church for bells practice, and then Libby left me at the house so I could go

with Grant to the ballfield to watch Wyatt in the Pinto League game while she went to take Lindsay to gymnastics in Agoura. I sat in the bleachers with Grant and the other parents. There were lots of Jewish ones around my age, including Orthodox Jews and Soviet Jews; there were also Mexican and Korean parents, though I suspect some of the Mexican women were maids or nannies. The rules of Pinto baseball for little kids were made to ensure that 6-to-8-year-olds learn the sport. An adult pitcher stands at the mound while a kid stands next to him, playing the position. The fielding is so bad that once the hit ball gets to the infield, a defensive player calls time and everyone freezes. Even so, the games are high scoring and run to six innings or 6:30 PM, whichever comes first. Our team won, 19-18, when Wyatt hit a grounder that got him tagged at first but allowed the winning run to score. Following the game, there was a lot of celebration and juvenile good sportsmanship and then Wyatt got a Taco Bell takeout for dinner and he and I watched another half-hour of The Rocketeer video. After his shower, he read to me from Johnny Lions Rubber Boots and I read the Sunday comics to him. On her way out to pick up Lindsay at gymnastics, Libby told me that tomorrow and

Friday were going to Ventura County to help Lindsay with her report on the Chumash.

Thursday, April 23, 1998

11 PM. Ive just come home after dropping Kevin off. We hugged, and he gave me a script to read before we said goodbye. Id asked him to go out to coffee with me, and we ended up driving around all over the place after I picked him up at 8 PM. At his place, Kevin showed me some very impressive columns he wrote in the early 90s for the Lakeland Ledger while he was a Polk Community College student. Kevin rarely goes anywhere in a car, so he got a kick of my driving us around, or so he said. We ended up at a Starbucks on Beverly Boulevard, where we sat outside despite the relatively cool weather; I had camomile tea and he had a latte. Tomorrow hes going to the welfare office to apply for food stamps. Last night I did sleep soundly despite my aching back. I didnt shower or shampoo in the main house today although I did wash myself with soap and water here in the sink of the guest house bathroom. After taking the kids to school, Libby and I chatted, and then I drove to Glendale, hoping

to catch Dads Aunt Rae and Uncle Peter at home. I had their address but never got their phone number from Aunt Sydelle. Aunt Raes apartment is in a highrise condo at the foot of the San Gabriel Mountains, by a broad avenue of the tallest, skinniest palm trees Ive ever seen. When no one answered the doorbell, I assumed they werent home. While at a Ralphs nearby, I called the Florida Unemployment information line and heard that my benefit year began last week and that my weekly benefit amount is $275, and I have $7,222 in benefits. Thats really great. I drove all over the place as usual, getting off I405 at Wilshire and driving to downtown Beverly Hills, where I had a baked potato and Diet Coke at the corner Brighton Coffee Shop. Then I drove around Beverly Hills, Westwood, West L.A., and finally stopped again for iced tea at a Starbucks on Venice Boulevard. My method of seeing a city may be silly, and its actually not logical at all to just wander around, but it seems to suit me. As I told Kevin as we were sitting outside the Beverly Boulevard Starbucks tonight, Im still basically an agoraphobic and the way I deal with strange places is to make them as familiar as possible. Back here at 2 PM, I went with Libby to pick up the kids and we drove to Thousand Oaks, just west of here in Ventura County, to the Chumash Interpretive Center, a little museum

and park dedicated to the indigenous people of this part of California. The Chumash who ran the center were very helpful. By 1900, there were only 100 left of a people who once controlled the area from San Luis Obispo to Malibu. One man played his Indian music on several wooden flutes, and the beautiful lullaby sounds made me think of a life less hectic than those of the people Ive seen driving on freeways while talking on cell phones. We are rushed, wired, sleep-deprived and wealthy, but here comes banal observation #47 for today are we any better off than the Chumash, who had an elaborate trading system using their plank canoes going between various coastal and inland settlements. I hate to patronize or romanticize Native Americans, but their extermination at the hands of Europeans readily makes both those processes second-nature and almost impossible to avoid. We got home at 5 PM and had burritos for dinner. I read to Wyatt and he to me, and he played piano and Lindsay played flute for me. This morning I called Mom and she said shell send the San Jose Mercury News a photo of Grandma Sylvia to accompany my article the papers printing on Mothers Day about her.

Friday, April 24, 1998

Almost midnight. Today was even more filled with life than yesterday. I feel as if I could write a novel about today. I didnt sleep enough last night, and since I only just got home, driving Grants van from Encino because hed had too much to drink. Im sure Ill get even less sleep tonight, especially since I had a Diet Pepsi at the last bar we stopped at. This morning I was dismayed to see that when Id made an illegal U-turn on Beverly Boulevard last night with Kevin, I really dented and scraped the cars front bumper. My chatterbox kept bringing it up, and I felt sick to my stomach, but Ill face whatever music I have to when I bring the rental car in. It could have been worse, right? And its only money. In the long run, will this affect my life? No. So is it worth worrying over? No. Of course, Im still nervous, very nervous, about my journey on Monday, from getting up on time to eat and breakfast to getting to LAX and changing planes and getting off in Billings and getting to the bus station and eating and getting to Sheridan and being picked up there. Travel is filled with stuff I cant control, so I should just expect chaos and be prepared to endure it. Once I get to Ucross, Ill have my

own bed and room, and Ill feel safe. Feel the fear and do it anyway. This morning I didnt have much time to myself, but I did exercise and buy the New York Times even if I couldnt read it, and I listened to NPR during the one hour, between 4 PM and 5 PM, that I was alone and could lie down. I didnt go with Grant and Libby to the assembly where Wyatt got his Citizen of the Month Award, but she and I got the kids at 10 AM, pulling them out of class. We drove to Ventura, getting stuck in traffic on 101. Lindsay was trying to write an essay she hadnt a clue how to do, and Libby kept feeding her ideas and sentences and Lindsay couldnt focus on them. (The assigned essay topic was on what consciousness, courtesy and common sense mean, so Lindsays problem was understandable.) Wyatt kept piping up with demands. Neither of the kids has much impulse control: we pass an amusement park and they want to go in; we pass a fountain and they want to stop; etc. I guess thats how kids are and that Im not used to being around kids. Wyatt and Lindsay both can get obnoxious, but in different ways, and at times I thought I would scream but I had to be so calm. Libby is amazingly patient with them although at a quieter moment, when I complimented her on

this quality, she said she felt she was too impatient with them. The Ventura County Museum was kind of interesting though the Chumash Indian stuff didnt seem as good to me as the material on the Spanish and Mexican settlement, the oil industry, the collection of agricultural implements, and the maps of California. I stayed ahead with Wyatt or walked by myself. He became wild at the museum as we were leaving and kept jumping on me, and I didnt realize it, but as I pushed him away the third or fourth time, I pushed him to the floor and he started crying and then hiding from me behind Libby. I felt annoyed but very guilty, and he was very upset, but after I said I didnt mean to push him, he mellowed out almost immediately. We walked to Frankys Place, a restaurant three blocks down Main Street. It took a long time for the kids to order, which I again found annoying, but after I overate a turkey burger with all the trimmings, I felt better and then really enjoyed our walk along Venturas funky Main Street. After we got ice cream, we drove three blocks to the beach. It was sunny and about 70. The kids worked off their energy by playing on playground equipment and in the ocean. I walked along the park and looked out at the

Channel Islands before joining Libby on a blanket. When I lay down and took off my shirt, I remembered why I used to like the beach; it really calmed me down. While I still will never regret not having children, I do know Im not some kind of monster for not wanting them. I realize how much kids can affect a parents life and Im not willing to make the sacrifices to deal with that, even if I do miss out on the good stuff kids bring. Libby was going to drop Lindsay off at the gym in Agoura, but Lindsay had left her gym bag home, so we had to drive back to Woodland Hills first. Im too tired to write about tonight with Grant now.

Saturday, April 25, 1998

7 AM. I slept okay, but only for six hours, waking up an hour ago. I was unable to get into the main house, so I had breakfast here in the guest house by getting hot water at a 7Eleven and eating oatmeal with my own plastic bowl and a plastic fork just now; thats how I adapt.

After a decent rest yesterday afternoon, I got a call from Kathryn Funk, wanting to know if the Mercury News had gotten ahold of me about my article; it was good to hear her voice. Grant and I left at 6 PM and went to pick up Oya, this willowy, fragile and ditzy (but not in a stereotypical way, I learned) former model with high cheekbones who was house-sitting for a screenwriter and producer in the hills of Encino. Listening to Oya and Grant talk about restaurants as we went over the hill on the freeway and trying to make reservations on the car phone, I felt I was experiencing quintessential L.A. life. The two of them met at Gadneys, their mutual trainer, who uses some weird system of pulleys and ropes to get their bodies into alignment. We ended up at an Italian place, La Luna, in Hancock Park, and I guess we were the strangest combination of people in manner, background and dress in the restaurant, if not Los Angeles County. They think theyre big foodies and wines, but I know enough to know that theyre less sophisticated than they think they are and that true foodies would think they were only a little behind me on the bumpkin scale. I wasnt sure if I was there to serve as a safety for what could have looked weird: a married man with a beautiful woman not his wife or

business associate. My brother Marc would have enjoyed the company, but so did I, and as Grant said, I have no trouble talking with anyone. Oyas trying to get a singing career together, and Grant is, of course, still writing and recording his stuff and having the same problems all indies have in all the Big Mediadominated arts. But Grant loves music its his religion and hes beyond ambition and just loves doing it well, the act of creating and performing. Sally, whom we went to see at the performance space Genghis Cohen on Fairfax Avenue, near Melrose, is a wealthy young woman who just moved here from New York who performs all her own stuff. After hanging out at the bar and chatting with people, we sat at a table and heard Sallys songs, awkward patter and overly loud keyboarding (thanks to an inept sound guy); shes very MOR (middle of the road) pop/rock, though her songs are hooky and catchy enough to seem like they could be hits from mainstream movie soundtracks. At 9:30 PM, the show ended, and with me driving my main function may have been teetotaler designated driver we took the winding Laurel Canyon Road, the pre-freeway route (Grant said Mae West used to drive to the Valley every Sunday and buy up property).

We went to the bar at Chevys Grant must have spent $60 on me alone last night and over $100 on Oya and somehow we really clicked in that late evening, drunk sort of way. I didnt realize before that Grant was serious when he told me what a drunk he had once been; even now, he drinks pretty good. Anyway, we sort of bonded after hanging out so much tonight. He kept telling Oya about my incredibly dry and witty sense of humor. But its just me being me, and Im not that funny. Grant seemed surprised that not only could I find my way back home via Ventura Boulevard with no problems, I could also make it most of the way to drop off Oya after driving that complicated route with him just once. But I have a good memory and I can handle a minivan. So I guess I shouldnt be so upset about the rental cars dents and scratches. I will try to work out in half an hour once my breakfast is digested. They all sleep in on weekends here, but kids usually cant sleep too late. Tonight is the Dodgers game, but I dont have anything scheduled for the day; I really need the time to veg out, as I feel exhausted. Theres just so much life going on, and Ive recorded only a tiny fraction of what Ive felt, experienced and thought about in the last four days.

Tuesday, April 28, 1998

9 PM. I knew it would be hard to adjust to Ucross, and it has been, but I need to give myself time. After all, Ive had a lot to adjust to in the past week: Ive gone from the familiar comforts of Villa Montalvo to the frenzy of friendly Los Angeles to this weird Wyoming landscape, remote and totally unlike any other Ive ever been in. Plus I drove 150 miles here from Billings, Montana. This morning when I began to unpack my suitcases and the boxes Id sent from California, I realized how compulsive I am. I have at least twice as much of everything I thought Id need, from nail clippers to batteries to drugs for diarrhea and dizziness. As much as I assumed that Id whittled myself down to the essentials, Im overburdened with stuff. Okay, much of it was merely purchased prematurely. But did I really expect to need 35 packets of oatmeal and grits? Ive got more contact lens fluid than I could possibly use in six weeks.

What happens is, I go into Wal-Mart or Target and buy stuff I forgot I bought before. Im like a rich man who grew up in poverty and who still thinks hes going to starve to death. Speaking of starving, the food adjustment has been hard. Ive kept such a circumscribed daily menu that its difficult to adapt to the food here at Ucross, which is excellent but not what Im used to. I probably eat less than usual to avoid getting fat because this stuff is higher in calories and fat grams. Without Diet Pepsi and iced tea, Im having caffeine withdrawal, and I miss frozen yogurt, my huge lunch plate of veggies, my sweet potato, etc. Basically my body is saying, Hey, whats happening? Remember, though, when I began Nutri/System in the fall of 1989, on the first day I had get a brownie at the Broward Mall as if I were a junkie in need of a fix. When I called Mom, she said shed looked at the map and saw that I was going to the middle of nowhere and worried that I would be able to stand it here. Do you think youll be able to stick it out? Mom asked typically. She also reported that Marcs departure for Arizona hit her and Dad very hard because it was so unexpected, although shed told me last Thursday that Marc was leaving yesterday. Dad cried all day after Marc left because he wasnt prepared, Mom said.

Has my father ever been prepared for change? H didnt want to know Marc was leaving, just as he never wanted to know about any coming changes in his life. One reason Im here, one reason Im going from place to place, is to avoid becoming like my obsessive-compulsive mother and my father who deals with change through denial. If Ive written little about Ucross in this diary entry, its not because I havent experienced this place. I even wrote 3 pages of a new story and rode a bicycle (on U.S. 14-16) for the first time in years and this evening I enjoyed the company and conversation of my fellow residents. The group is older than I thought it would be, although probably no one here is more than 55. Still, Ive got people to have intelligent conversations with, the kind of people who listen to NPR (which is, as I should have known, available through Wyoming Public Radio and Yellowstone Public Radio) and read newspapers and know who Robert Musil is. But any problems Im having here are the result of my own inflexibility, compulsiveness, and warped thinking. Still, I cant be too hard on myself. Its a kind of culture shock being here. As Sharon, who was formerly a Scribners book editor who lived on the Upper West Side and

Park Slope said someone told her, When you go to Wyoming, youre going back in time twenty years. My mind and my body need time to adjust, and as long as I dont fight it, I will get so used to Ucross that I wont want to return to the outside world. Ill take it here comes the clich one day at a time. Although I felt myself moving fast when I closed my eyes last night a result of the two jet flights and the long drive from Billings the sensation of dizziness ultimately abated and I was able to sleep fairly well. The bed is comfortable and the portable heater helped. Hey, I did a lot today. I exercised for an hour after breakfast, and then look at all the unpacking and sorting I had to do. Sharon had the orientation meeting with the four new residents at 10 AM, and I met everyone at the offices, which are along with the Big Red Barn and the Kocur Writers Retreat separated from the Schoolhouse, the Depot and Bucks cabin over here by a large field owned by someone else on which theres no trespassing.

Thursday, April 30, 1998

10 PM. The night skies here in northeast Wyoming are as bright as those in a planetarium. Ive just come in from Bucks cabin, where Liz and I were watching TV. The satellite takes the network shows from local stations on the East Coast and West Coast, and we expected Seinfeld to be on at 8 PM as it is in Mountain Time, but it was on at 7 PM from the Boston NBC station and wont come on till 10 PM (now) from the West Coast affiliate. Im tired and couldnt stay up that late after watching ER (East) and Friends (West). Liz is going to Big Timber, Montana, for the weekend to visit her sister, and she said I should call her on Monday from Billings so that on her way back, she could meet me at the Enterprise car rental place so I could drive back to Ucross with her instead of taking the bus to Sheridan. This morning, after I had breakfast with Ruane and Margot, I did some work and exercised, and at 10 AM I drove into Buffalo. Its a cute little town, at the base of the Big Horn Mountains, with a quaint downtown: the Rexall drug store still has a soda fountain. I walked around, but when I wanted to hang out somewhere and read the papers, I went to the McDonalds near the interstates (I-25 and I90) and sat with my Diet Coke. An elderly couple, spotting my cars Montana plates like theirs said, Billings?

Yup, I said, and they said, Hi, neighbor! Also at the McDonalds, a young blond woman led her three little kids in saying grace before they ate, and the athletic coaches of some semipro football teams one white coach, one black were discussing their leagues business. They have Sinclair stations here, with the green dinosaur logo that I remember from my childhood back East. I helped an old man by pumping his gas for him, and at the IGA market I bought baby carrots to munch on as I drove home. I played frisbee with Gillians adorable dogs, Harley and Puck, and I spent the afternoon making up different rsums and curriculum vitae. I also started getting my mail subscription to the New York Times today and they sent a bunch of last weeks issues I need to catch up on. The Sunday paper had ads for summer adjunct work at NYU and Poly Tech that I answered. For lunch, I ate my sandwich with some weird kind of meat (roast beef? ham?) but I asked Gillian to please just make me cheese sandwiches every day. Thats what I eat at home, although I eat low-fat bread and fat-free cheese. One thing Ive learned here is that most people have dietary preferences that arent any odder than mine.

I bicycled to the Ucross mailbox and back again; for me, its been so long since I rode a bike, and Im a little nervous riding on the highways shoulder without a helmet, though U.S. 14-16 doesnt get much traffic: basically people going between Gillette and either Sheridan or Buffalo (and even then, most people probably take the Interstate). Mom called when we sat down to dinner this evening and said that Marc is in Mesa and has already found an apartment. She also said I got the classes at the University of Maryland that I registered for and told me that their former flea market worker, Brooke, sent them a St. Josephs statuette to bury upside-down in the backyard so they can sell the house more quickly. Alice mailed me a $50 check. Id sent her the same amount for the printing of my book manuscript, and when she couldnt do it, she returned the money. Dinner tonight was delicious: I had chicken enchilada, rice and beans, lettuce and fresh pineapple. Its possible I may not gain weight her because I actually eat more calories normally. I eat lots of fruit and vegetables and low-fat or fat-free snacks, though. Just tonight I began to feel as if Im coming down with a cold, which would be no surprise since my body has been assaulted with all these changes. Im still adjusting, and I hope

once I no longer have the car, I can deal with the isolation here. Anyway, I feel tired now, though I havent always been able to sleep right away at night. My brain seems numb now.

Sunday, May 3, 1998

7:30 PM. This morning after I had breakfast and while I was doing my half-hour of exercise, I decided to drive to Billings today and stay overnight so I dont have to rush here tomorrow. So Im in room 309 of the Hilltop Motel next to the St. Vincent Hospital-Yellowstone Medical Center not far from Montana State UniversityBillings. I called Liz at her sisters in Big Timber and we agreed Id meet her at Enterprise RentA-Car at 9:30 AM. I didnt want to hold Liz up, and theres no way I could have met that her that early if Id driven up from Wyoming tomorrow. Right now Im a little dizzy, but Ill deal with it; perhaps its the result of Montanas reasonable and prudent speed limit, which meant I traveled mostly 90 mph most of the way here on I-90. At 10:30 AM, I left Ucross with my gym bag and backpack. After stopping in Buttrey in Sheridan to get some crudities package to

munch on the way along with my sweet potatoes, rice cakes and fat-free cheese slices, I got on I-90. The 35 miles or so through Wyoming to the border, only one lane was open so driving was rough and I couldnt go faster than 60 mph, but once I crossed over into Montana, I drove much faster on unobstructed road. I had to go to the bathroom, so I stopped off at an exit and found an IGA (that seems to be the supermarket of choice in tiny Western towns). Everyone in the store but me was Native American, and I felt a little weird, but I was on the huge Crow reservation. Just this morning on NPR, Id heard about the tribal community college in Crow Agency. At about 1 PM, I stopped off at the Little Big Horn Battlefield National Monument, which cost $6 admission. There was a national cemetery and a Visitors Center with artifacts of the Battle of Little Big Horn. A film about the battle played on the TV there; I watched a little of it and then walked around the site of the last stand of General Custer, the last triumph of the Cheyenne, Sioux and Arapaho warriors. Obviously, the National Park Service has to tell the story differently than it once did, and theres a new monument to the Indians who died at Little Big Horn.

