the year of the horse
896-899march of the horse
900-912
april
913-916
917-921
922-925
unprobably merrie
926-928
929-933
934-938
I laugh at anyone who spends so much time writing about what doesn't exist -- mental concepts.
Graham Greene: The Quiet American
896
The Year of the Horse.A new cycle of the Tales, and I've decided to experiment with something new. The Tales will appear weekly with a "publication" day on Tuesday. If it's Tuesday, it must be Tale Day. Insh'Allah. We'll see how it goes ... [Later note: I soon abandoned the idea.]
Life has fallen into one of those times when my To Do list is simply much longer than I feel comfortable with. I don't want one of those lists at all, but since I apparently have to have one just now I've decided to take it at a leisurely, steady pace. One item per day, forget the entire rest of the list until deciding which will be the next day's task.
The task for the final day of the Snake was the monthly appointment with the psychologist. This is something which ordinarily wouldn't be a bothersome item on the Must Do list (even worse than a To Do one) because I enjoy my chats with him and February's was no exception. I asked him if there was a term for a phobia of dealing with bureaucracy. No, but he was amused by the question and we talked a little about the difficulties. Even those awful touch-1-for, touch-2-for telephone setups are enough to send me into a mindspin and I just can't deal with them for very long (on top of disliking intensely to use the telephone at all).
Then we talked about the Honolulu Exhibition 2001 and he asked me to bring it up on his computer, printed out "Faith" and the resume. He asked why I started doing the drawings. First answer, it's fun. It has also been a useful device for interacting with the Boys, particularly the Sleeptalker. No, I didn't see much chance to pursue it more "seriously", in the sense of having an exhibition, etc., and I hadn't given much thought even to the possibility of selling any. But early on I realized I needed to establish some foundation with the Sleeptalker, a way of letting him know it wasn't just playing around, so I explained to him that I was setting a very modest level of expectation, so to speak, and that the works would be uniformly priced at fifty dollars per card, with a 50/50 split if it was a work he'd directly participated in. Even that seemed like a fantasy to him, any higher would have been utterly unbelievable. From my point of view, it didn't matter. Trying to establish a market value based on past sales records would have been silly and there was no problem of dealer commissions, recovering framing costs, and all that. Yes, it might have been more sensible to take into account "gallery rental", the cost of making space available on the web or even paying for time to do the scans myself rather than imposing on a friend. But I wasn't looking at it as a business concept. As I told the doc, yes, it began because it was fun to do and it continues for the same reason.
Admittedly, it has revived a long dormant interest in the art world, something I've paid very little attention to except for occasionally picking up an art magazine at the university library and flipping through it or looking around on the web. I didn't even have a collection of art-related links on the Panther's Cave. Now there is one, in its very early stages. There's no intention, of course, to make it comprehensive. Aside from a collection of the most indispensable museums, it's likely to remain more personal, artists I'm particularly interested in or web sites which catch my attention. But even so, evidence of a renewed interest.
So all that was woven into our chat and, as often happens, I left feeling how odd it was to spend a half-hour with him chatting without touching much, if at all, on the topics which one would expect to discuss with a "treating" psychologist. He probably thinks I am much more sane than I am.
I did spend most of the preceding day, Sunday, on campus but deliberately left early enough for a sunset brew in the park, hoping for news of the Sleeptalker. Angelo joined me soon after I arrived, said the Sleeptalker was sitting on a bench in the distance, would join us "in awhile". He didn't, and I wasn't surprised. I figured he'd be embarrassed about his night in jail, probably even more so about having gotten caught. Nonsense, of course, because he'd get no lectures from me. I'm too keenly aware how having that manic indestructible bubble burst can lead to deep depression and I wouldn't do or say anything to contribute to that, would try to subtly do just the opposite. He wasn't ready to deal with it, though, and I don't blame him. I'd finished about half my beer, gave the rest to Angelo to finish off and then bought one more for us to share before leaving him, went on my way to IHS.