It was a hot, sunny day, and Im glad I remembered to bring sunblock. After an hour or so, I got back on I-90 and didnt stop again till I got to Billings. (The shacks around Crow Agency revealed the desperate poverty on the reservation.) For about an hour, I drove around Billings rather aimlessly, and at one point I almost got into a traffic accident because I didnt know where I was going. I stopped at an Albertsons to use the bathroom and then found a Barnes & Noble listed in the phone book, but it was way on the other side of town. To me, the street pattern of Billings is confusing, but somehow I found the bookstore and had an iced tea while I read the Sunday Billings Gazette. In a guidebook I found a motel that wasnt cheap but not too expensive either ($48 plus tax), so I made a guaranteed reservation. Then I read U.S. News as I sipped a refill on my iced tea. I drove a little further up South 24th and found a Baskin-Robbins, where I ate a small cup of fat-free, sugar-free frozen yogurt at a table outside. Two women at the next table were conversing in a foreign language that sounded like Hebrew and I thought I heard them say bar mitzvah. Perhaps they were Israeli tourists. Actually, Billings is a hip little town, relatively speaking. The university presence must help

diversify it (though I noticed today that they sell kimchi even at Buttrey in Sheridan). On Montana Avenue, theres a historic district and the old railroad depot, which has been renovated. Across the street are trendy kind of shops, including a yoga center (which was closed), an internet caf (also closed on Sunday), a nice restaurant in the Hotel Rax, and the Rainbow Bar, which I assumed was a gay bar. I might have gone into it, but from the window, the first guy I could see appeared to be a 70ish farmer in overalls. Still, I feel comfortable here in Billings. The hotel room is very nice, not like that dive in Santa Clara that I stayed in two months ago. But I am beginning to feel a little homesick for the East Coast. Ive still got a month before I return, and it will feel odd to be stuck at the Ucross ranch with no way to leave now except if others drive me. That means Ill have to get used to the food there. I guess its mostly the lack of veggies that bothers me. Still, its only a month out of my life. Here in Montana and Wyoming, Ive become accustomed to the regional gas stations like Cenex, Conoco and Sinclair, and supermarkets like Buttrey and IGA.

For better or worse, I am an urban-suburban warrior, not a rural type; I dont like camping out, and Im oblivious to a lot of natures beauty. Last night I had vivid dreams, but one that bothered me had me teaching a high school class resembling my Nova freshman students from last fall. I asked them to hand in papers about their view of their own futures, and one anonymous note read, Naturally you view the future as bright because of your sexual orientation. While not a hate letter, this did indicate that some boy I assumed it was a boy resented me because I was gay and believed that being gay created the same kind of advantage other white males seem to think accrues to being in a minority group. Before I could figure out how to deal with this in our next class, I awakened. Tonight, if I cant sleep because of dizziness or insomnia, Ill read or watch one of the sixty channels on cable TV.

Monday, May 4, 1998

1:30 PM. Im back in Ucross. Right now Im printing out the twelve pages of Silicon Valley

Diet to look at the hardcopy and see where I can go with the story. Last night I had no dizziness problems and fell asleep listening to Court TV at 10:30 PM. I woke up at 1 AM and was unable to get back to sleep till around 4 AM, when I slept for another couple of hours. At 7 AM, I went down to the hotel lobby to get some orange juice and read the Billings Gazette, then I brought hot water up to my room for oatmeal and grits. After I showered and dressed, I went out for a little while. I called Florida Unemployment and a check for $288 was issued on Friday, so itll be mailed today. Libby should get it in Woodland Hills by this Friday, and I figure Ill get it in the mail from her by next week. It was a pleasant Monday morning. I got yogurt at Buttrey and found the Internet caf open. The iced tea was only a dollar and the Internet was free, so I checked my email on JewishMail. There were notices from Christy, who just got back from France (and who tried to call me at Villa Montalvo, only to get Joelles voice mail); Sat Darshan, who said Los Angeles is like New York and a nice place to visit but a terrible place to live (I replied that New York is a terrible place to visit but a great place to live); and Alice, whos finally admitted that shes begun to think about her next career.

Alice hasnt sold a book in months and is giving herself till the end of this year to make good. My assumption is that shell get out of the literary agent business. I went back to the Hilltop Inn and checked out; the $50 I paid for the accommodations was well worth it. And when I turned in my car at Enterprise, $160 for the week wasnt a bad bargain, either. Liz came along at 9:45 AM and we made it back to Sheridan in under two hours. Because I had someone to talk to, I didnt even notice how much time had passed. Liz is a great person. I gather her auto accident at 18 was what led to her being in a wheelchair. Her father was an Exxon executive and they lived all over the U.S. as well as in London, Rome and Libya. She was the black sheep of the family, shoplifting, having a boyfriend who ODd on drugs, and then nearly killing herself at 16. In Sheridan, I pumped gas for her van and paid for it and I cleaned the bugs off her windshield, and at the saddle shop I went in to exchange a poncho shed bought for another of a different size.

Thursday, May 7, 1998

9 AM. Yesterday was easier than Tuesday. For one thing, my day was broken up when I went into Buffalo with Margot at 11:30 AM. She wanted to get topographical maps of the area, and we went first to the Wyoming highway department, who directed us to Sports Lure on Main Street, a store that had lots of hunting, fishing and sports equipment but also clothing and other sundries. Then we went into the Rexall drug store, which looked like one out of the 1950s, complete with soda fountain. The hour or so away made me feel less isolated. My weight is still the same, the Rexalls scale told me. I weighed 147 with my clothes on, getting the apt fortune, You often talk when you should be listening. And Gillian gave me fat-free cheese food on my sandwich and I nuked a baked potato Id taken from my kitchen, so my diet at least resembled more of what Im used to. I wrote postcards to four or five friends and a long letter to Libby and Grant and the kids, and I read more of last weeks issues of the Times although I still have to get to the Living Arts sections from Tuesday to Friday. And I decided to begin the laborious process of printing out my book with my inkjet printer, although Im convinced the printer will break down in the middle of the manuscript.

Its a very slow process, not like a laser printer, and I keep having to put in paper and take out the finished pages (since they come out with the last page on top of the one before). I decided to work backwards, so I managed to print out pages 175 to the end by the time I left for dinner. Nancy and Ruane are leaving tomorrow. Ruane doesnt have to be in New Jersey till July, so shes going to drive through New Mexico and other states, and Nancy is flying back to Homer, Alaska. Supposedly a new resident from Hawaii is arriving today, but shes delayed her arrival three times already. I guess next Monday three more people will be coming for the final four weeks. Probably Ill make my flight from Billings to Fort Lauderdale on Wednesday, June 3. Id rather spend my birthday recuperating at my parents house from my long trip than flying all day. That would mean Id have to leave here the morning before I go to Billings. In Billings, Id rent a car for the day and stay overnight, maybe at the Hilltop Inn again. So four weeks from today, Id be back in Florida. Thats about all I can deal with now as Im not ready to think about what I need to do to drive north to Maryland with all my stuff. The long drive on I-95 has seemed daunting, but its mostly through urban areas all the way even like Florence, South Carolina, that Im

familiar with. And I can take my time along the route. Driving through the wilderness of Montana and Wyoming has made I-95 seem tame. Of course my old car isnt exactly like a rental car, and I expect it will break down along the way and Ill handle it. Im not going to let my chatterbox overwhelm me. As for writing fiction here, I will finish The Silicon Valley Diet when I figure out how the story should go. But I knew when I began the residency here and at Villa Montalvo that I was taking advantage of my past productivity. If I really wanted to write fiction, I would have done it in Florida during the ten weeks between the end of the fall semester and my leaving for San Jose. I had thought of this as being my swan song as a fiction writer. Now, with my admittance to the University of Maryland, Im going to concentrate on journalism. Hey, today my Grandma Sylvia story might be in the San Jose Mercury News and people in Silicon Valley are the article. Id like to be sitting in Peets Coffee and Tea in El Paseo de Saratoga right now, reading my own story in the paper. Yesterday afternoon I took another long, lazy walk along the highway, and from 8 PM to 10 PM, Liz and I went in Bucks cabin and watched TV: an interview with Ellen DeGeneres about

the cancellation of her show; the popular Comedy Channel cartoon South Park, which I saw for the first time; and an episode of Seinfeld which Id seen but which was still funny. Coming back to the Depot, we heard an incredibly scary animal sound, which Id first thought was the roar of a mountain lion. Earlier, wed seen Keith herding sheep along the highway.

Saturday, May 9, 1998

11 AM. This morning seems like the first overcast day Ive experienced in Wyoming. Its also quite chilly, although I felt very warm last night thanks to the heater. I just bicycled over to the mailbox on the side of the road, scaring away some sheep whod been feeding as I passed. First, one looked up as I approached, then another and another, and soon they were fleeing but as I made my return, they didnt budge. Riding along the flat countryside in my rickety bicycle, I feel like Margaret Hamilton in The Wizard of Oz.

Up at 6 AM after a wonderful nights sleep (though I awoke from a dream in which I was falsely accused of not paying for my food in a restaurant), I stayed in bed an hour listening to Morning Edition on the radio, and then I got dressed in yesterdays clothes and went to the School House for breakfast. While there, I also put away the large number of dishes and utensils from last nights dinner. After another hour spent snuggling in bed, I exercised for thirty minutes and then looked at the mail. I wonder if I have a chance to get a Florida Arts Council fellowship this year. I see that Christy and David Kirby are among the five panelists, and Im certain theyll recognize Caracas Traffic as mine. Well, I wont be hasty about changing my Florida address till August, when the grant recipients are announced. I also got some housing stuff from Maryland. If I can get a $100 money order, I can put down a deposit to get on the waiting list for graduate apartments. Well, well think about it. (When did I become royalty?) I called Mom to wish her a happy Mothers Day one day early. Liz just called up and asked if I wanted to go into Buffalo with her, so Im leaving. *

3:30 PM. Where was I? Oh yeah, Mom said shes sending Marc the quilty stuff that makes it comfortable for me to sleep on the floor when I visit my parents. Ill be back in Fort Lauderdale one month from today. Liz and I thought Agymah would want to come to Buffalo with us, so after I put the wheelchair in the back of her vehicle, I went to the Kocur Writers Retreat but he wasnt there. When I came back here, he was still in his room in his underwear, half-asleep. Liz took me first to the county fairgrounds for a swap meet to benefit an animal shelter. There was all this incredible crap on sale, from used dungarees to appliances from the 50s to all kinds of stuff on the border between kitsch and camp. The last thing I wanted to was to buy anything, but Liz, like most artists, loves old junk, and she accumulated a lot of stuff which cost her a total of $1.40 (she gave an extra 90 as charity). Then she gave me money to get her film at the Rexall store, where theyd sent it out to be developed. She went to the Y to lift weights, and I said Id meet her in the drugstore in an hour. The post office was closed, so I couldnt mail or even weigh my package for Alice. It was only 48 according to the temperature signs, and I walked up and down Main Street, finally

settling at this caf in back of a store, where I sat at the counter, reading the Casper StarTribune and drinking iced tea. Its funny, but I dont find people in Wyoming as friendly as people are in the South; here theyre more sarcastic, but unlike upfront New Yorkers or Angelenos, their sarcasm is masked by a faade of politeness. After Liz picked me up, we saw Sharon and two of the selection panelists we met last night, the Montana writer David Long and the SFMOMA curator, who was the juror on multidisciplinary arts. (The third juror, in visual art, was the sculptor Ken Little, a professor at UT-San Antonio.) Last evening at 6 PM, we all met at Bucks for cocktails. Usually the Ucross selection committee is anonymous during their three-year service, but when they come twice a year for their meetings, the residents at the time get to meet the people who selected them. Actually, the odds are not bad. David said theyd had fifty applicants in writing, and he selected about thirteen. He knew who I was, which surprised me, and we had a pleasant conversation throughout the cocktail party and then dinner, when he and Pam sat opposite me and Bonne, the severe-looking woman who works in the office. David lives in Kalispell, in northwest Montana, and he was a short story writer who became a

novelist when he got a two-book contract with Scribners. Hes very well-read and puts me to shame. Obviously Ive strayed far from the literary life which is why Im convinced moving into journalism is where I need to go as a writer. Another of last nights guests whom I liked was Neltje (no last name), a longtime Wyoming resident and painter who told me she was bred to give dinner parties in Oyster Bay and Manhattan. She came out here after her husband (apparently Nelson Doubleday, though she didnt name him), who published the books of Bennett Cerf, gave a dinner party in honor of the Random House publisher. Cerf said to her, Neltje, you dont seem to like me, and she replied, Bennett, I think youre a horses ass. And at that moment she had the realization that she had to leave her husband and New York. Yesterday Judith pointed out Neltjes compound on the way to Sheridan, so Neltje obviously still has oodles of money. Aside from Sharon and Elizabeth, who acted as hostess, the only others there were Barbara and John Campbell, the typical salt-of-the-earth Wyomingites who run the cattle and sheep ranch here on the foundations land.

Raymond Plank didnt show, although Liz told me Elizabeth talked about him incessantly: Raymond does this, Raymond thinks that. Apparently he stayed in Houston for the weekend. In the middle of dinner, John made a heartfelt toast to the land I immediately thought we were in a dinner like those Ive seen at Southfork on the TV show Dallas and after dessert (I had half a cup of decaf but declined the carrot cake with whipped cream), he announced that he had to get up early to brand cattle. The discussions were stimulating but I was tired, and after Agymah and I helped Pam switch the mattress from Nancys now-vacant bedroom with the one in Pams room (she has a back problem and her mattress wasnt firm enough), I put the heater on high and got into bed. This afternoon, before I Liz and I returned here from Buffalo, we drove up 195 past Sharons geodesic domed home and waited for a cow to move from the dirt road (cattle have the right of way) on our way back. After I fixed myself something to eat Liz and I were reading the Buffalo paper over our late lunch I biked over to the mailbox and took out Wednesdays New York Times, which arrived before the Monday or Tuesday papers did.

Tuesday, May 12, 1998

3 PM. I just printed out the first draft of an 11page story I began writing late last night. What I said yesterday about only getting into a flow state when I write nonfiction: well, I was wrong and it still holds for some fiction. This is a publishable story, and all it needs is a light touch of editing. Im exhilarated and exhausted. What triggered this was a mailing from Rick Peabody which included a notice of an anthology he and Lucinda are doing, about sex and chocolate. Then I read a front-page New York Times story about the coming world chocolate shortage, and I began to envision this story about it and about my relationship with Gianni, using the structural device Id found in Villa Montalvo, of bad 1970s pop songs you cant get out of your mind. The story wouldnt stop writing itself, and I could barely tear myself away from it. I hardly slept last night, but I could barely tear myself away from the story, working on it all day. Its taken a lot out of me. Whether Rick takes it or not the last three Peabody/ Ebersole anthologies have been rejected by publishers anyway I am certain I

can get this piece published. This is one of those stories I had to write. In contrast to this story, Silicon Valley Diet has been painful to write, and its just not jelling. They say no reader can tell the difference between works of fiction that were created easily or with difficulty. The way I used to work, back in the 70s, was the way I worked today. Were having dinner at 5 PM today because Pam is giving a reading at the Sheridan library at 7 PM so were all going into town at 6:15 PM. Im really tired and dont want a long night, especially since were going to the Mint Bar afterwards, but one reason I cant stay home is that I found a dead bird in the freezer downstairs. Pam had put it there: it was roadkill that I did my best to avoid when I first saw it as I was bicycling, and there I am, after dinner, showing Liz the container of sorbet in the freezer that Nancy had left there and as Im clearing out stuff, I take out and hold in my hand some frozen fish only I look at it and its dead bird, I dropped it and totally freaked out. I screamed and was sick to my stomach. Im very squeamish about dead birds, and I was furious with Pam. To me, putting road kill in the freezer just isnt normal or sanitary. I talked about it with everyone because it had been so traumatic.

The two new residents Robert, a Minneapolis visual artist who grew up in Queens and who seems very nice; and Julie, a tall blonde writer from St. Louis who recently graduated Washington Universitys MFA program (Stanley Elkin intimidated her, so in that respect shes normal) probably think Im crazy because I harped on it so much. Yesterday morning I finished taking my notes about Thien from my dairy and appending them to the story Silicon Valley Diet, now about twenty pages and going nowhere slowly. I also wrote a letter to Thien and one to Sat Darshan. At noon I went with Liz and Margot to a cattle auction outside Buffalo. It was kind of interesting to see how they did it: at a booth up on top, an auctioneer would rattle off numbers in that singsongy way while a bull or cow would enter from a door on the right and would be gently prodded to turn all around the pen until it was sold and the animal exited from a door on the left. The cattle farmers who bid were almost all elderly men (and a few women) in cowboy hats. Only afterwards did Liz tell me that the prices they were bidding (by means of subtle gestures), like 35-50, meant $35.50 per 100 pounds of cattle. (Most weighed around 1200 pounds.) I have no idea how they distinguished between valuable cows and bulls and the cheaper ones

that fetched lower prices. In downtown Buffalo, after Margot had gotten all the photos she wanted, I went to the P.O. and mailed off my book manuscript to Alice. I also got a $100 money order, which Id gotten using money from an ATM credit card cash advance. I was going to use it to put down a deposit so I could be on the waiting list at UMCPs grad housing, but after realizing I had very little hope of getting an efficiency and that theyre unfurnished when I want a furnished apartment I decided to mail it as a deposit in my checking account. In todays mail, which I found in the kitchen at 2 PM, I saw that Id gotten my unemployment check thanks to Libby, so I deposited both checks and will mail the $388 deposit to NationsBank. I also mailed out my claim card for the two weeks of unemployment ending last Saturday, which I signed and also mailed, and my auto tag renewal to the Alachua County Tax Assessor. Mom had sent the renewal notice, which had been forwarded from my Gainesville address I was smart to do another change of address form after the year since my move expired as well as a reminder to write Arizona State to decline their offer of admission. Its sunny and warmer, though I nearly slipped on frost early this morning going to breakfast.

Judith was with us at dinner last night, and Sharon is probably coming tonight, along with Mike Shay, literature director of Wyoming Arts Council and Cliff Becker, the National Endowment for the Arts Literature Program head. Life seems so full, I feel that Im about to burst.

Saturday, May 16, 1998

8:30 PM. Im tired and hope Im not coming down with the bad cold that Julie and Pam seem to have. I went with them today to the area across from Big Red, the Ucross barn and Ranch House complex to watch the branding of cattle that went on most of the day. It was quite an event. There were lots of cowboys a couple of them were young and cute as well as women and some little kids. Horses, of course, and mules, too. And lots and lots of cattle. The process begins when cowboys rope a calfs hind leg or legs and drag him over to the spot where the branding is done with an electric branding iron. But first hes given a couple of shots. Then the calf is branded with the Ucross mark, a U on top of a cross, on his left side. Usually at this point is when the calf squeals in pain.

Sometimes a cow is hovering nearby; I assume these are concerned mothers or just particularly compassionate unrelated cattle. If the calf is a bull, John comes over and snips of its testicles, dropping them into a large yogurt container and then spraying the bloody area. Next, a woman pierces the calfs ear with those colorful orange plastic tags. Then the calf is free to get up. It must be traumatizing, but most seem to wander back into the crowd immediately. I saw only one calf that refused to get up, and afterwards, as I was leaving, I noticed a cowboy was taking her somewhere. I can still smell the burning fur like the smell of singed hair that permeated the area. I watched for about 45 minutes, and after that, it began to look predictably boring. Margot told me they went over to John and Barbaras spread after lunch and they worked till 4:30 PM. There certainly were lots of calves to brand. Margot said they let Agymah wrestle a couple of calves to bring them to branding and he said they were really strong. Except for a couple of long bike rides, I stayed pretty much at the Depot and School House today. When I called Mom, she was appalled that Id witness branding. You mean they kill these animals for food? she asked.

No, Mom, I said, the Wyoming cattle industry is only a show for the benefit of tourists. Mom said Marc moved into his new apartment on Thursday and Dad took down his phone number, but she didnt know where it was. Ill call directory assistance in Phoenix. They had their first prospective home buyer yesterday, a Haitian couple who seemed to like what they saw but wanted to put in a swimming pool. People are taking the flyers she put in front of the house like crazy, Mom said, but that couple was the only one who phoned so far. Yesterdays mail and todays (which I got from the mailbox) brought my $100 deposit refund from Villa Montalvo and Moms forwarding of several bills, including my auto insurance. I just hope my last deposit reaches NationsBank before they have to pay the Allstate check I wrote; otherwise, it will bounce. Today I ate more like my normal day: for lunch, Kraft Free slices on rice cakes, lots of veggies, and a sweet potato and fat-free Fudgsicle, and for dinner, a GardenBurger. What, no beef? Now I can hear a lot of mooing going on, so I dont know whats going on with the cattle.

I sent out two more printed-out copies of Dark Songs to little magazines, and I wrote to the Florida Division of Elections for a form in case I decide to be a write-in candidate for Congress again. I spent much of the day reading the main news sections of the New York Times for four days. Now Ive still got last weeks Business Day section and the Living Arts sections going back nearly two weeks. Last night I spent reading last Sundays Denver Post. Three weeks ago tonight was it that long? I was at Dodger Stadium with Libbys family in Los Angeles. Two weeks ago I was about to bring back the rental car to Billings. I got my Delta ticket from Billings to Salt Lake City to Phoenix for June 2 in todays mail, and Mom says shes sending me the confirmation letter for the June 9 Phoenix-Miami flight. Mom seemed surprised that Im only spending a few days with her. When she began to obsess about my going up North, I got off the phone quickly.

Monday, May 18, 1998

9 PM. I slept pretty well last night, although I woke up a number of times, as usual. In reading about the frenzy over the new impotence pill, Viagra, Im learning that lots of men over 40 have erectile problems. Now my erections can come and go and may not be as strong as they were when I was younger, but nearly every time I awake during the night, its with an erection. Actually, Im banged up tonight from a fall on the bicycle. My long shoelaces got tied up in the pedal as I started off and I tumbled over. My right palm and kneecap were scraped, and the handlebars hit the back of my head, but the main pain comes from something I didnt notice earlier: an egg-shaped lump and bruise on the part of my body where my leg meets my right buttock. But it could have been a lot worse. Id gone over to the Ranch House to fax a letter to the New York Times, but just now I see that in Thursdays paper, they printed a similar letter (on why Governor Pataki and Mayor Giuliani are calling for ending remedial education at CUNY, with its mostly minority and poor students but not at the overwhelmingly white upstate and suburban SUNY campuses).

I should know better than to respond to an article published four days earlier. This morning, although I hadnt intended to, I decided to go with Margot and Liz to see more branding, in a pasture far out on a dirt road, past Clear Creek. When we got there, at first the people were just standing around. But within half an hour, cowboys on horses (and the one guy on a mule) started driving cattle over from behind the hills and eventually getting them all in a pen. Then they tried to get most of the mothers out while keeping the calves cooped up. The branding irons were turned up and they set up for injections, ear-tagging, and castration as the cattle howled like crazy. For these Wyoming ranchers, from old men to middle-aged women to young children, this is a routine, and its also fun. I did admire the way some of the cowboys can twirl their lassos and manage to get a calfs hind legs every time. Once theyre dragged over, a two-person team holds down the head and hind legs while the others go to work. Today they were using the ULC brand for Ucross Land Company but otherwise it was the same thing I saw on Saturday. Perhaps it went more quickly and methodically today. Liz took videos she was afraid she made the cowboys nervous, having her wheelchair there

 and Margot got her still shots. We were out there till from 9:30 AM till noon, and I wish Id used sunblock. If I were a better writer maybe journalistic training will help me learn how to describe processes and nature more effectively I could say a lot more. Tonight at dinner, Sharon surprised me by saying she felt too sensitive and faint-hearted to watch branding. I thought it didnt bother me, but I did feel queasy much of the day; until I thought about it, I just attributed my rocky stomach to diet or illness. But maybe hearing all those howls of pain by the cows and calves upset me more than I realized. I did decline an invitation to hold down a calf, though mostly because I didnt want to get dirty. It was impossible, of course, to avoid walking on cow shit, which was everywhere, and Liz kept getting it on her hands from moving the wheels on her chair. Even if my vegetarian clean-freak Mom didnt feel repulsed by the animals plight, she would have been freaked out by the filth. But Im glad I experienced the brandings. Margot, Liz and I got out pasta-salad lunches from Gillian when we came back to the School House, and we ate outside on the porch. I called the San Jose Mercury News, and from a

back issue department recording, I learned how to order copies of the paper for Mothers Day or the Thursday before: presumably when my Grandma Sylvia story ran. After my bike accident, I felt icky most of the afternoon and all I managed to do was some laundry. I also had a bad headache, but by dinner time I felt better. When I finished cleaning up from dinner, I came back to my room and read the main news section of last Thursdays Times; Fridays paper also arrived in todays mail, and I got the paper for Sunday, May 10, from the office.

Wednesday, May 20, 1998

9:30 PM. Last evening I left the group soon after I did my share of the post-dinner cleaning up. I got into bed a little after 8:30 PM and fell asleep soon after, making up for the insomnia I had on recent nights. Still, I didnt feel well this morning; it seemed as if I were trying to fight off a cold. When I did my half-hour of light exercise, I felt sluggish and tired. But I started to perk up around 9:30 AM when I went to the School House and mad myself a pot of mixed green tea and Red Zinger and then drank it iced, with lots of aspartame, just the way Im used to drinking iced tea in cafs.

Liz said shed be going into Sheridan in the afternoon, and both Robert and I said wed like to come along. Back in my studio, I did a little writing, though it mostly seemed like an exercise. I also read the rest of the New York Times issues from last week. In the School House, I picked up Gretel Erlichs The Solace of Open Spaces, about her stay in northeastern Wyoming and found myself agreeing with much of what she said. Of course Im not a writer who notices nature, nor could I describe the cottonwoods or the red clayey soil or the arid winds the way Erlich can. After a while, I took a little bike ride, and I noticed a cute adolescent boy, maybe 17, sitting by the road in front of our place with his bike next to him. A woman who I assumed was his mother came by and picked him up. Maybe he became ill or hurt or just tired while biking and had called her. Its been rare to see a stranger here at the ranch, as I told Robert as I met him outside the School House, let alone an attractive one. When Liz, Robert and I were driving into Sheridan, there was a tornado warning, but of course during the summer in Gainesville wed get them every morning, so they dont faze me. The ride to town is always nice, especially when you reach that vista where the Big Horn Mountains open up in front of you. We saw the

usual sights, but also a fire on top of a hill Robert said it looked like equipment was burning at an old strip mine) and saw the fire trucks racing toward it. All the disabled parking spaces were taken at Wal-Mart, and next to where we had to park, also in a non-disabled space was another woman with a wheelchair. Liz had to return some hair spray, and that took forever. I bought some diet cola (with caffeine!) at $1.75 for a dozen cans and some fat-free chocolate pudding, and I walked around and took my blood pressure (105/65, pulse 82) and I read the Billings Gazette on the bench as a downpour erupted. After the energizing rain (the ions) subsided, I walked over to the packing and shipping store and sent a box of clothes to Florida. Liz and Robert went downtown, agreeing to meet me back at Wal-Mart in 75 minutes, at 5:15 PM. I walked down Coffeen Avenue to Wendys, where I had a salad bar and baked potato and I listened to All Things Considered on my Walkman as I read Sundays Denver Post. After leaving Wendys I was the only diner there I walked back to Buttrey, where I bought crudits, frozen veggies, sweet potatoes, fat-free brownies and diet ice cream. Liz and Robert were nearly half an hour late in picking me up, but I had the radio and newspaper and interesting-looking people to

stare at. We arrived before Gillian had our dinner ready. Tonight we had Mexican food, but all I had was an ear of corn (I have to eat it by scooping off the kernels because of the caps on my front teeth) and a taco with beans, chicken, tofu, lettuce and salsa. We had a pleasant meal with nice conversation. In Bucks cabin, I watched TV and was joined by Liz and then Agymah and Julie. When I left at 8:30 PM, I saw Margot coming back from a failed shoot at the town of Recluse shed left too late to get the good light, she told me. Once I put away the dishes from the dishwasher, as I had this morning after breakfast, I returned to my room. I no longer feel sick although this would be an ideal place to have a cold since I dont have to go anywhere or do anything. This evening I realized how comfortable and comforting it is to be here in Wyoming.

Saturday, May 23, 1998

11 AM. This weekend was supposed to be chilly and cloudy, but Ive just been sitting outside the School House, and the sun was baking down on me.

I made myself a pot of Constant Comment tea (the orange/ spice tea flavor) and put it in a big pitcher with lots of ice and aspartame, and I drank the tea as I read the Week in Review from last Sundays Times. With my time at Ucross running out, I doubt that Im going to find the hook with which I can organize Silicon Valley Diet although Id like to try. But I feel I can start making the transition from fiction writer to journalist. Perhaps one reason I have never been productive at artists colonies is that here I am supposed to be an artist. This could be silly rationalization, of course. Before my iced tea respite, I phoned Mom, who gave me Marcs phone number in Mesa. Ill call him soon. Mom said hell give me directions to his apartment from Sky Harbor. Im starting to get excited about seeing Phoenix even though people like Liz disparage it as a crowded, ugly city. As much as I can appreciate the solace of open spaces Wyoming provides, I really like crowded, ugly cities. Mom told me I hadnt gotten any important mail I told her to send anything that comes in the next week to Marcs house and said theyd had only one potential buyer look at the house this week.

A neighbor whos a real estate agent offered to sell the house for them, but Mom doesnt want to lose a percentage of the proceeds of a sale. Yet she says shes afraid to show the house alone, and that limits viewing times because Jonathan and Dad are usually at work. Dad wants to put an ad in the paper, but until my parents get around to doing anything, it talks a while. Judi Komaki sent a postcard before she left for Ragdale for a few weeks. Shell be making several international trips this summer, but most of the time shell be home in Manhattan so we can get together. Teresa forwarded my email off America Online, which I printed out. There wasnt much: both messages were from Brooklyn. Justin sent out a mass mailing (Dear Friends:) about a new short play of his that was developed at Chuck Maryans workshop. It was being presented as part of a bill of one-acts by the graduating class of the Neighborhood Playhouse. All the plays are directed by Chuck, but they took place over the past couple of weeks. Elihu said, Ive finally figured it out: youre a spy! The constantly changing jobs and careers and places are obviously a disguise geared to gaining to entrance to top secret government, corporate and philanthropic conspiracies.

Elihus going to the doctor and dentist as is the cat and hes reading, cleaning, and seeing if hes going to win election to the co-op board. Hes started to plan his annual fall trip to New Orleans. What a creature of habit. Teresa wrote that she and John are going to New Orleans in late June to meet up with Carly and Warren and the kids, so she hopes Ill be able to look after the house in Locust Valley while theyre gone although her parents said I could stay in Brooklyn again if I want to. Teresa and John are unhappy with their new Yuppie neighbors with kids that annoy Ollie. But hopefully the Yup family will be at their summer home in the Hamptons a lot. Martin and Sal are hosting a 75th birthday party for her mother this week, and after that Teresa will go to Fire Island. Her busy days are in July and one weekend in June. Shes planning on having a surprise 50th birthday party for John in mid-July when all his kids will be around, as will I. Claire is finished with school but hasnt gotten grades yet. On Monday the summer term at Nassau Community College begins, and shes taking two art courses there. It was good to get all the news from Teresa, as I miss her a lot. I will be glad when I can see her again. Her letter made me excited about being back in New York again, too.

Last night we had a pleasant dinner. Gillian is such a great cook. (Judi said to send her regards to Gillian, who made such delicious meals while Judi was in residence here.) After I cleaned up, I returned to my rooms, declining to go with the others for a walk. On my portable TV, I watched two silly ABC teen comedies on KOTA, the Rapid City station, and then fell into a long, deep sleep. Josh was in two of my dreams but I cant remember them now. Im going out to ride the bicycle for a while.

Tuesday, May 26, 1998

9:30 AM. Last night I got in about 10 PM from seeing a movie, so I decided not to write another exhausted diary entry and wait till this morning. I didnt know then, of course, that Id get a phone call from Jonathan at the School House this morning. Id gone back into bed after having breakfast and putting away the dishes when Pam knocked on my door. Hearing Jonathans voice on the phone, I knew it meant trouble. Heres the story: They havent been able to get in touch with Marc for

two days, so they called the Mesa police to check on him and they wanted to let me know in case I had to suddenly fly to Phoenix. They assume Marc ODd or had a heart attack. When I suggested that maybe hed just gone away for the weekend, I could hear Mom in the background saying Marc doesnt have the money for that. They talk to him every day on the phone (when I told this to Pam, she had what I consider the reaction of a normal person: Your parents talk to your brother every day?). Anyway, the phone call left me more furious than worried. Why do I have to have a mentally ill family? Well, the answer to that is, thats the breaks. I see so clearly how my own craziness was inevitable, given my background and what a miracle I accomplished getting as far as I have. If Marc is dead, Ill handle it. Yes, in the back of my mind, Id thought a tragedy like this was possible but I think my thinking that is a remnant of crazy Grayson-family thinking. If Marc is dead, at least Im glad he got away from them for the last weeks of his life. Now I understand better why I * 10:30 AM. Marcs phone was out of order. Liz called me while I was in the middle of the last sentence. She said, Everything is all right.

Jonathan told me that Marc was out when the police got there, but hed been home all weekend. Im almost giddy with relief right now, but its a good example how crazy my family is. But as Robert said, if it doesnt impact your life, you can look at it with a kind of detached amusement. I wonder if my family jumped to the conclusion that marc was dead because they dont believe he can survive away from them. One day, when my parents are gone, Ill be able to write about my family honestly. I think a lot of my writers block comes from my inability to do that now. I can write about my homosexuality but not about the mishigass of my parents and brothers. Marcs escaping is the best thing he could have done. Anyway, yesterday turned out to be a pleasant Memorial Day. At 1 PM, I squeezed into the front seat of Lizs truck with her and Margot and we took the dirt road all the way to Sheridan. It was like trekking across the desert to me, as we went through all this empty land. There are tiny towns like Ulm, which have maybe three or four houses far apart from one another. The dirt road pretty much follows the railroad tracks, and we saw two Burlington Northern freight trains with coal bins go by. And of course we passed lots of cattle.

Margot said that cattle rustling is profitable today and that ranchers probably looked upon us with suspicion because we were in a strange van on a dirt road. I had a little anxiety attack but managed to keep it under control, and once we got into Sheridan, I felt much better amid the streets of a city. We got to the rodeo grounds and were making our way to the best viewing area (hard to do pushing a wheelchair on a sandy stretch of ground) when the rodeos last event roping calves ended. So all I got to see were some cute teenaged boys in cowboy hats, Western shirts and tight dark Wranglers (boot cut) who had numbers on their backs; some handsome horses; and wellturned-out high school girls who also competed. I did notice they keep an ambulance nearby and that the arena has a number of ads for orthopedic surgeons. After I put gas in Lizs van and cleaned the dead bugs off the windshield, we took U.S. 87 south of Sheridan past ranches and the tiny towns of Banner and Story, onto dirt roads near the sites of the 1866 Fetterman Fight and the 1867 Wagon Box Fight and old Fort Phil Kearney. Then we stopped by Lake DeSmet cool and beautiful, with holiday fishing going on. Somehow the dirt roads connected with U.S. 14 outside Neltjes compound.

Home at 4 PM, I lay down and drifted in and out of sleep as I listed to All Things Considered. Gillian made a Memorial Day dinner for us on the grille: veggie/ quinoa burgers and steaks, corn, potato salad and strawberry shortcake. (I avoided the last two heavily caloric items, but Ive still gotten fat over the past month). Margot set up her camera on a tripod and timer and took a photo of all of us around the picnic table. It was a gorgeous evening. I went to Bucks after cleanup and watched TV, joined by Agymah and Liz. We saw a little of Wayne Wangs improvisational Blue in the Face (set in the same Park Slope cigar store as Smoke, it made me homesick for Brooklyn), and then we watched, on AMC, How to Marry a Millionaire, which I hadnt seen in years and years. * 9:30 PM. The rest of today turned out to be warm. The cottonwood was blowing again and these gorgeous little goldfinches have been around. Ive never been in a place with so many lilacs everywhere, either. After a month in Wyoming, Ive seen the seasons change. Now its warm enough so that at night were plagued by moths. Margot and Agymah left early this morning for Gillette, where they took a tour of the coal mine. When they got back, they reported it

was a lot of propaganda about how environmentally-friendly the whole process of strip mining is. But they said it was interesting to see the huge vehicles and machines that get the coal. Apparently it looks very clean. Wyoming, of course, is the biggest coal-producing state, but the price of coal has been so low lately, its impossible for mines to make a profit. Margot brought the mail from the office, and I got last Thursdays New York Times and a birthday card from Teresa and John, SASEs with info on the Drue Heinz and Flannery OConnor short story collection contests. I decided with the deadlines on both nearly here, Ill wait till next year to next year to enter. Spaghetti Language isnt going to win a contest; its more likely to attract an individual editor and publisher who gets its quirkiness. Most importantly in todays mail, I got my unemployment check and claim card, forwarded by Libby, who wrote that shes gotten over the flu. I filled out the claim card and made out a mail deposit of the check as I ate my lunch sandwich and carrot sticks. Then I went to Buffalo with Liz. Finally she showed me the Johnson County library, which had Netscape. If Id known they had an Internet connection, I would have gone there more often. I did a search of the Mercury News and was disappointed I couldnt find a

reference to my Grandma Sylvia article either on their site or on Nexis. At the post office I sent off my package (boxes of xeroxed papers) and other mail, and then at Rexalls, I found out I weighed 146, which means I havent gained that much while Ive been here although I do feel fatter. After getting a roll of quarters at the Bank of Buffalo and several newspapers from the racks, I walked to the IGA on Fort Street to buy a few groceries and then to the Sinclair station on Main Street, where I got a Diet Coke, which I sipped at the bench where I waited for Liz to pick me up. As we started driving back to Ucross, we heard a thunderstorm alert on the radio and could see dark clouds and feel cool breezes coming from south of town. By the time we got back to the ranch, the air was turbulent and the ozone energized me. For a while I played frisbee with the dogs and then, sure enough, a severe thunderstorm began, knocking out the power for a minute and causing hail to dance around the roof. The rain caused tonights ranch tour to be postponed until tomorrow at 2 PM, Sharon said as she joined us for dinner. On Friday were going on a day trip, either to Devils Tower or to Ten Sleep Canyon on the other side of the Big Horn Mountains.

Saturday, May 30, 1998

7 PM. Seeing the date, May 30, just now, reminded me that May fell on a Saturday in 1964 when I had the big bar mitzvah reception at the Deauville Beach Club. For some reason, I started talking about the affair last evening at dinner. Although it was thirty-four years ago, I remember a lot of that night, including hoping how I kept wishing it would end, knowing that it wasnt for me and seeing how ostentatious and ridiculous it was. I spoke to my parents last night, and all that did was make me wish I didnt have to stay with them after I leave Phoenix. Although I distinctly told Mom the last time we spoke that Id be heading up North after getting my stuff (and my head) together, she somehow assumed that I was going to be staying in Fort Lauderdale until I left for grad school in Maryland in August. The rage that I felt toward my parents when I lived in South Florida last fall is starting to return, but Ive got to remember that this visit is only temporary. As cold as it sounds, I dont want to see them very much from now on. Certainly Ill see them more often than Mom saw her parents. She can never criticize my lack of attention to her because Ill explain

that, like her, Im seeing my mother as much as I can. (Mom didnt see Grandma Ethel for the last four years of her life.) For my own mental health, I need to keep my distance in actual miles as well as emotionally. When I called Marc later, he said he liked Phoenix if only I can make a living here (an echo of Dads life-is-terrible credo). But Marc will do okay once he shakes himself from our parents and Jonathan. He said he could easily walk into a $7.50-an-hour job in a warehouse, but they tell him hes overqualified for some jobs and underqualified for others. Still, hes learning Microsoft Word and Excel at an employment agency (his lack of computer skills are a big handicap) and Im sure hell get something soon. The directions he gave me were different from those on the Web, but that may be because a new freeway, the 202, recently opened. I have an idea of how to get to his apartment from the airport, however. I received a letter from Thien that was very touching, most of all because his English is so tortured. He assumed I would forget him. Thien is happy because he met a 29-year-old gay Vietnamese man, and he hopes their friendship will become the love he so desperately wants. But he also wants to have an American friend to practice English with, though he thinks he

can never have a relationship with an American because of the communications barrier. Hes frustrated because in Vietnam, he was one of the best writers in his school, and in America, he knows he writes as if hes a child. I want to stay in touch with Thien and encourage his education. Thien expresses such a deep longing to return to Vietnam. With Californias referendum on abolishing bilingual education on Tuesday of course it will pass theres been a lot of talk about how todays immigrants dont want to give up their culture and language. But my great-grandparents who came to America as young adults a bit older than when Thien did, never really learned English, either. (My step-great-grandmother, Bessie Shapiro, must have come over as a teenager because she seemed very Americanized.) Bubbe Ita, who died when I was five, spoke mostly Yiddish and had no non-Jewish friends or even friends among Jews whod been in America since childhood or birth. Thiens young nieces and nephews will go to school here and will be at least as assimilated as my grandparents, Im sure. Of course, for my relatives unlike the Mexicans, Cubans, Haitians, Vietnamese and others who come to the U.S. now there was never any question of going back to the old country where they were persecuted.

In the summer of 1965, Grandma Sylvia remarked to me that she couldnt understand why Mom and Dad were going on a trip to Europe England, Italy and France since, she said, I couldnt wait to get out of there. Im going to put Thiens letter in Silicon Valley Diet, which is more of a series of notes toward a story than it is a story (but eventually Ill write it.) I still have lots to do before I leave Ucross.

Monday, June 1, 1998

8:30 PM. Ive just spent the last ninety minutes riding around Billings at sunset in my brandnew Chevy Blazer sports utility vehicle. Its so beautiful here. Riding along Rimrock Road, by the edge of the butte north of town, I went again to the western part of the city, where new development is taking place. Last night at Ucross, I didnt sleep well because my mind was too active thinking about my departure and my body was too active killing moths, which have gradually grown more numerous over the last weeks. Tonight in my room at the Hilltop Inn, I dont have to worry about moths, and if I have insomnia, well, eventually Ill sleep.

Up at 5 AM, I listened to NPR and had breakfast at 6:30 AM, and I was completely packed and ready an hour later, and I still had another hour before Sharon would arrive. So I chatted with my fellow residents for the last time, and on the School House porch they presented me with a birthday card (To Grandpa) and present: a biography of Bette Davis and a guide to U.S. First Ladies. How sweet. Pam took photos of all of us, and I kissed the women goodbye and shook hands with Robert and Agymah. Ill miss my Ucross friends and hope I can see them again. As Sharon drove me into town, she and I talked about Wyoming and she said I was perceptive to see past the romance of open spaces and cowboy legend because it is hard to live there: the isolation, the winds, the terribly harsh winters. At the bus station in a convenience store next to a motel off the Interstate, it took forever to get the tickets and then I had to wait because the bus was late. Watching two cops outside a motel room, I finally saw once I boarded the bus that they were bringing out a corpse in a body bag. As our joking driver said as we got on I-90, the guy must have gotten drunk and gone back to his motel room and beaten himself to death.

The trip to Billings took less than two hours, and the time passed quickly as they showed a video of Regarding Henry, a decent Mike Nichols film. Once we pulled into the Greyhound station most passengers were going on towards Seattle or Chicago on other buses I called Enterprise to pick me up and I got my luggage (security is stricter at the bus depot than it is at the airport, I noticed). The old man who fetched me at the airport five weeks ago drove the seven blocks to get me today, and because the SUV was the smallest car they had I suppose a Humvee would have been next I got that. After I checked in here and put my luggage away, I went right out, parking downtown at a meter and going to Wendys for a big salad bar and baked potato. Then I walked around Billings charming downtown. I love the people here, because theyre more diverse and so much hipper than those I saw in Wyoming. I could definitely live in Billings at least for the summer. At the library I got a brochure from the local HIV/ AIDS organization, and I see theres a gay community here, and a Jewish congregation, too. At the McCormick Caf, I got an iced tea and went on the Internet. Alice and Josh sent new messages, and I wrote both of them back and Gianni, too, though hes probably in Europe now. Alice says the

Richard Simmons Newsletter is doing very well and she recently sold two books, ending a long dry period. (She said nothing about my manuscript.) My story about Grandma Sylvia they titled it Grandma, Im Going to Make You a Star! appeared in the San Jose Mercury News last Thursday, and Im looking forward to seeing what the article looks like in print. I looked at other Web sites till my eyes hurt, and then I drove out to South 24th Street, where I got frozen yogurt at Baskin-Robbins, more iced tea at Barnes & Noble (I read the weekly Washington Post), and strolled around the Rimrock Mall. In the car I listened to NPR, and back in my room I had some black bean soup and an apple Id gotten at Buttrey before coming back here. After an hour or so, I went out again, cruising around the Montana State University-Billings campus and wandering the aisles of a K-Mart. The light here amazes me. Big Sky Country isnt merely a tourist bureau slogan. Tomorrows travel should be more hectic, plus Ill be going someplace Ive never been except for Sky Harbor airport where I spent a couple of hours exactly thirteen weeks before.

Tuesday, June 2, 1998

10 PM in Phoenix. Marc and I just made a trip t0 Target before it closed when I realized I couldnt sleep on the floor with only a blanket between me and the carpeting and with a tiny head pillow. So I got a sleeping bag and regular pillow for less than $25. Earlier, Id gone out to Albertsons with marc to buy $47 worth of groceries. Hed had almost nothing in the refrigerator. Mostly I bought what I eat, but I told Marc to buy anything he wanted, too. Hes got $50 and thats about it: no bank account, his credit cards are maxed out, and I hope I can give him some money. If he doesnt get something soon, Marc will take one of the $7-an-hour warehouse shipping jobs he can probably get. I dont expect to sleep tonight, both because of the discomfort and because Im jet-lagged and overtired and dizzy from flying. And from the climate change. It was 35 when I awoke in Billings at 5 AM and it was raining hard. I had my oatmeal and a banana and got back into bed and then exercised for half an hour with the weights. I went out at 8:30 AM and got some yogurt at Buttrey and then got iced tea at the McCormick Caf. Alice said via email that Michael Pietsch

at Little, Brown still has my book and shell call him next week. But of course its hopeless. The other email was, I finally realized, from Todd. Titled Your Billy Crystal Message, it referred to the movie City Slickers, about urbanites in cowboy country. Todd said I am on his dream vacation. He has the romantic ideas about ranches that I find so annoying, but its typical of Todd, who worshipped that Hemingwayesque idea of being a writer when we were in the MFA program. I sent out more emails and mailed postcards. After reading USA Today, I checked out of the Hilltop Inn, brought back the Chevy Blazer, and was driven to the airport. My flights were boring and a bit bumpy, but luckily I went right off one plane and out on another in Salt Lake City, and I did get a spectacular view of the Grand Canyon before landing in Phoenix. It was 100 here, and I knew I should have stopped off to get a drink before I left with my Hertz-rented Escort. I was already dehydrated, and here I was in the desert (but not a cultural desert: the first thing I did in Phoenix was buy todays New York Times), I felt dizzy and weak and got off the Superstition Freeway (U.S. 60) in Tempe, stopping for a large Diet Coke at a Burger King.

Once I was hydrated a little, I was still a bit shaky, so I drove to Marcs via the streets, past Arizona State University (I really would have enjoyed going there, and maybe someday I will be there) and east on University Drive. I found Marcs little bungalow without any difficulty. Its very bare, of course; my brother is terribly broke. There was a message from Christy Sanford, who told Marc she has very good news. I knew what it was, of course, but to make her feel good, I played dumb. Today the Literature Fellowship panel met in Tallahassee, and Christy and David Kirby pushed for me, and I got one of the eight grants. Now I have to figure out a way to keep my Florida address permanent. I cant let people know that Ill be in Maryland or that Ill be a student. If my parents were going to be staying in Florida, it would be easier. I think the grant money comes in September, and maybe Mom and Dad will still be in Fort Lauderdale. Well, I guess I should be excited. After all, $5,000 is $5,000, and it may be worth postponing grad school at Maryland for that but hopefully I wont have to. I got upset this morning when I called Florida Unemployment and heard that my check hasnt been issued yet, but this $5,000 will help keep me afloat. Its also recognition that Im a good fiction writer, ten years after my

last fellowship and seventeen years after my second one. Sat Darshan called her; Id emailed her Marcs number this morning from the McCormick Caf in Billings. Im going to go over and have dinner with her and her family tomorrow evening; it will be great to see her and to meet Ravinder and to see how the girls have grown. Marc and I have talked a lot. He doesnt know anyone here yet. Mostly we spoke about our parents mishigass: Dads negativity, Moms compulsiveness, Jonathans disconnection from reality.

Thursday, June 4, 1998

9 PM. Last evening I had no trouble finding Sat Darshans house in the Coronado District just north of downtown when I drove there yesterday. There was a note on the door, Im swimming, presumably written by Gurudaya, so I waited until Sat Darshan and Nazarpreet drove up. Sat Darshan is much thinner than she was when I last saw her in Florida at the end of 1995 or 1996. She said my hair looked shorter, though maybe it was my being clean-shaven that seemed different. I took my shoes off before entering their house, which is quite nice. Originally a side-by-side

duplex built in 1948 so the house is ancient by Phoenix standards it has three bedrooms. Gurujot came back from her summer job at the day care center at the Sikh Montessori school (where Sat Darshan used to work), and shes grown into a pretty, very thin 18-year-old: much like her mother was. Although I didnt gather this till alter, Ravinder is in New York, making money by driving a cab there when hes not striking, Sat Darshan said, referring to the taxi drivers protests against Giulianis new regulations. Sat Darshan took me on a tour of the house and out in the backyard, where they have a beautiful swimming pool that her father paid for. Tippy, the affectionate epileptic dog they adopted after their cat died in December, is adorable, and Sat Darshan took me on a stroll through the neighborhood as Tippy got walked. I noticed the sidewalks said 1942-USA-WPA, and even more remarkable than their age and provenance was their condition: like brand new. The neighborhood is a collection of Sikhs, rednecks, Yuppies, gays and bikers and to Sat Darshans surprise, its becoming fashionable and housing prices are climbing. Her father bought the house across the street and signed it over to Sat Darshan, Ravinder and Ellen, but they charge Nazarpreet only enough rent to cover their mortgage once they

add in the rental income from the little guest house behind it. Nazar is a lesbian and recovering alcoholic who is raising her two-year-old grandnephew Tyler, whos part of the Khalsa family. Ravinder and Sat Darshan are going to take in Tylers halfbrother or half-sister when the baby is born in September. Nazars niece Betty Lou, Sat Darshan explained as we sat outside for hours before I left at 9 PM, is a Jerry Springer show unto herself. Shes 19, had a baby (Tyler) by one guy, went to prison, got out and married a 15-year-old boy, left him, and shacked up with another guy who got her pregnant again. Although Nazar (Betty Lous biological aunt, but legally her half-sister since Nazars mother and stepfather adopted Betty Lou when she was abandoned by her mother, their daughter) had stepped in to raise Tyler, Betty Lou got mad and sued for custody, which she got as birth mother. Then she promptly abandoned the baby, dumping him back with Nazarpreet. Sat Darshan was going to adopt the new baby, but theyve decided on a guardianship and the state will pay for the babys medical expenses and a little more. I went out with Sat Darshan and her daughters to Chicos Tacos, in a new shopping center that also brought not only an Abco supermarket but a Starbucks, Einstein Bros. Bagels, a video

store and a McDonalds within walking distance of their house. I was very impressed with Gurujot and Gurudaya, both of whom seem bright, cheerful and well-mannered but also funny and pleasantly normal. Later, as we discovered the anti-bilingual education proposition had passed in California, Sat Darshan told me that total immersion in English worked for her daughters. When they first arrived, nobody they knew spoke Tamil except people in a South Indian restaurant in Manhattan, and within a year, both girls learned English. Early on, at the suggestion of a counselor whod adopted foreign kids herself, Sat Darshan taped them singing in Tamil, and today Gurujot and Gurudaya cant understand a single word of the tape. Gurujot, like her mother is a year behind the grade she should be in, so shes going back to school in India as a twelfth-grader. But later Sat Darshan told me how the hardest thing for her this summer is realizing that because her daughter is 18, she has to refrain from talking to her like shes a child. Last year, Sat Darshan said, she found herself saying something she cant remember what to the girls as they were sitting on the couch, and it was her own mothers voice that came out of her: So I went to the bathroom, looked

myself in the mirror, slapped my face, and came out and apologized, telling her daughters, Sorry, I was just channeling Grandma. Only yesterday did the state of Arizona approve her fathers nursing home care for coverage by ALTCS Arizona Long-Term Care System (the state doesnt have Medicaid), which was the end of a horror of keeping every scrap of paperwork over the past three years. God, it was great to see Sat Darshan. At dinner she told the girls (who of course didnt remember me) how she and I met in college but how she used to see me and Marc wearing suits and looking weird on the porch of Grandma Sylvias house with those steep steps on Snyder Avenue in Brooklyn, across from where she and her family lived. Ill see her again, of course, but I probably wont accept her offer to stay over on Friday night, as it took only twenty minutes to get back to Mesa on AZ-202, the new Red Mountain Freeway and I was able to sleep very soundly in my sleeping bag last night, making up for lost hours of slumber and dreams. I had a pleasant, if uneventful 47th birthday today. By phone, I learned that my unemployment check was issued yesterday. I paid some of my credit card bills in advance, as well as Marcs first electric and phone bills.

When he got the mail at 3 PM, I could see how upset he got upon seeing them, wondering where hed get the money, so I just wrote out checks and mailed them off. Its no big deal, and I know what a horrible feeling it can be not to be able to pay utility bills. We went out at 6 PM to Mesas Dobson Ranch Park and sat on the grass for their regular Thursday evening summer concert. Tonights show featured a mainstream jazz group who were very good. The day was exceptionally cool, with a high of only 84: just perfect weather. I speed-read the New York Times for the past three days, and when I found myself crying as I read the detailed coverage of Barry Goldwaters funeral in the Arizona Republic, that spurred me to get out the computer after I returned from Borders and to begin a story titled My Life with Barry Goldwater. I took a drive to trendy downtown Tempe. I would have loved Arizona State. (Sat Darshan said that Gurujot will go to a cheaper community college, and by the way, she may get engaged to a boy she met at school in India who lives in L.A.) At the P.O. in downtown Mesa, I bought a mailing box, and later I sent my winter jacket and other clothes to Teresa and Johns house in Locust Valley.

Well, thats my 47th birthday report. Three years to AARP membership eligibility, the big half-century mark but that will be a different century from this one, so it seems very far away. This last year has been great.

Wednesday, June 10, 1998

8 PM. Marc got sick today, so Im glad I stayed on. Today I started to feel better, though thats a relative term. Still, Im not sorry I got a cold and am staying in Phoenix an extra week. With the unseasonably cool weather here, its much more pleasant than hot and muggy South Florida. In the past week Ive experienced daily life in Phoenix and Ive spent this week with Sat Darshan. This is sort of a way to reenter real life gently after the warm cocoon of Villa Montalvo and Ucross. Yesterday I felt so awful that I decided I might as well go out. I had done a few things on the computer earlier, and so I went to Kinkos and printed out, emailed and got on AOL. I did that this afternoon, too, and I also went to the Tempe library to get on the Web again this morning.

John Childrey Jr., the Liberal Arts coordinator at Florida Atlantic University-Broward in Davie, replied to my query: How are you at teaching fiction? I responded so excitedly that I pressed the send button down too long and sent out eight copies of the same message. On AOL, I attached my adjunct vita and sent it to the Florida International University English Department head, and I submitted Old Songs to the slick Webzine Pug. Also, I printed out my rsum and a cover letter to send to that criminology professor at FAU for the Juvenile Justice Education Project and I sent a letter to Dean Stewart at the University of Maryland, telling him I need to defer my admission to the journalism program till next summer, if thats possible. Gianni phoned Mom last night. She told that to Marc, but Gianni were on email, too; he says he has a lot to tell me and wants to see me when I get to Florida. I emailed other friends as well, and I checked Lexis/Nexis and printed out a shorter, more focused version of my bank merger article for a Local Opinion column in the Boca Raton News. (Who knows if they even have the page one guest columns anymore?) This evening, in the Mesa library, I used the CD-ROM databases to print out articles about AirTouch, where Marc has a second interview tomorrow. AirTouch is a beeper/pager/cell

phone/PCS communications company, and from five retail stores, theyre expanding to forty and they need managers. Marc was telling me about the company and that theyd call by Monday if hed get a second interview, and when the phone rang today, I knew it was Airtouch. Marc had two other interviews today, and hes got a two-hour session with Circle K tomorrow, just before his second Airtouch interview. I know hell be feeling awful, if my own virus is like his, but I guess hell manage okay. I did offer to drive him to Phoenix and wait for him if he feels too ill to drive. Basically, this is a cold virus, and the only worry I have is getting labyrinthitis or sinusitis and the dizziness they cause. I was very dizzy last night, and though I desperately needed sleep, I couldnt drop off until 1 AM. I got up around 6 AM and exercised lightly to Body Electric (the TV show may be less vigorous than the impromptu exercises Ive been doing since I left Florida) and then got back into bed instead of rushing out as I did yesterday. Despite my illness, or because of it, the days here have seemed as filled as were the six days I spent in Los Angeles. In Borders this morning, as I drank blackberry-sage iced tea and read the New York Times, I realized how lucky Ive been to have had the experiences of the last three and a half months.

Being out West has changed me, though Im not certain how. When I got home from the bookstore, I got a call from the New York Times, which is going to print the letter I sent them on Sunday about food vendors. An op-ed article stated that street vendors in Manhattan arose because the cheap, quick lunches once available from cafeterias, Irish bars and other inexpensive restaurants, have disappeared. My letter pointed out that there are fast-food restaurants all over Manhattan and takeout sandwiches and salad bars available in delis and groceries as well. I will be thrilled to see my name in tomorrows Times or in a future issue with the Mesa, Arizona address after it. It has been a while: the Times rejected my last five or six letters. After the Mesa library, I went to Albertsons to get groceries for me and Marc. Despite my sleeping bag, Ive pretty much made myself at home here which is what I wanted to do: make myself at home wherever I am. The difference between the way I travel and the way someone whos a tourist travels, is that Ive definitely thought of Ucross, Montalvo, Libby and Grants house, and Marcs apartment as home, albeit temporary. I talked to Sat Darshan at the office this morning and again after she got home from work.

Saturday, June 13, 1998

10 AM. Im still nauseated, though it comes and goes and is a strange kind of nausea that could almost be mistaken for hunger for sugary stuff, especially. I havent vomited, but I almost hope I do because then at least Id get momentary relief and Id finally face my fear of vomiting. Marc came home from Prescott and Flagstaff impressed with the beauty of the drive into the mountains, and he decided to go to Prescotts flea market for the weekend. I didnt want him to go, both because I didnt want to be sick alone and because I was afraid hed become ill with nausea like I did while he was away. But theres no dissuading my headstrong brother. He might sleep in the car in Prescott tonight. I felt better after writing yesterdays entry and I took a drive at 3 PM then. At Kinkos, I got on the Web and AOL for eight minutes to check my email. Guess what? Those Old, Dark, Sweet Songs which Id submitted on Wednesday was taken by the editor

of Pug, a Rome-based Gen X webzine. And they said the issue will be up by the end of the month. So much easier than the work and expense of submitting to little magazines and Im more sure that this webzines issue with my story will actually appear, unlike the here-today, gonetomorrow print magazines. But that was the only good news I had. I felt okay last night, and I even fell asleep at 10 PM, but I woke up at 1 AM feeling sick to my stomach and I stayed awake for hours. Maybe its the mucus in my stomach. Maybe, by coincidence, I have two distinct illnesses: an ordinarily cold plus something wrong with me thats causing the nausea. If I had just the cold, Id be fine, as it doesnt seem to have gotten worse. I didnt tell Marc yesterday or last night that I felt sick. Perhaps I should have. Today is the second day I havent exercised, but how could I? I wont even get the New York Times today. I did go out to Smiths at 7 AM and bought a digital thermometer because I had chills and figured I had a fever, but I registered only 99.0F. When I called my parents, they told me to go to a doctor, but Ill wait until Monday. If all this is, is a virus, theres nothing a doctor can do. I know I wont be flying back on Tuesday: I cant risk it and Im too scared to go on a plane

feeling this sick. I think Ill delay making a new flight until if? I start to feel better. I dont know how Im going to get through this. * 2 PM. When I called Sat Darshan, she said, You have the nauseous cold. The nauseous cold is what her co-workers who have had this bug have called it. She said Id probably feel better by tomorrow, but right now I think Im going to die. I wish I had warned Marc, and I worry about his getting it in Prescott and being too sick to travel. Sat Darshan said Marcs an adult and I have to let him make his own decisions. My mistake is probably in trying to eat whenever the nausea subsides, for then I get sick again. I had bread and cheese an hour ago, and since then Ive been really sick. I did go out to Albertsons to get the papers, though I could barely skim them. I just sat out on the front step, and its pleasant in the shade although they predict a high of 98 today. I only hope the nauseous cold is all Ive got. Like Sat Darshan said, you cant be nauseous forever. This is gross, but I know its coming out in my excrement. I guess I just need to flush this out of my system and Im sucking on ice cubes so I

dont get dehydrated. Lets hope I get through this.

Sunday, June 14, 1998

6 PM. Yesterday I felt sicker than I can ever remember. I learned that Id be better off if I could vomit because then at least I would have gotten more immediate relief from my nausea. Im still queasy, and I ate lightly, but I havent felt yet, anyway that pervasive nausea that I had all day yesterday. It waxed and waned, and around 5 PM, I thought it was passing, but then it came back. Of course, being nauseated for such a long time taught me that I could feel that sick and not be in a state of panic. I watched In the Name of the Father, a good film which took my mind off my illness. Then I got into Marcs bed, but the nausea had me back in the bathroom. Yet finally I fell asleep and I had my first sound sleep in a week. And after I awoke, at 6 AM, I felt rested, if wan, and the nausea had mostly subsided. That was what Id hoped for, but the queasiness returned after I ate. In fact, right now, after a veggie burger, some vegetables and a cup of frozen yogurt, I feel kind of sick sick enough so that Id ordinarily be very agitated.

When the woman at the Borders counter where I bought the Sunday Times asked the perfect question, How are you? I told her, Im getting over the nauseous cold. Oh, everyone in the store has had it, she said. Some people just get queasy and some get really sick. Marc hasnt gotten the nausea yet but he said he felt really flu-ish this morning, with swollen glands and congestion and body aches. But it passed, and although he did only $37 yesterday, he did over $100 today still not very good, but better than he did at the flea market last week. I read a great article in The Atlantic on the Southern right-wing capture of the GOP while I sipped iced tea at Borders, and then I bought the New York Times (Republican presidential hopefuls in Iowa are indeed playing to the wingnuts, and hostility to gay people and abortions seems to be their main strategy) and read some more until I began to feel a little too queasy. Back home, I exercised very lightly and read more. I revised my bank name article again and went to Kinkos to send it to the New York Times as a From the Desk Of column in their Sunday Money & Business section. On AOL I got an IM from Camille in Fire Island. Her daughter just had a baby girl yesterday, so I congratulated the new grandmother. Later I

called Fire Island and left a message for Teresa. At this point Im not going to be able to get to Long Island before Teresa and John leave for New Orleans next Tuesday, so Ill have to come after they return. Mom said she still hasnt gotten my unemployment check from Libby. I should have called Libby anyway by now, and Ill call her tomorrow. I did have the pleasure of seeing my story in the prototype of Pug on the Web; Brad, the editor, asked me to proofread it, and I printed out. Its got a lot of graphics, including tame homoerotic drawings of a black man and a white man. Its kind of different for me, but who knows? Maybe identity literature will give my career as a gay writer a boost. Yeah, right. Well, its always nice to see a new story in print. I may have produced only one published story at Ucross, but it was published in record time. I bought Dad a fathers Day card at Kinkos and mailed it before I came home. Yet again I changed my flight, to a week from tomorrow, and I extended my car rental for another week. Hopefully Ill feel better by then, and I can enjoy Phoenix a little more and not associate it so much with my illness; Ill end up spending three weeks here.

Well, the world has been continuing while Ive been ill. There are more signs that Asias economic troubles are really bad: Japan is in a recession, if not a depression, and I expect therell be a real slowdown in the U.S. next year and the Year 2000 problem will make the world economy even worse.

Thursday, June 18, 1998

9 PM. Yesterday afternoon I lay down for a while, and after I ate some dinner at 5 PM, I drove into Phoenix to visit Sat Darshan. I bought that talking silly slammer which seemed to amuse Gurujot and Gurudaya. Sat Darshan and I walked Tippy, and it was nice to see more of her neighborhood. A gay couple shes friendly with were getting into their car with a female friend, and the guys stared at me as if I looked decent. After being ill, that makes me feel good. I played with Tippy, who lets me rub her belly the way China does. Sat Darshan and I talked about my family, and I told her about the anger I feel toward my parents. She said that this fall it will be three years since her mother died, and only now is she starting to feel like she would want to talk to her mother sometimes.

Because she felt very tired, I left at 7:30 PM; Ill go over there again before I leave, probably over the weekend. Driving back, I took the Rio Salado Parkway north of Sun Devil Stadium and just south of the dry Salt River; it was such a pretty night, as all nights in the desert have been. Before coming home, I stopped at Frys, a big supermarket and drugstore. God knows why I so enjoy being in supermarkets. I slept well and exercised more vigorously this morning. But Im still very congested and I continue to blow my nose all day. After sitting and reading the paper in Borders, I went next door to the CompUSA store when it opened at 10 AM to see if I could get the modem fixed. I probably should have done this in California, but I had no way to use the modem at Villa Montalvo anyway. The boy at the service counter at CompUSA was uncomprehendingly obnoxious and he said theyd call me when it was ready, probably on Saturday and then dismissed me. I pointed out that he didnt take my phone number, and that just seemed to annoy him. This rude treatment brought back all my regrets about going to those Notebook City crooks back in Sunrise just before I left Florida. After lunch at home, I returned to the area around the Fiesta mall and went to the 1:15 PM showing of The Truman Show at a multiplex. The film was clever in its critique of our media-

soaked lives but ironically, the media hype about it had revealed so much that nothing that happened was surprising. If Id seen it cold, I might have been blown away. It reminded me a little of the 1960s British series The Prisoner with Patrick McGoohan. All Things Considered comes on the radio at 3 PM here, so it was on the car radio when the movie let out and I listened to the news until dinner. Mom called, telling me that Dr. Larry Brandt of Nova had phoned to ask if I wanted to courses that begin in mid-August. I left a message on his voice mail and will try to get him tomorrow; of course Ill take the classes. I couldnt get off the phone with Mom without her again going on about how Marc better get a job. Shes also upset that nobodys called back and said, You dont know. . . and then said that Jay, Marcs ex-boss and ex-friend, is probably telling prospective employers bad things about Marc. When I hung up, I thought, cruelly but honestly: Sometimes I wish she were dead. I have such hostility toward my mother that I dont even want to write about it. Instead, Ill write that Marc and I went for the third week in a row to the Dobson Ranch Park concert this evening. Because its much hotter now, with todays high over 100 (though the humidity was 12%, lower than Ive ever

experienced), there was a smaller crowd. Still, the jazz band was pretty good, and it was bearable to sit in the shaded part of the grass. When we came home, I watched a Seinfeld episode I hadnt seen before. If my family no longer lived in South Florida, Id be more looking forward to going back there. At least Ill touch base with Patrick and Gianni and Nova and FAU and other schools. I can go to New York as soon as Ive done that. I cant understand why Im still so congested, but Im grateful I no longer feel queasy. But of course I half-expect the nausea to return. Somehow I imagine Ill be sick this Saturday the way I was last Saturday.

Friday, June 19, 1998

9 PM. A couple of hours ago I went to a talk by the author of There Are No Accidents: Synchronicity and the Stories of Our Lives. The guy, a Berkeley therapist, made a lot of sense talking about Jungs concept of synchronicity and how we make our lives meaningful by using the consciousness that happens particularly at moments of transition when were most open. Marc got a call from AirTouch Cellular, and he starts working there on Monday morning.

Marcs first day of work is an example of synchronicity. I was here to help him through the hardest three weeks. It will be a challenge for him after this, of course, but at least hell have the stability of a job and steady income. Now that hes got the job, Im sure hell also get the job offer at another place: CircleK, that check-cashing store, or Dillards. Naturally Marc feels relieved. At AirTouch, theyd been waiting for the drug tests, which finally came in today. And all Moms gloom and doom talk was hogwash. I feel part of Mom wants Marc to fail, so she can go on believing he needs to depend on her. Anyway, I do believe that it was all to the good that I got sick and had to postpone my departure twice. Before 6:30 AM today, I called Larry Brandt and accepted the two Monday and Tuesday night eight-week classes. Theyre Argumentative Writing for Business, so I guess that two new clusters are starting in the Fort Lauderdale area. That also might mean they could be canceled, but if they both run, that would give me an income for eight weeks of about $350 a week, and thats just for two nights. Im sure I can get as many classes as I can handle for the fall. Ive taught Argumentative Writing enough by now to do it my sleep.

When I phoned Unemployment, I learned that a check for $576 was issued yesterday, so if Im lucky, I will get it by a week from Monday, before I leave Fort Lauderdale for New York. After I spoke with Teresa this past weekend she was busy catering several parties I made a flight for the day after she and John come back from New Orleans. Im flying from Fort Lauderdale to LaGuardia on Tuesday, June 30 last year on that date I flew to LaGuardia from Chicago and going back on Monday, August 10, a week before I begin teaching at Nova. That will give me six weeks in New York. I found the flights when I surfed the Web at the Tempe library this morning. The Delta roundtrip costs a little more, but Ive got more miles invested in their frequent flyer program. After the library, I went to Smiths supermarket at the center on Main Street and Alma School, reading the Times at Einstein Bros. Bagels before doing grocery shopping. Marc had told me this morning that the guy from AirTouch had asked him to stay by the phone today, and just before I walked into his apartment, I hoped he would have the job. And he did. Hell be working at their headquarters and main store to start. Its on 17th Avenue (avenues run west of Central) and Northern in Phoenix. Right now theres a cellular phone war in Phoenix, with AirTouch, Sprint, AT&T and

another company offering all kinds of low-cost plans. The PCS and cell phone costs have gotten so low that I think Im going to get one. Up till now, I had considered it a luxury. At least for now, the cell phone business is exploding, and the experience on the job will help Marc even if hes under a lot of pressure to make sales. At the southern Tempe shopping center where the Changing Hands Bookstore, where I went to the author lecture, I found a Trader Joes, a California institution Ive gotten fond of. Nearby there was also a Whole Foods Market. Dont ask me why I love supermarkets, but its not such a vice to spend money in them as it is at high-priced stores or the new Casino Arizona that just opened across the Salt River at the Salt River Maricopa-Pima Indian Community (all they are poker tables, the only gambling the state cant regulate away). I dont know Phoenix itself that well, but Im familiar with Mesa and Tempe and the East Valley after three years here oops, I mean three weeks. I guess the slip is understandable. It seems to me that the car culture and big box store shopping centers of the East Valley are exactly like those in the West San Fernando Valley in L.A., and parts of Silicon Valley, West Broward, and streets in every Sun Belt town and city: Archer Road in Gainesville, College

Avenue in Ocala, Coffeen Avenue in Sheridan, S. 24th Avenue in Billings, etc. Only the downtown areas retain any distinctive characters. Tonights lecture made me think about another synchronicity: my Dark Songs story. I wrote it because Rick Peabody notified me about a sex and chocolate anthology, I submitted it to the webzine Pug on pure impulse, and just as their issue was going to print, they took it even though they usually dont want fiction. It went from creation to publication in just five weeks. And theres also the synchronicity of my finding out I got the Florida fellowship the day I arrived in Arizona. Now I need to get to bed so I can get up early. Marc is going to the flea market in Prescott and I need to go with Sat Darshan to the auto mechanic in Phoenix so she can leave her car there and I can go back home with her.

Tuesday, June 23, 1998

8 PM. Due to jet lag, my body and brain werent functioning very well today. I didnt exercise, but I feel as if Im sore from a workout; its probably from lugging my luggage yesterday.

I fell asleep at midnight, work up at 2 AM and stayed awake till 6 AM, and then I fell into a coma-like sleep which I couldnt rouse myself from until 9:30 AM. I did manage to accomplish a few things today. First, I made an ATM deposit of my unemployment check and Ucross refund. Libby sent a photo of Wyatt and Lindsay from the Daily News of Los Angeles and wrote that theyre going on a two-week camping trip so they wont get my last check and my packages until they return. But I went to Unemployment on Oakland Park Boulevard and waited in line for an hour, finally changing my address from Woodland Hills to Fort Lauderdale. By tomorrow I should be able to claim benefits over the phone system. Needing caffeine, or thinking I did, I went to Barnes & Noble and got iced tea and the New York Times, and I read about yesterdays Supreme Court decisions at their caf. From there, my next stop was the Nova library, where I checked my email. Josh was offended when I said I was too busy to meet his friend, and Alice couldnt figure out where I was. Upstairs at the BPM office, Shelly told me that Larry Brandt had gone out to lunch and Micki told me that I had lost weight. The regular Nova undergraduate fall schedules dont seem to be out yet, nor are the FIU or FAU schedules. John Childrey wasnt in his office at the FAU

Liberal Arts Building across the street at Broward Community College. The BCC schedule is out, but there seem to be very few TBA English sections, and I think I would be better off working in an office during the day than teaching. Last night I got upset when I read my FAU Creative Writing students evaluations, which are the worst Ive ever received. Students felt they learned nothing. Still, there were too many students in that class and of course most of them were education majors with no interest in creative writing themselves, taking the class because it was required. Also, the three-times-a-week, fifty-minute schedule doesnt work. With no lead time to prepare, I did the best I could with that horrible group of students. No wonder Dan Murtagh didnt reply to my email. Ill probably never teach at FAU again, though my ENG 1102 evaluations were much better (You couldnt find a better teacher, one wrote). Still, my confidence in my teaching ability has been shaken a bit though I know I do better with adult students like those in the BPM program at Nova and night classes at FAU. This afternoon I went to Publix to buy frozen fruits, vegetables and dinners, and I xeroxed

the Mercury News article about the Sylvia Ginsberg fan club. Im vaguely getting used to being around my family, but theres a definite coolness on all our parts. When I called Alice in New York and told her what was going on, she said my family never learned to separate and she expects my parents and brothers will all end up living together in Phoenix. Mom seems ignorant of the simplest logistics of selling this house before they move to Arizona. She rebuffed my suggestion that they get a real estate broker and got angry when I said I wouldnt help her revise the leaflet she has outside next to the For Sale by Owner sign. They seem in no hurry to move. I wont detail all the ways my mother gets on my nerves because Im certain I get on hers in just as many ways. Tonight I spoke to Gianni as he and Alejandro were preparing dinner. He really loved the vacation the two of them took in Spain, and he prefers, as any sane person would, the quality of life in Madrid and Barcelona to that in Miami and Baltimore. Work is okay, Gianni said, but he is not any more taken with South Florida than he was before I left, and their long-range goal is to move somewhere else.

Theres a lot more I could write, but Im too tired to do it now.

Friday, June 26, 1998

10 PM. Even though Ive been on Eastern Time for four days, Im still struggling to get up in the morning, and I tend to go to bed later than usual. Last night, of course, I didnt get home from the movies (The X-Files, at the Fox Sunrise not bad, and Im not a fan of the TV show) till after 10 PM. And tonight Ive just come from Kinkos. Rather than use my printer and get Mom any more discombobulated, I rented a computer there to print out some letters Id written earlier and sent out my rsum via email to a job opening as information manager at the Sun-Sentinel. While I was on AOL, Camille IMd me and said she hopes to see me in New York. Two of my letters were to the University of Maryland. Today I got a new letter from the dean, admitting me for the spring 1999 semester, but I accepted for the summer 1999 semester, and I hope that will be okay. I also sent the registrar written cancellation of my fall registration so I dont get billed for it.

I also printed out a two-page letter to Thien. Its been over a month since I got his heartfelt letter from San Jose, and Ive felt bad about not writing him sooner. After I exercised this morning, I went to Barnes & Noble and nursed a couple of glasses of iced tea as I read the Times, starting with their four pages of yesterdays Supreme Court decisions. I read the excerpts from the opinions, and later, at Novas library, I printed out the full text of the decision upholding the decency provision in National Endowment for the Arts grants. (The Court construed it to be so vague and hortatory that it didnt discriminate against any viewpoints.) On the Web, I saw that Justin Clouse had decided to take his diary offline so he can live his life away from the public. I think thats very healthy for him, and I wish him the best. Basically, I didnt exchange more than a few words with anyone in my family today, though its hard to tell if thats normal for them or what. I was in and out all day, going to the West Regional Library, to Wendys for a baked potato and then to Kinkos. I feel very uncomfortable when I leave this room. Just to hear the way Dad talks to Mom disturbs me, as when they brought their dinner home from wherever; he screeches at her.

They all screech here. I am not used to people talking that way. It reminds me of the way Grandpa Nat and Grandma Sylvia used to scream at one another all the time and not have any awareness of what they were doing. I cant imagine hearing people talk like that at Montalvo or Ucross or at Libby and Grants house or at Sat Darshans. Unfortunately, its very easy for me to slip back into that mode. No wonder why my parents and Jonathan dont have any friends; they dont know how to talk with people. The Florida Cultural Affairs Division newsletter arrived today, and I see that the Florida Arts Council is scheduled to vote on all the grant panels recommendations at its July 23 meeting. After that, I guess, Secretary Mortham has to give her final approval, and then theyll send out letters to grant recipients in August. Last year the first press reports appeared around August 22. So it may be a couple of months before the official word comes. When my first fellowship came in 1981, I read about it in the Herald at breakfast, and the Heralds Broward section did a story on me. In 1988, there was no publicity about my fellowship, but I was in New York City and happy to keep a low profile. This ear Ill probably fax the grant letter to the media because Id like to be profiled and

interviewed. Except for my Boca Raton News columns and the Herald Black History Month essay contest, Ive been out of the public eye this year.

Monday, June 29, 1998

9 PM. Im going to bed after writing this, as I have to be at the airport around 7 AM. Teresa called this evening and said shed be at LaGuardia at 11 AM. Im looking forward to seeing her and to getting out of this nuthouse. Whats really scary is that if I stayed here long enough, I might think that the behavior of my family was normal. That sounds snotty, but they are sick. None of them has friends or wants any, it seems, and they just sit around together in front of the TV set. I had lunch with Aunt Sydelle today, and whatever her faults, at least she has a social life and outside interests. My parents are not simply cranky old people; theyre bizarre. Why Mom never visited or phoned her mother or brother, much less her in-laws, is beyond me, and I dont know why Dad never visits his sister, either. The last time Sydelle saw Dad, she told me, was when I drove her to the hospital last October after his heart attack. Of course, Sydelle has a fear of driving to Broward, so he would have to come to her.

She showed me the photos of Amys bat mitzvah; all Scotts kids got big, and Michael is nice-looking but getting close to thirty. Sydelle gave me Michaels grandfathers number in Bayside and the number where shell be staying with her niece in Manhattan, as well as Robins number in San Pedro. Even if Id called her while I was in L.A., Robin might not have answered. Shes on SSI because of her mental problems. On the other hand, Sydelle mentioned that when Dad had his heart attack, she called the Littmans, who phoned Dad and reported back that he was very unfriendly. I can just imagine. Both Aunt Sydelle and I spent our lunch at a deli telling each other stuff neither of us wanted to get back to Dad. At least she has Scott, whos a fabulously successful lawyer she doesnt realize how successful he is, plus hes got a good marriage and three great kids. Sydelle complains that Scotts wife is cold to her and Scott is always getting exasperated with her. (I can imagine.) Shes also close with her cousins on both sides of her family, her Anenberg in-laws, and her surviving aunt and uncle. I actually enjoyed my two-hour lunch with Sydelle. My parents and Jonathan never go out for lunch, of course.

Last night I called Marc, whod gone to Prescott for the weekend and did even less business than he had the week before: virtually nothing. God knows why he went to the flea market after a first week of work during which he felt overwhelmed by the information about cell phones that he had to learn. AirTouch offers no kidding 4,153 different plans to its customers. Marc took a test on Friday and got 52 of the 60 questions right, and today he begins working at their Mesa store at Alma School and Broadway, just a hop, skip and jump away from his house, saving him the commute to Phoenix. The electric company was threatening to shut off his service, but Marc hopes to give them a token payment. His first paycheck tomorrow will have to go to his July rent and of course it wont cover that in full. Hopefully Marc will thrive away from our parents. He did say that AirTouch seems to treat its employees well, and Im not used to that. Theyve given him an alphanumeric pager, of course. This morning I went to the cybercaf and wrote Sat Darshan about my week in Florida. She said to give her regards to Teresa and the other old New York friends she remembers. In the mail I got my JCPenney First Visa secured card, with a $300 credit line; thats the $300 money order I sent out as a deposit from

Phoenix. Today I sent out a $150 deposit to increase my credit limit on another secured card, from FCNB. These secured cards may be stupid, but theyre forced me to put away about $5600 in savings accounts. I got home from Aunt Sydelles in Aventura by 4 PM and finished the packing Id begun this morning. For the first time in years, Im taking only one suitcase to New York. I took two suitcases to San Jose and from there to Los Angeles to Wyoming and Phoenix and back to Florida although of course I needed more clothes for the change in weather. But I still ended up taking too much stuff. Better that I buy things I need in New York than take extra crap with me.

Wednesday, July 1, 1998

9 PM. Teresa went out tonight to have dinner with her sister and cousins. On her way to Manhasset she was going to make a stop at the nursing home to see her grandmother first Teresa dropped me off at the Farmers Bazaar supermarket on Forest Avenue in Glen Cove. Originally Id thought that it was too far to walk, but actually it was good exercise, maybe a mile and a half. I bought some groceries and came back, listening to NPR on my Walkman as I strolled in comfortable 72 weather.

When I got back, I was energetic enough to put the food in the refrigerator and pantry, feed Ollie, and then walk to the closer Gristedes, past Teresas birch Hill Road house, and buy some frozen items. John and Claire had pasta and broccoli for dinner and invited me to join them on the deck, so I did. Sometimes I feel awkward with them; after all, they didnt know me two years ago, Im Teresas friend, and here I am living in their familys house. Teresas husband and stepdaughter are easy to talk to, but I do feel a bit like a moocher sometimes, and I wish I could do more to contribute to the household. Unfortunately, I cant cook, and Im bad at all the house maintenance chores that are so necessary in a big place like this. Of course, all three of them excel at those chores. This morning I went with Teresa to the post office and got the Times the New York edition has like seven sections! and then I accompanied her on a series of errands. We went to the Ford dealer to discuss her leasing another Villager minivan from them when her current lease ends next month and then dropped off some stuff left by a groom at his mothers Old Brookville house, which had spectacular grounds (and most impressively, an indoor swimming pool).

Our next stop was Martin Viette nurseries, where Claire has worked for years. Teresa got some flats if not for Teresa, Id never know what flats were, or the difference between annuals and perennials for her garden, using Claires discount. Back home, we had lunch, and I went upstairs to look at my bill statements. I filled out a form trying to get an extended student loan deferment from Sallie Mae, and I called for another form from the DOEs Direct Loan program. I also sent out payments in advance of receiving the credit card statements I should be getting soon. And I sent in another $100 for a credit line increase on my original FCNB MasterCard, which now has a $4350 credit limit. While my life is nowhere as complicated as Teresa and Johns, I guess my (mostly secured) credit cards are nearly as complicated as they were in the days a decade ago when I lived off my cash advances. Still, Ive been paying only cash this past week or so, and Im going to get cash advances from my Amoco cards and not my MasterCards and Visas. Besides, my PIN numbers were in my lost address book, and I cant remember them. Im pretty certain my address book will turn up somewhere in my parents house.

Teresa and I went out to Taco Bell for some giant cups of Diet Pepsi which we drank on the deck. After she left, I called Alice and also for Cousin Michael at his grandfathers, leaving messages for both. I think I can reconstruct nearly all my New York City friends addresses through the Internet or my email or in some other fashion. The problem is with unlisted people like Ronna and Calvin, or Scott Koestner. On the XY message board I posted something that told people where they could find my gaythemed stories online. I know XY is for teenagers (Who is this Oscar Wilde dude I keep hearing about?; I looooove Leo [DiCaprio]!!!) but they might like my fiction. Teresas Mac is so ancient, it freezes every time I try to access a website. I really need to get a decent computer when I get settled in Florida, especially since prices are now relatively low. Hey, 1998 is half-over. Teresa and I were talking before about how close 2000 (or the year 2000, as its always referred to) is. The Nineties are 85% over. I remember how I counted down the end of the Eighties. Ive felt more comfortable in this decade.

Friday, July 3, 1998

7 PM. Last night my neck hurt badly. I once read that neck pains are worse than similar aches elsewhere in the body because we turn our heads so many ways so often. I think the pain is subsiding, but its very much like what I felt two years ago, and that was stress-related, mostly because I was unhappy in my job at CGR. What am I stressed out about now? Im not certain. I feel at loose ends. I guess I dont feel productive. In a way Im anxious to get back to work in Florida; I want to find an apartment and be as busy as I was last fall. I also need to do some self-improvement. Maybe I could start working out more seriously or finding a new interest. If I sound banal, its because Ive been reading the XY message boards on AOL and have been affected by the writing of teenagers. What a waste of time. This morning, after a brief run to Farmers Bazaar, I got in the minivan. Because I was moving fast on the LIE, I decided to go into Manhattan and I hit traffic only going over the Williamsburg Bridge. After finding parking on West 12th Street off Fifth Avenue, by the Forbes Magazine building and the New School Computer Instruction Center where I once took classes, I walked around and called Josh. He said he and his German girlfriend, Gabrielle, were meeting Harry and his wife Sybil at

Mayrose, a horribly pretentious yuppie place, for breakfast at 11 AM. So I walked up Broadway to 21st Street and found the place closed. The others soon arrived, and Josh suggested we find a cab that would let five of us squeeze in and go to Veselka on Second and 9th Street, where he had wanted to go in the first place. I just had a fruit cup and got it right away; the others ordered pancakes, which took half an hour. The company depressed me, and I should have spent my first day in Manhattan on my own. The city takes some getting used to and I didnt like feeling I was in a Seinfeld episode, with Josh talking about the one-bedroom in his building that he just put in for and Harry saying he hated to use pay phones because he feared getting an ear infection. And when Harrys older wife, a Brooklyn Jewish teacher, went on about how glad she is that CUNY eliminated remedial classes, I went into my outrage mode, making a fool of myself as my blood pressure rose and I accused her of being racist. Later I tried to placate her, but I felt totally out of place. Gabrielle seems nice, anyway; shes a blond, thirtyish nurse in Frankfurt. My guess is Josh met her online. Shes going back to Germany tomorrow, but shes spent the previous three weeks with Josh and is coming back in August. (She said that Josh would rather die than go to

Germany probably a combination of fear and his paranoia about anti-Semitism.) Except for Gabrielle, the others seemed like such Brooklyn/Jewish/civil servants and so old okay, Harrys wife was older but the kind of old that seems to have no greater pleasure than dissing young people and minorities. In a way they reminded me of my parents, but then I realized my parents are more liberal. I wonder: am I the one whos screwed up because I cant act my age and place? But having spent most of this year in California, Wyoming and Arizona, I feel alienated from the way New Yorkers think. Or is it that I resent being faced with my roots? Im not Jewish in the sense Josh, Harry and his wife are, with that insular, parochial attitude. Josh clearly wanted me to spend more time with them why, I dont know, since I was terrible company but I wanted and needed to be alone. I walked back to my car and drove down Third Avenue and the Bowery into Brooklyn Heights via the Manhattan Bridge. At a Chinese restaurant on Montague Street, I had steamed chicken and vegetables for lunch and then I sat outside Starbucks drinking iced herb tea. Maybe I just wasnt used to seeing so many people. Perhaps the empty open spaces of Wyoming had more of an effect on me than Id

realized. I felt as if I should have been enjoying New York City more. Parked on Remsen Street, near the office where Shelley Wouk and I had our sessions over 25 years ago we talked about that place when I spoke to her in California a Haitian couple asked me if I could give their car a boost, and since they had cables, I got to feel like a good Samaritan very cheaply when I helped them start their car. Traffic was horrendous once I got past the Kosciuszko Bridge onto the LIE, and I got off at Douglaston and took Northern Boulevard home. John took Hattie to Fire Island, and Im here at the house with Claire. Shes having a barbecue for friends, and Im supposed to be a presence here, according to Teresa. I guess I make a perfect wet blanket. Speaking of wet blankets, Florida is really on fire. Today they had to evacuate everyone out of Flagler County as the immense fires raged.

Saturday, July 4, 1998

4 PM. A quiet Fourth of July. Claire doesnt think Im here to spy on her for her father and Teresa. She had friends over till 3:30 AM, but I know that only because I awoke from neck pain during the night and I could hear them going out. This is definitely the same kind of neck

pain I had in 1996, so Im going to try to ignore it as much as possible, although I find it hard to get a comfortable position to sleep in. After getting up at 7:30 AM, I had breakfast and exercised for thirty minutes. Yesterday Josh asked if I exercised, and he said the only exercise he got was walking to work. I need to do something aerobic in addition to my flexibility and strength exercises, but I really have problems with aerobic workouts and seem to prefer long walks. My first outing today was at 10 AM to the downtown Glen Cove Starbucks, where I sipped that Red Zinger-type iced tea and read the main section of the Times and the advance Sunday edition of Newsday. It was noon when I got back here, and I left messages with Pete Cherches (whom I suspect is out of the country) and with Justin and David (probably away for the weekend). I called my parents and spoke to Dad before he went to work for four hours, and then to Mom. Marc had yesterday off and again went to Prescott for the weekend, though I cant imagine hell fare any better at the flea market there, though he will get out of Phoenixs 115 heat. Its very hot in Florida too, and the state north of Orlando continues to burn; fireworks are outlawed this year because of the fire hazard.

I told Mom to send mail here, that I dont know when or if Ill be staying in Brooklyn. With Teresas grandmother so ill, I suspect that her parents want to stay in Brooklyn when they visit her in the nursing home. I dont know how long Ill feel comfortable staying here in Locust Valley, so I may go back to Florida earlier than scheduled unless I find a reasonable sublet but I have yet to look. Teresa hasnt mentioned anything, but I cant keep imposing on her, John and Claire. I guess the sooner I go back to Florida, the sooner I get my own place there. At least I got to see Josh yesterday, and I will be seeing Alice tomorrow. I read most of the afternoon, but I also cleaned the microwave and did the dishes and tried to tidy up the kitchen. Carpenter ants are coming into the kitchen from the deck, and John and Teresa have tried everything to get rid of them, without any success. A little while ago, I went out for Diet Pepsi at Taco Bell, where I read the Long Island Voice as I watched the cars go by on Forest Avenue. Because of the fireworks traffic, I definitely want to stay off the highways today.

Tuesday, July 7, 1998

9 PM. The weather continues to be pleasant, and although a rainy spell is coming, its still so much cooler than South Florida or Arizona (which is now humid due to the monsoon, according to Sat Darshans email). I drifted in and out of half-sleep and radio listening until 7 AM, when I exercised to Body Electric. Then I had breakfast, showered and dressed. Calling Florida Unemployment, I applied for two weeks of benefits, so a check should arrive at my parents by the weekend. I sent Mom a Times article on tourists in Brooklyn that mentioned the swanky new Marriott Hotel downtown, which I saw last Friday. In Starbucks, I got the Times and iced tea, and read happily while sitting outside in downtown Glen Cove for an hour. Back here, I got online and had email from Sat Darshan, Christy, and Amy, who said she is thinking of going back to school but has to get a job for a while first. Everyones been giving me their addresses, and I finally figured out how to get Ronnas phone number: Ill call her sister at 1-800-960VIRX. I also emailed Mark and Gianni, and I answered two ads in the South Florida Digital City personals. At first, Teresa told me to pick her up at the 1:30 PM ferry, but she called back later saying shed wait till tomorrow to visit her

grandmother and I should come at 5 PM. So I had the house to myself most of the day. Justin phoned, but I ended up being annoying with our conversation because I felt he was so judgmental. Like Alice, he suggested that my getting the $5,000 Florida fellowship is a bad thing because it would keep me in a rut there. I told Justin that Id just spent four months all over the country and that Id stayed in Fort Lauderdale only six months in the last seven years. Of course he doesnt know the difference between Gainesville and South Florida. And he was so New York-snobbish about Los Angeles, just like Alice: Its so vapid there. What an asshole. Im supposed to call him on Friday, but I wont because I dont think I want to see him. Is it me whos defensive? Theres something about some people in New York City who really cant function anywhere else. (Alice, Josh, Justin, Elihu and Pete all have one thing in common: they dont drive.) Not everyone in New York is like that, of course, and I shouldnt judge the city by a few people, but I think I prefer the prevailing attitude I sensed out West. Justin tells me Im in a rut and need to build something solid in my life as if I dont have anything solid.

But at least I havent spent my whole adult life on President Street in Park Slope, working as a drudge at Brooklyn College and temporary jobs, living in that tchotchke-filled crappy little apartment. Getting angry just raises my blood pressure. I noticed that my neck began to ache after I got off the phone with Justin, so its clear the problem there is tension. Better for me to forget about friends like Justin (who said he hadnt seen me in two ears, forgetting completely about last summer) and concentrate on people who make me feel good about myself. One thing the judgmentalism Justin and Alice and Josh has done for me is to appreciate my parents a lot more. Mom and Dad have never, ever criticized me for my life choices, even with their glances or silent pauses, and Ive failed to recognize how wonderful a quality that is in them. Anyway, Justin said that he and David went to his parents for their fiftieth anniversary and then his grandmother died (Justin never liked her and vice versa, so he didnt care) and then he went upstate for a reading of his Heart play. Hell be back at Brooklyn College next year but isnt sure about after that. Hey, maybe Justin feels threatened by my moving around. Maybe he puts down L.A. because he cant fit in there, let alone in

Florida, Wyoming, or Phoenix. But I can, so he feels he has to put me down for that. On my way to the ferry, I got a little lost trying to get to Northern Boulevard, going way out of my way and doubling back, but I got to Bay Shore just as Teresas boat came in. She and the dogs and her old-lady shopping cart got off, and we drove back here. Teresa told me John felt I was snubbing him when I didnt hang out with him and Claire but I was trying to make myself inconspicuous. Tonight I had dinner with the family, and I enjoyed it. But Im not sure how much to be a part of the family here. Johns fiftieth birthday part is on Sunday in the past few days he got his AARP card and a copy of Modern Maturity in the mail and Teresas convinced it will be a surprise. Theyll be in Fire Island on Saturday, so Ill help Katy and Claire set up before Teresa gets here; she told John she has a party to cater. Thirty guests are coming, but mostly not Johns friends. Igor phoned from his in-laws in Queens; I could hear his eight-month-old daughter crying in the background. Hell be going back to Florida in August after failing to get a job here, and Violetta will return to optometry school. Igor will call on Thursday, so maybe well get together, possibly with Kostelanetz.

Wednesday, July 8, 1998

9 PM. I may be going home to Florida soon. Today, while I was at the nursing home, I phoned Mom, and she said Id gotten a notice from Unemployment that I have to appear for a job search review. I knew it would come, and I dont want to give up benefits. My $550 check was mailed from Tallahassee today, and I hope eventually to get the $576 check sent to Libby and Grant in Woodland Hills. I dont want to try to do interstate benefits from here, but if Im not going to stay in Brooklyn, I dont want to stay here in Locust Valley for another four weeks. Besides, my experiences seeing friends in the city have not been all that pleasant, and Ive been traveling so much the past five months, maybe I need to settle down in Florida for the next year or so. Ive got to think about it for a while. I dont know when Im supposed to report, but I guess I can get to Unemployment in Florida by Monday, July 20, and still manage to get benefits for this week and next. This morning was a typical Teresa morning: intending to get out early to do many errands, she ended up getting a zillion phone calls, and we didnt get out of here till 11 AM. I dont

know how Teresa handles all the stuff she has to take care of; as I told her, she needs a secretary. We had to go to several different banks to make deposits to her business and personal accounts and Johns, and we spent thirty minutes at Restaurant Depot, the warehouse store filled with mega-sizes of food and restaurant supplies, open only to businesses. It was 1 PM when we got to the nursing home in Manhasset. Teresas grandmother wouldnt eat much of everything, and to me, she looks like a 99-year-old woman who is tired of living. She didnt know Teresa, and when Ida said she wanted to go home, she didnt mean Conselyea Street but Sackett Street, where she grew up; she said her father was waiting for her there. At the pay phones I left a message for Carolyn and one for Michael (only today did I get the message that Michael phoned on Monday) and then I spoke to Mom and became preoccupied with the prospect of leaving New York sooner than Id expected. From the nursing home, Teresa and I went to Macys, where I started getting antsy while she unsuccessfully looked for a gift. I felt better when she went to Bed, Bath and Beyond and I could get a great salad bar at Fresh Fields, the tony supermarket next door.

Home at 4 PM, I read the paper, listened to NPR, and sent out for a walk to clear my thoughts. Teresa had to take Ollie to the vet when she found a bleeding cyst on his check; it needs to be cut out in surgery, the vet said. I had some veggies and ice milk while I was alone and later had spaghetti with Teresa, John and Claire. Its nice to be part of the family here, but if I do go back and stay with my parents and Jonathan, Im going to try a lot hotter to fit in with them and be less judgmental. After all, this will probably be the last time I spend with my family and in Florida, I have my car and I can do stuff away from my family. Carolyn phoned tonight and we chatted for a while. I do want to see her before I leave, and she said shed call this weekend. Too bad I didnt know she was also in Manhasset this morning, at her mothers house. She said I could stay in her guest room in Montclair if I visit. Mark emailed this morning and gave me his number and his parents number in Brooklyn where he was spending the day, but I didnt call him. I dont think Ill get to call Scott or Mikey. Basically, before I leave, Id like to see Carolyn and Michael and Mark and maybe Igor and thats it. I wont have the car this weekend, and of course Sunday is Johns party anyway; Im not

sure John buys the story about Teresa catering a christening for a couple around the corner. Anyway, Ill probably end up being here over two weeks, about the time I spent in Phoenix and twice the time I spent in Los Angeles. Maybe I can come back to New York sometime this fall for a weekend with one of those American Airlines cheap fares I get in my AOL mailbox on Wednesdays. Well, Ill come to the city itself another time. It sounds as if Ive decided that Im leaving New York Soon. Teresa wants me to stay longer, but I feel as Im imposing on John and Claire. Two to three weeks is enough for a house guest. I did start to adjust being with my family by the time I left Florida. I need to make amends with them. Alice did help me see that I cant keep feeling so angry towards Mom and Dad. Well, Ill appreciate them and each day a little more now. Today was a rainy, cool day; I wore a jacket for the first time since Billings on June 1.

Thursday, July 9, 1998

7:30 PM. Today I went into Manhattan by train, and I had a much better time alone, enjoying New York City, than I did when I was with

friends. I dont know what that says about me or my friends. Basically what I did was play on the Upper West Side, trying to relive the many happy summers I spent there in the 80s. The 10:29 AM train from Locust Valley got me into Penn Station by 11:40 AM. Last weekend the new unlimited MetroCard went on sale, but it expires in a week or a month, so I just bought the 11-rides-for-theprice-of-10 MetroCard and got on the IRT uptown to the cramped 72nd Street station. I had brought a yam and a cheese sandwich with me, and I bought Korean salad bar and water at the corner and walked to the foot of Riverside Park, where I ate lunch by the statue of a pensive Eleanor Roosevelt. Finished, I passed the drama book store, Applause, and found Cousin Michael outside smoking. Hes thin and dark and cute, and Im certain hes straight. We made tentative plans to meet in the city on Saturday, but he said hed call me. Then I spent a couple of hours slowly walking on the west side of Broadway from 72nd to 96th Street, passing familiar landmarks like Fairway, Citarella, Zabars, H&H Bagels, Williams BBQ, the still-standing Hunan 94 sign (the restaurant, whose rainbow chicken I loved, closed a decade ago), Hans grocery, etc.

I stopped at Barnes & Noble and found a copy of I Brake for Delmore Schwartz and two copies of I Survived Caracas Traffic, probably the ones I put there last summer just to see the book in a store. I bought one copy of each of my books, wanting to see if Caracas would bollix up their computer. But no, the UPC code scanned and my receipt listed both titles, along with a book of misheard lyrics (mondegreens) I bought as a 50th birthday present for John. While I had iced tea at the B&N mezzanine caf, I glanced at all the free weeklies I picked up along the walk, the Spirit, New York Press, Voice, Blade, West Side Resident and Jewish Journal. Every store, including fast food restaurants, had signs saying Visa Cash and Mondex. I know that smart cards (value-added cash cards) are being tested on the Upper West Side, and in the Food Emporium (where I finally was able to find Weight Watchers peanuts) there was a Citibank machine (not an ATM) for adding stored value to those cards. Unable to get an Amoco MultiCard cash advance at four banks, I finally succeeded at the Dime (the old Anchor Bank branch in the mid-90s). Another stop for berry iced tea was the Starbucks on 87th, but first I took a detour down West 85th Street to see my old block.

The glatt kosher Casbah Deli is still there, and I noticed a black woman and girl going in, opening the door with a photo of the Rebbe, Schneerson, and the sign Welcome Moshiach! (On I-95 in Florida theres a sign that proclaims the late Lubavitcher rabbi King Moshiach, the Messiah.) In Starbucks, I read a Voice article that said that Mike Diana, the comic books artist in St. Pete whos still the only American artist convicted of obscenity, is now living in Brooklyn and selling his stuff up here (its obscene only in Florida). The stores near Teresas old apartment are more upscale than ever. The Lebanese brothers discount store and the cheap Arab restaurant are long gone, and the Cambridge House apartments on 86th between Riverside and West End are now Senior Quarters, the same assistant living chain for the elderly that Ive seen in Queens and Syosset. Our old building, 350 West 85th Street, looks much the same; only metal signs now say No Menus Please and ask those entering the lobby to wipe their feet after they unlock the door or are buzzed in. I didnt see Judy or Oscar around, and the old Bridge drug rehab place across the street from us is now a Montessori school. The east side of Broadway at 86th now bears a second street sign, Isaac Bashevis Singer Boulevard, in memory of the blocks old

resident. (Alma is gone now, too.) The Loews 84th Street, now a Sony theater, has a new electronic marquee, and the restaurant on the corner of 85th and Broadway, once Patzo, is in its fourth incarnation as the Time Caf. The Thalia is still alive, showing an Indian double feature. Moishes moving vans still dot the streets, and I passed two guys, one of whom said to the other, My boyfriends mother is getting married to her next week. On the M104 bus down to the new theme-park Times Square (a second street sign under the one that says West 42nd Street proclaims The New 42nd Street), I sat in the chilly seat just behind the rear exit and listened to a skinny, homeless, demented black woman a Billie Boggs clone ramble insanely (though saying, You cant trust anyone may mean shes an X-Files investigator). On the bus, I noticed that one thing Donald Trump did well was his makeover of the Gulf + Western (Paramount) Building at Columbus Circle, though the long-shuttered Coliseum still stands across the street. At Times Square, from all the theme restaurants and chain stores, I went only to the Warner Studio store, and I left there quickly after scanning the tourist crap they have for sale. Theres a full-video screen facing north and Dow Jones now runs the zipper news at One Times Square.

One of an elderly group of tourists craned her neck and actually said, So this is Times Square? Well, Ill be darned! I am not making this up. I walked down to Penn Station, passing a Millennium countdown clock telling how soon in days, hours, minutes and seconds we are to 2000, and a Mickey Ds whose sign proclaimed We Have McVeggie Burgers. At Penn Station I peed in the mens room of the refurbished LIRR station and had frozen yogurt before getting the 4:19 PM to Locust Valley (we change at Jamaica for the old diesel workhorse that crawls to Oyster Bay). Igor phoned to say that Richard Kostelanetz invited us over to his place at 8 PM Saturday; he seemed surprised that I couldnt make it. Todays mail brought Moms forwarding of the notice to report to the local Unemployment office for an eligibility review. Its for Monday at 9:30 PM, and so Ive decided not to go back to Florida immediately. Teresa will give me the car tomorrow morning and Ill try to find the Old County Road office of New York State Unemployment. I figure the only way I can not show up in Fort Lauderdale Monday and still collect benefits is to feign ignorance because Ive moved here and my mail is being forwarded.

All in all, today was my favorite day in New York City so far.

Tuesday, July 14, 1998

9 PM. I awoke at 5 AM and couldnt get back to sleep, but after I had breakfast, I started to drop off again listening to NPR. I roused myself to exercise to Body Electric and after that I was wide awake. Teresa left early today for a series of errands, so I had the house to myself for about seven hours. I sat outside with Ollie as I read the paper. Mom phoned and we talked for half an hour in a friendly way. I definitely have become aware of how I needed to make amends for not being friendlier to my parents. My anger towards them has dissipated, and when I return to Florida, I wont be so judgmental. After all, one of the gifts my parents gave me was a low dose of judgmental behavior. Moms main news was that the University of Maryland sent a letter admitting me for the summer 1999 semester: thats just what I wanted. Now I know Ill be in Florida for nine or ten months and I can leave next May to begin classes at College Park at noon.

Mom also said my new Capital One Visa had arrived. In Prescott on Saturday, she said, Marc did about $300 in sales, which is about what he did in all the previous Saturdays there at the flea market combined. This morning I did my laundry and put away a load of stuff from the dishwasher, and in early afternoon I exercised to a Body Electric tape so I could make up for not exercising yesterday. But Ill miss tomorrows exercise, too: Ive got to be on the 8:15 AM train in order to meet Mark after his grad class at Brooklyn College at 10:30 AM. (In order to stay as a New York City public school teacher he needs a masters so hes going for a degree as a reading specialist.) Im nervous about making sure I get there, as Im dependent on public transit. When I spoke to Mark, he said that the Brooklyn co-op board where hes buying an apartment hasnt yet scheduled an interview with him yet, so hes still living in Jersey awaiting his closing. I also got and answered email from Tom, who seems fairly grumpy, as usual, about his publishing prospects. By regular mail I sent Tom a clip from his friend Tom McGonigles column in the New York Post about Robert Walser; of course it mentioned Susan and Tom. On AOL, I answered two more personals, but I dont expect these guys to respond any more than did the two guys whose ads I responded

to last week. I read not only the Times but also Newsday and USA Today today. In the past week, Ive heard people on the radio use the word depression to describe whats going on in South Korea, Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, etc. Japanese voters, fed up with their terrible economy, have forced Prime Minister Hashimoto to resign but hell just be replaced by another LDP crony and not an FDR-type who can get things moving by shaking up their economic system. The IMF is sending more millions to bail out Russia, and if more countries begin to go under, the IMF probably wont have the money to bail them out as well. A year from now the American economy could look very different, but today the Dow and NASDAQ both hit all-time highs, and unemployment and inflation are both low. Am I terrible to root for an American economic panic? Ive been waiting for one for over a dozen years. Remember Ravi Batras The Great Depression of 1990? Obviously, Ive long ago given my reasons for wanting to see a depression chiefly to create a political climate more friendly to the left, but theres no guarantee that this time, America might turn to the fascists, as Germany, Italy and Japan did in the 1930s.

After Teresa came home at 4 PM, I went for a walk, and later I borrowed her car so I could go to Starbucks, where Marie was working and where Claire later showed up. My last stop tonight was Greenvale specifically Northern Boulevard and Glen Cove Road, where I put gas in the minivan, had a baked potato and Diet Sprite at Wendys, and bought groceries at the giant Pathmark store in the shopping center called Wheatley Plaza. I suppose I live a pretty aimless life, but once I get to Florida, Ill be more productive. In addition to working, I want to achieve the goal of getting a new book of stories accepted by a small press. I also would like to get more involved with Floridas political or art scene, or I need to teach myself some new skill or area of knowledge. God, that spider bite I woke up with on Saturday night is still a hard little ball on my jaw line. Today was hot and humid, but it was bearable without the air conditioner, and by evening it had become pleasant outside.

Friday, July 17, 1998

9 PM. Last night I was troubled by the kind of insomnia I used to get: inability to fall asleep. Usually I can fall asleep now, but I get up right away or too early and cant fall back asleep. Perhaps it was the heat and humidity. Because of the expense of the electric use to John and Teresa, I rarely turn on the air conditioner and then only for twenty minutes at a time, just to cool things off briefly. Anyway, last night I found a copy of Teresas old Cliff Notes for Greek Classics and read the detailed synopsis of The Odyssey; I listened to WNYC-AM; I fidgeted; and eventually I dozed off around 2 AM. I awoke before 7 AM from a dream in which I was telling Stacy and Timmy how well I remembered them from college although I hadnt seen either of them in years. (In reality, I lost touch with Stacy about a decade ago, and I last saw Timmy in the mid-1970s.) Barely awake, I forced myself to get up and exercise to Body Electric at 7 AM. I left Locust Valley on the 10:29 AM train after Id gone shopping with Teresa and checked my bank balance (the unemployment checks cleared). The crowded Oyster Bay train reminded me of the Toonerville Trolley, and I had to change my seat when this sweet, addled man in his sixties sat down next to me and he smelled terrible. After I changed in Jamaica, the train to Penn Station was cooler, roomier and quick.

I got on the IRT local to 59th Street and met Pete in the lobby of 1290 Avenue of the Americas, now the Equitable Building, by the old Thomas Hart Benton murals of America during the Depression that used to hang at The New School. Pete took me over to Kabul, an Afghan restaurant at 54th and Seventh, where we met Donna upstairs. Shes redheaded now, and she and Masa have bought a car so he can get a new studio out of the city. Now Donna needs to learn how to drive. Shes still at Stanley H. Kaplan, and in response to my question, What are you working on? meant to be about her own writing she told me about a book on how to ace the FBI exam that Kaplan is publishing. Masa took Donna to Japan for the fourth time in April, and she said she detected no obvious signs of recession there. Petes book is now on hold at Smithsonian, which is evaluating whether it should continue publishing scholarly books; the reorganization at the Institution has already killed their trade book publishing so hes not working yet on responding to the Smithsonian reviewers comments since the book may have to be shopped around elsewhere. Pete has given up writing and expects to give up his search for an academic job after a year, since there are no jobs. (Bruce Chadwick, with

a new Ph.D. in composition, cant find one because all the schools are hiring these days are adjuncts though Pete suggests Bruce may be the victim of age discrimination.) After a year more of looking around for an academic position, Pete says hell devote the rest of his life to hedonism and continue working as a computer consultant. Theres enough Y2K problem stuff at Equitable to keep Pete working there for quite a while. While Donna and Pete had exotic shish kabobs, I hate a simple dish that ended up delighting me: a sort of pumpkin stew over basmati rice. They both had to get back to work in ninety minutes, and I probably talked too much about Villa Montalvo and Ucross to suit them, but it was nice to see them both and to experience midtown Manhattan, even on such a hot, muggy afternoon. I walked down Sixth Avenue one change in New York City I havent mentioned, but which is pervasive, is the replacement of NYNEX with Bell Atlantic as the local telephone company; its wave logo is everywhere from phone books to (public) phone booths to the Gotham Book Mart on 47th Street, amid the Hasidim of the Diamond District. In the Gotham Book Marts back room, I checked out all their little magazines, the way I used to two decades ago when I was publishing in them like crazy.

Then, in the Berg Collection at the main library on 42nd Street which will never seem the same now that Lola Szladits is gone I saw the exhibit, A Secret Location on the Lower East Side: Adventures in Writing, 1960-1980, on the mimeo revolution and all the New York School poets and others who put out little magazines and small press books. It sickened me to see on exhibit, under glass, many volumes which I once owned but got rid of, by giving them away to friends, because of my many moves: books from Kenward Elmslies Z Press and Douglas Messerlis Sun & Moon, and magazines like Carol Berges Center, Dennis Coopers Little Caesar, L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E (which I subscribed to for years), Maureen Owens Telephone, and more. From John Ashbery and Eileen Myles to Aram Saroyan and Ted Berrigan, these were people I knew well in the 1970s, either personally or by their works and reputations. As I walked back to Penn Station to make the last off-peak train at 3:20 PM, I thought about how vibrant and genuine that scene was and how it was vital in a way that would be hard for me to explain to writers in their twenties today. But here I am, at 47, publishing my stories in webzines today; maybe these webzines are the equivalent of the mimeo publications of the 1960s. Although Pete and Donna and Crad Kilodney and Opal Nations and others have

fallen by the wayside, I still publish stories: not many, its true, but Ive persevered. I didnt become offended when Pete became my third New York City friend to suggest I should turn down the $5,000 Florida Arts Council grant if I dont want to remain in the state for the next year. It must bother Pete that hes no longer writing or publishing. Well, Ive given up many times and in many ways myself. Its odd, though, that Petes friends tend to be writers or ex-writers or people involved in the arts while my friends tend to be people like John and Teresa or Libby and Grant or Sat Darshan, who never had any artistic ambitions and who live very non-arty lives. There are many casualties in the arts, said a teacher of Bert Stratton, himself an ex-writer (though a current accomplished klezmer musician). I hear John and Teresa talking outside, so she must have returned from the wedding rehearsal barbeque she was catering. Its 10:40 PM now and I need to get to bed.

Friday, July 24, 1998

4 PM. Yesterday at this time Santa called from Mattituck and asked if I could go over to the nursing home. The doctors there had phoned and said that her mother was not doing well. They were planning to go after breakfast, but she still had a bad stomach virus and wasnt well enough to travel. Grateful for the chance to be of use, I drove over to North Shore Hospital and saw Granny Ida. When they asked me what my relation to Ida was, I had to say I was her nephew. She looked like death to me. Actually, when I walked into her room at first I was afraid she had already died. Her mouth was open, so I could hear her breathing, but her appearance reminded me of a skeleton. She was very agitated, trying to take off her bedclothes. She succeeded in part for a minute, and I saw that she no longer had any breasts left; she looked like the victims of concentration camps did in those horrible old photos. Hooked up to an IV that was giving her some hydration (a sucrose and sodium solution), she kept holding her arm in a way that caused the machine to beep and trigger a red alarm and say OCCLUSION. The aides at the station couldnt hear it, so I got them to call a nurse to reinsert the IV, but it didnt help much. When I saw the date on the IV, 11/29/98, I got confused and wondered

what it meant until I realized it was her birthdate in 1898. The aides said I should tell her daughter to come tomorrow, and of course I said I was going to do that anyway. I sat with Ida for about an hour, smoothing what little hair she had left and trying to hold her hand. She didnt talk, but at one point she startled me by reaching out and grabbing both sides of my face, drawing me near to her, almost mouth to mouth. For a minute it terrified me, as if Death was making me kiss her but all she wanted to do, I now think, was to say something to me. Only a couple of times did Ida wink or make that shrugging gesture that was so familiar to me. It was a privilege to be so intimate with someone so close to death, someone 99 years old whose body and mind are to be honest decrepit. Ive never seen somebody die, but this was pretty close. The woman in the other bed in the room, who spent the whole time I was there watching TV (Eyewitness News), seemingly oblivious to Idas state, asked me, Does she talk? She never answers me. At a pay phone downstairs, I did call Mom, who thanked me for the $100 check Id sent, saying she was using it to pay off some of Marcs creditors who keep hounding her by phone. I

think Mom felt pleased that I turned to her for advice about Teresas grandmother. Mom said they would probably transfer Ida to the hospital if death were imminent and not let her die next to a roommate. On Northern Boulevard, I stopped off and finally used my Macys credit card to buy a piece of luggage on a clearance sale for $29. I also went to the Barnes & Noble and to Hagen-Dazs before coming back here. John was helpful to talk to, although he doesnt go to the nursing home because of a bad experience with his own dying grandmother. He complained about Teresa, and when I spoke to Teresa on the phone, she complained about him. I am in an awkward position and try to avoid taking sides, but theres a lot of tension over Teresas Fire Island catering work and a lot of friction between Teresa and Johns kids, particularly J.J. John said he told his son, I understand that you can barely told Teresa, but J.J. said that wasnt so. Still, Teresas bombastic personality and attitude that she knows whats best for everyone including, of course, Katy, J.J. and Claire makes life difficult. I didnt want to be drawn into the problem of Katys taking her final 12 credits of college at

C.W. Post rather than the cheaper Empire State College, as Teresa believes is best. However, after spending time with her grandmother at the nursing home yesterday, I did go to sleep last night feeling a little more useful around here. I slept okay and was up pretty early again. This morning I spoke to Alice and agreed to meet her at 1 PM on Sunday, so I can get to see her before I go back to Florida. A call to the Florida Unemployment hotline let me know that my $550 check was issued yesterday, so I dont have to do a job search verification and hopefully can get the next two checks before going back to work. Today I stayed close to home. I bought baguettes and grapes and other stuff for John to take to Fire Island tomorrow, and I bought roast beef for Claires lunch sandwiches. I do pay for some of the food around here, and of course I fill up Teresas gas tank, and this morning I found a recipe for saffron/pine nuts orzo that she needed. Josh had emailed me some lame list forwarded by people who thought it was funny, so I called him and left a message on his machine. Scott called from Albany, where he was in court, to invite me to a barbecue at his house on Saturday for some of Joons business associates and I hope to go.

Sat Darshan emailed that Marc called her last night. I didnt realize Marc gets off work at 7 PM, which is why I never get him in. Sat Darshan told him I usually go to bed before 10 PM (7 PM in Phoenix), but Ill try to stay up and get him tonight before he goes to Prescott for the weekend. Sat Darshan says that Marc feels hesitant about his job with AirTouch, that he doesnt know enough even though his bosses keep assuring him that it will take three months to learn everything and that they seem to be grooming him to run his own store. But Marc feels its more of a service business than it is sales, which is where his expertise lies. Marc misses me, Sat Darshan says. I miss him and Phoenix, too. I also miss Los Angeles and Libby, Grant, Lindsay and Wyatt, and I regret that I havent spoken to Kevin lately. Its funny how I can simultaneously have lives in New York, Florida, Arizona and California but I like the feeling that I do. At 3 PM, I went to Starbucks, where Claires friend Marie told me my iced tea was free, so of course I put the money in the tip box for Marie and the other Starbucks employees. My skin has broken out because of the humidity, and after all those months of living in dry climates, now I again have to put on athletes foot medication every morning.

Sometimes I feel so enormously lucky to have experienced my life.

Saturday, July 25, 1998

9 PM. I just got home from Westchester. It was a beautiful day, and its a cool, dry evening. Last night I stayed up till 10:30 PM so I could call Marc when he got home from work. We spoke for about an hour. Basically they think hes doing a great job and hes got a meeting on Monday with Tripp, the whiz who hired him and who had previously worked for Starbucks and Barnes & Noble. But Marc says hes not used to the corporate bullshit: the bureaucratic procedures, constant evaluations, and ridiculously onerous paperwork. Because pages are malfunctioning regularly and customers are upset about their bills, hes not so much selling as dealing with irate people all day. So thats unpleasant. Also, everyone at AirTouch is very new, and they seem to be throwing shit against the wall haphazardly to see what sticks. Marc is astute enough to know that there are a lot of things theyre trying out that are irrelevant or unworkable. Hes got his own desk and cubicle, where hes constantly swamped with paperwork. Their

computers hardware is on ancient systems not compatible even with those of AirTouchs cellular phone company. But he plans to stick it out and see what happens. However, he can see that this whole Phoenix retailing scheme may collapse. Still, its easier to get another job when one already has a job, and the woman from the checkcashing store told Marc to call her if he ever wants to work for them. Marc works from 10 AM to 7 PM, so I can probably call him in the morning more easily than at night. He was going to Prescott today, saying he enjoyed the recent heavy monsoon rains because it was a change from constant sunshine. Just before I called Marc, Teresa phoned from Fire Island, telling me to put on Channel 5, where Stewart Klein was back, reviewing Saving Private Ryan. He looked gaunt and ill, but pretty good for a man who was supposed to be dead by July Fourth. After lunch at noon today, I left for Hartsdale. Taking the Whitestone Bridge and Bronx River Parkway, I made the forty-mile drive in about 45 minutes, and I was the first to arrive, so I helped Scott cook the burgers, hot dogs, corn and chicken on the barbecue. Joon started her company in March, and all the guests were her employees. Scott said he couldnt relate to them because they were so

young, but Im used to hanging out with people in their twenties and dont feel the generation gap that Scott kept harping on. Perhaps its because I look younger? You have no gray hair, the all-gray Scott marveled, and he has a pot belly, and since a Club Med vacation with another couple who smoked, hes begun smoking again, against doctors orders, because the nicotine patch gave him a rash and he was allergic to antinicotine drugs. I did enjoy talking with Scott and telling him about old friends from college like Teresa, Sat Darshan, Mark, Ronna and Alice. (He confuses Ronna and Alice.) Scott is working on some interesting cases, including one in federal court in which a grossly overweight applicant for a position as court officer is saying that his obesity is a disability under the ADA and that he needs extra time to take the test, which he failed the first time. Hes also challenging a subpoena duces tecum in a labor dispute which orders him to produce his notes from contract negotiations. The other guest included Beth, a woman our age from Brooklyn whos a consultant to Joon, and Joons employees: two young Asian women and one black woman and their boyfriends, and two white guys, one from Chicago and the other from Denmark, both of whom were gay and somewhat cute.

Brianna is now six years old, about to enter first grade at Horace Mann. Shes a cute kid with an off-the-charts IQ who Scott swears can read on high school level. She was teaching Beth how to play chess although she herself just learned a couple of months ago. Of course, I ate sparingly, just fruit and some corn and Diet Cokes, but I did help serve the food and clean up afterwards. To me, its invigorating being around young professionals, and I asked them a lot of questions about interior design and their corporate clients. Scott played Dylan and other 60s and 70s music and put on a klezmer CD that had all the young people nonplussed they thought it was German beer-hall music and he showed off his old soda jerk talents by making egg creams with Foxs U-Bet Syrup. Privately, Scott told me he has no money because of Briannas expenses and the upkeep of the house and starting Joons business but of course, they live pretty well. Still, I know what he means. Scott may have a Mercedes, but he insists its not conspicuous consumption, and I agree its not though I suspect his anti-materialist values from college have shifted a bit more than Scott admits. Whose havent? Scott still likes a good joke and told some funny stories. I like Joon, whos warm and

friendly. I was the last person to leave, hugging the Koestners and saying goodbye to their two dogs. (Why is it that as Ive gotten older, other peoples dogs seem to take to me? I never used to get licked so much when I was younger.) Radio reports said there were long delays on the Whitestone and Throgs Neck, so I took the Triboro Teresas EZ-Pass helped me get through the toll booth and then rode leisurely along Northern Boulevard, stopping at Wendys in Bayside. I couldnt get the Sunday Times on Main Street in Flushing, although there were plenty of Chinese and Korean newspapers on sale there.

Sunday, July 26, 1998

6 PM. Im tired because I woke up at 2 AM and never could get back to sleep. My mind raced all night with good stuff, not bad stuff, but Im just so sleep-deprived now. Leaving the house at 8:30 AM, I was in Manhattan by 9:45 AM, parking across from Cardozo Law School at Fifth Avenue and 12th Street, halfway between Alices and Joshs. After hanging out a little in Joshs apartment, we went to an outdoor caf on Third Avenue for breakfast.

Gabrielle is pregnant. It happened on her last visit, of course; Josh had told her to give up her IUD because he felt it was causing her recurrent carcinomas in the area, but she didnt replace it with any other form of birth control. Its untimely, Josh said, although hed been planning to get a bigger apartment so she could move in with him after studying for and passing the test to become an R.N. (her German license is similar but not transferable). There was never any question of an abortion although shes had pain and bleeding and so may have already had a miscarriage. Josh wants to marry Gabrielle and he wants the child to be Jewish (I told him it seemed a matter of a simple mikvah) and of course he still wont set foot in Germany which I view as another of his bizarre affectations. (He laughed derisively when I said I could relate because I wont set foot in Israel until theres also a Palestinian state.) Gabrielles stepfather the only father shes known is a millionaire, currently in Abu Dhabi on business, and her mother, Josh said, is this uncaring Danish woman who left Gabrielle in the care of her parents until she married when Gabrielle was seven. She wont work for at least a year after the baby is born, and if her pregnancy is as difficult

as she expects, she may not even travel here till shes in her sixth month and feels its safe. Josh says he has no money and doesnt know how hes going to afford this now. Of course, if the child is born here, it would be a citizen. Gabrielle, as a German citizen, will get a decent stipend to take care of the child even if shes living abroad but shell lose her disability payments if she travels to the U.S. during a difficult pregnancy. I dont know how this will resolve itself, but I think though I didnt say that Gabrielle planned to get pregnant. Its also odd that someone with such an animus against Germans would end up with one. Well, Josh is crazy, and we all know that except for him and Gabrielle. I went with him to see an apartment advertised on the Internet, but it was a small onebedroom and a five-story walk-up that would be impossible for them to deal with if they have a baby. Josh and I walked around the East Village and went to the Starbucks on Astor Place until 1 PM, when I went to see Alice. She and I ate, also outside, at the Zen Palace. Alice said Madrid was very hot, but my sisterin-law was cold and missing most of the time whenever she and Andreas, there for the first few days, spent time with her brother and his kids, who are now seven and three. (Alice says

they are blond and blue-eyed and dont look Jewish.) From Madrid, Alice went to Lisbon, but the Worlds Fair was a terrible disappointment because there were no rides and it was like a big boring science fair. Alice said the owner of the Richard Simmons Newsletter sold it to a publisher in Virginia after lying to her that he was only bringing in a venture capitalist to infuse some money. She had planned to ask for a raise, and while shes nervous about whats going on, she hired a lawyer to negotiate with the new owner. Alice feels shes in a strong position because basically her editing is responsible for the high renewal rate, and the new owner will probably want to avoid any disruption during the transition. My manuscript is still with Little, Brown, though naturally she assumes theyre not going to take it. My own hunch is that they lost it somewhere in the office. Back at her apartment, I showed Alice how to delete files on Microsoft Word and I showed her how to access the Internet, use a search engine, and bookmark some Web sites shell want to see regularly. Ive never met someone my age who is otherwise savvy whos also so dim-witted about computers as is Alice.

Leaving Manhattan before 4 PM, I got home a little over an hour later. Teresa was annoyed that I didnt want to accompany her to the nursing home, but Im exhausted. I never exercised today and I have yet to open the Sunday New York Times. I wish I were going to Philadelphia tomorrow instead of the next day. Maybe Ill feel better once I get some sleep.

Wednesday, July 29, 1998

11 PM. Im not used to such a late-night household as this one, but Calvin comes home from the hospital after 8 PM, and even fouryear-old Chelsea doesnt go to sleep until at least 10 PM. Last night I slept well but hardly enough, because I was up at 5:30 AM. I listened to Morning Edition on WHYY, had some oatmeal, shaved and at 7 AM, I set up my portable TV to exercise with Body Electric on a PBS channel, 35. It was a little embarrassing when Calvin and Chelsea came down and saw me working out, but Im sure everyone realizes that Im bizarre and eccentric. After Calvin left for work clearly Chelsea hates for him to leave the house Chelsea

watched a kids show on some channel with me while Ronna diapered Abigail and took a shower before taking Chelsea to camp. Before she left, Ronna showed me I could take a shower in Chelseas bedroom, and we agreed that wed be back from our separate trips at 11 AM. I didnt go anywhere far, just to the Barnes & Noble on Old York Road, where I read todays New York Times as I drank raspberry-quince iced tea. Then I went to the Kinkos near the Turnpike to check on email (notes from Alice and Sat Darshan) and Lexis/Nexis online. There were no articles on the Florida Arts Council yet. After Ronna took care of Abigail, we went to Genuardis, a really nice supermarket in Huntingdon Valley, where I got two bags of groceries for myself and shopped with Ronna. On the way back, we drove past the old house where Ronna had lived when she first moved here, the house that belonged to Calvin and his ex-wife. They still cant sell it. But after we had lunch at home, I discovered that I didnt have my wallet and a terrible feeling came over me. Ronna called the store and they had my wallet at the customer service desk, so I was able to retrieve it after we picked up Chelsea at the synagogue where she attends camp (as well as school).

All my money was in the wallet; Id left it when I went back to pay for a salad bar. Because theres a hole in my right pants pocket, Ive been putting coins and pens in my left pocket, where I usually keep my wallet, which Id carried the past two days in my right pocket. Oh well, another of what Teresa calls senior moments like on Sunday at Alices when I first rang the bell at apartment 1817 instead of 1718. Chelsea took a nap on the couch I sleep on, so I played with and watched over Abigail when Ronna made phone calls soliciting for a recipe book being put out by the Jenkintown Newcomers Club. Abigail is a trip, making her way across the kitchen floor, half-creeping, half-crawling, with half an apricot, an empty Tastykake donut box and Chocolate the Moose, the Beanie Baby I got her. I love playing with her, but its allconsuming. After Chelsea woke up, I went to play with her, too, bringing out my Philly map and pointing out real and imaginary places to her (Chelseatown, Abigailburg), and then we made our own maps on lined paper and Chelsea colored hers in. Like Lindsay and Wyatt, Ronnas kids are fun to play with, but Im not used to being around children even if Ronna said I have a lot of patience. She said at one point Chelsea said,

I love him, and at another, I wish he would stay forever. I had my own Healthy Choice dinner at 6 PM but joined the others two hours later for dinner although I ate only salad. Then, after Ronnas mother and I cleaned up, we talked for hours in the kitchen as we ate blueberries. When Beatrice asked me if I regretted not having kids, I had to say no. I mentioned my fear of the responsibility to Ronna today, and she pointed out that since I said exactly the same things 25 years ago, it was good that I didnt have kids, feeling the way I do. I agree. Staying with Libby and Alden, and with Teresa and John, and now with Ronna and Calvin, as well as visiting Sat Darshans family, had made me realize and appreciate how simple and uncomplicated my own life is. Even compared with single friends like Alice or Josh, who have mortgages and other encumbrances of adult life, I seem to have a low-stress, low-maintenance lifestyle that suits me.

Saturday, August 1, 1998

10 PM. After exactly 29 years of keeping a diary, the one thing Ive learned is that whatever I record, I miss so much. Some of the

most memorable images or conversations or feelings have all escaped my diaries because I either am not aware at the time of their lasting impact or significance or because theres only time and room to write so much. I feel privileged to have spent the week here in Jenkintown and to have been a part of this household. I feel close to Ronna and her mother and even Calvin not that I bonded with him, but I see his reserve masks not only the good heart I knew he had but an extremely generous and loving nature. And when Ive taken care of Abigail and Chelsea, its been a trip. I watched Abigail several times today while Ronna and Calvin were away, and it amazes me to see how a one-year-old explores her environment with wonder and frustration and how she tries to achieve mastery via all those Fisher-Price and Playskool educational toys when she does something like press a button and Old Mac Donald plays. Abigail is trying so hard to stand up, it appears to me, but she cant get there just yet. Shes what her grandmother called a selfcomforting baby, because when things dont go her way, she sits and sucks her thumb and holds Chocolate the Moose or some other plush toy. Chelsea, being 4, is much more complex. She can whine and be obnoxious, but shes also very loving and sweet, and Beatrice had

me show her how to tie her shoes making bunny rabbit ears, the way I taught Billy back in the early 70s. (Today Billy and I are probably the only adults in Broward County with a Ph.D. and J.D. who cant tie our shoelaces in a normal manner.) This morning I got up at 6 AM, had breakfast, rested and exercised (in the bathroom, so I could have some privacy). I left the house at 8:30 AM and went to Kinkos, where I wrote to Teresa, Sat Darshan and Patrick on AOL and did some Lexis/Nexis and web surfing. Then, at Barnes & Noble, I got iced tea and read the paper. I drove around for a little while and brought some fat-free cheese slices and frozen California mix (broccoli, cauliflower, carrots), which I had for lunch when I returned home. (Wherever Im living for the moment is home.) Ronna, Beatrice and the girls and I went out, to the cleaners at the Huntingdon Valley shopping center, and everyone got along better today. Calvin was back from the hospital when we got home at 3 PM. I took a walk up and down the hills and walked over to the SEPTA station; one day Id really like to explore Philadelphia. Her friend Ellen from the Upper West Side, Ronna says, is living in South Philly, in an interesting neighborhood. When Ive driven into the city or even around here, Ive seen signs for hoagies and water

ices and have gotten enough of a taste of Philadelphia to want to see a lot more than just the Tastykakes at Genuardis or the glimpse of art museum I got driving on the Schuykill Expressway. I went with everyone to the barbecue at Ronnas neighbors in the house behind theirs. The backyards, unfenced, run together, and the others just went that way, but I walked around the block to accompany Beatrice, who couldnt manage the steep climb over the grass. The couple who own the house, with six lovely kids all 16 and under, seemed very nice, as did their French house guests and everyone else I met. I had a particularly nice long talk with a couple hes British and older; shes American, around our age who were incredibly literary and literate. (Later I learned hes an engineer whose company cleans parts of supertankers.) Jordan and his wife arrived at our house for dinner, so Ronna and Calvin left the barbecue, but Ronnas mother and I stayed on for a bit before returning. When we got to the backyard, Jordan introduced me to Colby, who teaches English at Temple University. Jordan looks good, still slender with a beard, and Colby is pleasant if rather stiff, as if shes uncomfortable with herself.

Their son Nathaniel, five years old, is a handsome boy with curly black hair, blue eyes and a great disposition. He was very polite during dinner, but later, playing with his father and me, he could get a little frisky. Jordan and I can talk up a storm about everything from politics to censorship to education. Nathaniel will be starting kindergarten at a Quaker school, Jordan said. Over the years, Ive warmed to Jordan, as has Beatrice, who didnt like him that much when he was first dating Ronna. Later, when we were alone, Beatrice told me how Jordan used to come over with Nathaniel and without Colby, and she worried because he would stare at Ronna adoringly something he doesnt do when his wife is here. We had chicken cacciatore for dinner, the six adults and two kids at the table (and Abigail in her high chair), and I greatly enjoyed myself. Its funny how a solitary guy like me loves sharing the domesticity of others. I really do feel the most important moments in life are the little ones involving family and friends. Ronna kept telling me not to bother cleaning up while she, Colby and her mother were drinking coffee after dinner, but I get satisfaction from taking dishes from the table to the sink and dishwasher and in throwing out garbage or, as I did last night, helping Beatrice after dinner and getting down on the

floor to pick up the corn and peas and other food that Abigail threw down. The only place where I draw the line is cleaning up cat vomit and Ive seen a lot from these two cats in the past few days. I was genuinely sorry that Jordan, Colby and Nathaniel had to go at 8:30 PM, but it was past the childs bedtime. (Beatrice whispered to me that it would be good for Chelsea to have a bedtime, too.) I stayed with Abigail when she cried after Ronna put her to bed, until Calvin, whod been watching TV (an old Shirley Temple movie) with Ronna, Chelsea and Beatrice, came in and said it was okay for me to go, so I was able to do my laundry before coming downstairs for the night.

Sunday, August 2, 1998

10 PM. My last night of sleeping on Ronnas familiar brown corduroy coach was fine, and I woke up around 6 AM from a dream in which I was reading a comic strip about a character who was buying my books at a store.

I exercised a little, had breakfast, shaved and read the Sunday Times Arts and Leisure section which got delivered yesterday by the time Ronna came downstairs with Abigail. Because Calvin was asleep in Chelseas room, I showered in the middle bathroom, and then I watched Abigail. Playing on the floor with her while Ronna made breakfast and did other chores. Calvin slept late today, and the girls both cried when he went out for bagels; they worship him. Then we all sat around the kitchen table talking and reading sections of the Sunday papers. They told me they will probably not be living in Jenkintown next year. Calvins 15% pay cut and the hospital and medical schools problems have pretty much decided that. Like all my friends Scott and Joon, Libby and Grant, John and Teresa no matter how much income they have, all of it gets spent.

When we were alone, Ronna confided to me that her only complaint with the marriage is that she doesnt see Calvin enough. Like her mother, Im thrilled that Ronna found someone like Calvin, and I think theyll be happy together for the rest of their lives. At noon, I hugged Ronna and Beatrice, shook Calvins hand, and got a proxy kiss from Chelsea, who suddenly got all shy again, via

Ronna, although Chelsea came out with her to wave goodbye as I drove off. Like yesterday, today was gorgeous: dry, in the low 80s, with a cloudless sky. Traffic was quite bad. In fact, I didnt get back to Locust Valley until 5 PM although I stopped off to eat my sandwich and snacks near the Verrazano Bridge on Staten Island. I crawled through Brooklyn and Queens, getting off highways and making a very tortured route home via Linden Boulevard, Northern Boulevard and other streets. John returned from Mattituck after Id eaten the veggies and Weight Watchers honey mustard chicken that I bought for dinner. He told me Teresas grandmother died on Friday night; it was not a big shock. Tomorrows the wake, at the funeral parlor on Lorimer Street around the corner from Teresas parents, and Tuesday morning is the funeral, also there. Since Granny Ida wasnt a churchgoer, therell be no church service, and the burial is in nearby Maspeth. When Teresa got home, she told me about the plans, and of course, theres a lot of cooking involved. She asked if I could use the rental car to take her to Brooklyn tomorrow, and I said I would, but John said he wouldnt pick her up, and all of a sudden they got into such a furious argument that I scrambled to get to my room.

Because they were screaming at each other, I turned my radio up very high and tried to read todays New York Times and Philadelphia Inquirer. Now I know Im ready to get back to Florida. I can still hear them talking a bit heatedly in their bedroom, but at least theyre together. I hope they can solve their problems. Certainly Im in a very awkward and embarrassing position whenever John and Teresa are so upset with each other; I feel very much in the way. I dont have a decent shirt or tie to wear to the funeral home, but at least I have pants that arent jeans, a pair of non-sneaker shoes, and the sport jacket I left in Brooklyn last year at this time.

Tuesday, August 4, 1998

Its only 9:30 PM, but Teresa, John and I are all so exhausted that one by one, we were falling asleep in front of the TV during a WLIW/21 PBS documentary, The Italian-Americans. Well, it was a long day, the day of Idas funeral. In a funny way, Im glad Teresas grandmother died while I was here so I could be a part of it because I always liked her a lot.

Up at 6 AM, I went out to mail my op-ed piece to Newsday (later I realized it needed heavyduty editing) and to buy the Times and to move the cars so I could get out the rental car and take it back to Enterprise after I exercised, showered, dressed and had breakfast. I wore my tan khaki slacks along with a boys size 20 white school-uniform polo shirt with a black tie, both of which I got yesterday at Target. Teresa was cooking like crazy, but by the time I got driven back here, she and John had already loaded the van. John had to work in Manhattan later in the afternoon, so he took his van. Teresa asked me to drive to Brooklyn in the minivan while she worked on her eulogy; we tossed some ideas around. Nobody was home when we arrived at Conselyea Street, so we brought all the stuff in the kitchen, and I found a legal parking spot (it was an alternate parking day) on Leonard Street. Peter and John came in their cars, and then Martin and Sal arrived, and we all went together to the funeral home across Lorimer Street. The chapel was filled with about fifty friends and relatives. The minister, Walter Parrish, a young African-American man high in the hierarchy of the American Baptist Association had promised Teresas parents hed preside, and hed come back from a church convention

in Detroit last night and was returning there this afternoon. He gave a nice talk reciting the facts of Idas life (her maiden name was Orlando, the same name as the funeral home, which was owned by distant cousins). She was born in 1898, the year Greater New York, the city she loved, was also born, arriving in America as a child on a ship from Italy. She married Teresas grandfather and worked as a saleswoman in the garment industry. Ida became a community activist in Williamsburg, had always loved reading, and of course she loved her family most. Three generations of women spoke: first Amy, whose tribute to her great-grandmother was very moving; then Teresa, who did fine and told some funny stories, like how Ida, unsure of the content of The Graduate, took her and her sister to see that when they were 15 and 13; and then Santa, who paraphrased Madeleine LEngles The Summer of the GreatGrandmother in saying that death had given her her mother back. Santa choked up only when she talked about how close Ida was to her in-laws and to Dantes sister and brother-in-law. Grandma Candida kept crying, and I wondered about the stress on her since she is 102. She sat in front of me, in the front row with Idas daughter and son-in-law, grandchildren, and

great-grandchildren and nephew Sal. (I sat between Peter and John.) As the service ended, we all filed past the coffin, and I got the minivan, following the hearse, the limo carrying Teresas parents, Thomas and Grandma Candida, and Peter and Lindas car, to the cemetery in Maspeth. The gravesite ceremony was brief: a prayer by Rev. Parrish, and then we put our roses in the coffin, and we had to leave so the workers could bury her before their lunch break. Returning to Williamsburg, I was sent out to buy five sliced small rounds of bread at the Napoli Bakery on Metropolitan Avenue as the others got ready to serve lunch. Teresas chicken, filet mignon, quiche, orzo, and string bean salad were all gobbled up by the 25 or so people who came back to the house. I guess because I lived in that house by myself a year ago, I feel really comfortable there and I know Teresas extended family so well by now that I knew that when she said we could dine al fresco in the backyard, Uncle Red would make his old joke: Who invited Al Fresco? I was glad to be able to spend more time with Martin and Sal, who noticed Ferenc Molnars grave at the cemetery. They love their new house in Huntington even though its very big. Teresa and I took her sister and the kids back to Douglaston with the flowers, which Teresa

and I brought back to the nursing home to share with the women who cared for her grandmother the past few years. Stupidly, trying to get out of the driveway in Douglaston, I banged into a car; I did almost the same thing just after Janices funeral back in the summer of 1980, so I guess I get too upset to drive well on these occasions. In Manhasset, Amy and Thomas were left in the car with me, and soon a fight over which radio station to listen to hard rock versus mellow rock ended in a physical confrontation which had Amy sobbing hysterically and me feeling helpless. I sent Thomas to get his mother and aunt, figuring the best thing I could do was separate the warring siblings. On the drive back, John called, hysterical that Hattie was gone from the backyard, where wed left her. Later he called to say hed found her lying in the bushes. I think we are all just very upset over Idas death and it comes out in strange ways. I had a bite to eat and kept to myself while the others swam in the pool and had Chinese food, but I did go out for a while. It was nice to feel Im a part of the family la famiglia, as the Italian-American documentary called it. I wish I too belonged to a large extended family of relatives and friends, but I did experience

that in my childhood, with my grandparents and all of our family on all sides. Now I am closer to Teresas and Ronnas extended families than I am to my own but I guess my familys weird tight, closed group of me, my parents and my brothers suits me, too. Mom sent Teresa some jewelry silver pins and said she wants to send some stuff to Ronna and Alice, too. I guess its because Mom had no daughters, daughters-in-law or nieces to leave things to. Im so tired.

Wednesday, August 5, 1998

7:30 PM. Even though I have only a few more days in New York, I needed to relax today, so I didnt stray far from home. Teresa let me take the car to Starbucks this morning, and this afternoon I drank Diet Pepsi at Taco Bell before shopping at Farmers Bazaar. I revised the God-awful op-ed I emailed Newsday and cut the article in half; although Id be shocked if they take it, I faxed it to the Times. Still, its good for me just to be writing again. Following the instructions Marc gave Mom, I emailed him; well see if his alphanumeric

pager gets my message. Id called him last this morning but nobody answered the phone. I also called the Times to arrange home delivery of the paper starting next Monday at my parents house, and I did laundry, took an hours walk while listening to All Things Considered, left a second message on Alices machine, and answered another personals ad on AOL. I bought stamps for me and Teresa, paying for her roll, and filled up the minivan with gas after I caused the odometer to go over 30,000 miles, the free mileage limit for her two-year car lease. Teresa went to have her monthly dinner with her sister and female cousins who are really the granddaughters of Idas close friend Carlotta, a surrogate sister she met on the boat to America. (Remember, back in 1982, Ida and Carlotta took an apartment in Hollywood for the winter.) Claire got a B in her Nassau Community College photography class, and though I really dont think shell end up being a photographer, I did tell John that she did very well for her first year of college. She accumulated 32 credits, and after all, only two-thirds of freshmen return in their sophomore year. Obviously I wont get a chance to see or even speak to some friends in New York City: Milton, Joelle, Judi, Mikey, and others. But I didnt

have the easy access of Brooklyn this year. Perhaps its just as well that I spent intensive amounts of time with Teresa and her family and friends, as well as with Ronna and her family. While Im living with my parents, Ill contribute financially to their household, and it wont be uncomfortable, while Im happiest living alone. Anyway, after my parents sell their house, Ill probably see little of them when theyre in Arizona. Besides, Mom and Dad may not live all that long, and it would be terrible for them to die before I no longer make up to them for the hostility Ive been feeling. Ive made up a tentative list of goals for the next year, and even if I cant achieve more than a fraction of them, Ill do the best I can. I need to keep remembering after all these months that its the journey, not the destination, thats paramount and its also the fun part. I am almost looking forward to starting afresh in South Florida again.