He had been sharing the hotel room with Okinawa for three nights, the first two days spent with just the two of them together. Okinawa is usually very outgoing, bubbly and talkative, but Angelo said he gets totally quiet when indulging in the batu pipe and that they spent hours without saying anything at all to each other. Angelo had, naturally, spent all his money on that adventure plus buying a new cellphone and a couple of shirts, was totally broke. He has been quite silly, hasn't taken advantage of the discount bus pass authorized by the psychiatric treatments, so is having to walk from one place to another. I gave him the fifty cents more he needed to catch a bus the next day to check his mail, since he wasn't sure when he'll next have to see the Qualifying Doc and needs to keep a close watch on incoming mail. These Boys almost make me feel totally organized. Almost.
I checked my own mail on Monday, was happy to see a letter from Felix but saddened by the news that Richard Brown Baker died. Felix said there was a fine obituary in the New York Times but I can't find it online or any others. A google search did turn up some interesting references, though, including one to Baker's splendid Pollock.
I was particularly amused by Felix's confession that he, too, now has a little collection of Bad Boys, three of them. Photographs are promised. I suspect his are not nearly as "Bad" as mine.
He started his letter with: "In one issue of Dada News I reported on a letter from Lafayette to Washington in which a reference is made to the Hidden E of Heraclitus. All this time I've been drumming my fingers on the table waiting for some elucidation. Then a book comes out, sold through one of the Anthroposophical presses called Remembering Heraclitus. While waiting for the book to arrive I ask Chalmers if the Freemason book I gave him pre-Dada has anything about E or Heraclitus. No, but another book says there was an E inscribed over the entrance to the cave or what-have-you at the Oracle of Delphi. So now I've read the book and no 'Hidden E' is mentioned, but the term 'Ethos" is probably it. 'Character, Human Nature' is how it's defined in the text. Much is made of the statement, 'I searched my Nature.'"
Ah, my dear Felix. If only I didn't so loathe the idea of cold, snowbound winters, I'd be tempted to move to New Hampshire, close enough to occasionally spend some time with him.
And take the Sleeptalker along ....
Just a teasing fantasy. Meanwhile, I wish all my readers a prosperous and contented Year of the Horse.
897
The Task of the Day on Tuesday was sending "Faith" off to its new home in France. This involved a trip to OfficeMax in search of sturdy envelopes. I had to buy some which were a little too long since a more exact model would have required buying a box of one hundred, not a pleasing option for someone carrying a backpack. Even the packet I did buy was too heavy and I only saved about half of them. At the University branch post office a rather cute young man stamped both sides of the envelope with "air mail/par avion" and made me fill out one of those little green customs stickers. Yeukh, bureaucracy again. He took my money and gave me change but I didn't actually see him put the postage on the envelope so I wondered if it was off to a black hole. It was some months after I'd arrived in India on my first trip there before a "veteran" clued me into the proper procedure in such cases. Give the clerk enough money to guarantee about fifty cents change, tell him to keep the change, and stand there until he pastes the stamps on the envelope and hand-cancels them. Otherwise, more often than not, they'd keep the stamps for resale and throw the envelope in the trash. Or so I was told. As I saw it, the main benefit of that strategy was to use the same clerk on each visit. Since the Indians have no concept of standing in an orderly line waiting one's turn, being known as a "tipper" led to being picked out of the mob much more quickly.I grow old, I grow old ... simple, everyday transactions hold the key for too many memories.
This is, so far as weather is concerned, the worst winter I've known in these islands. Of course, it's also the first one (aside from the hospital trip) when I'm not carrying or wearing a sweatshirt. It certainly isn't needed during the night at IHS but it has been sufficiently "cold" that it would have been welcome in the early evening and even more so in the pre-dawn morning. And if it's not shivering time, it's wet. If I had that room of my own I'd probably hole up there and not emerge until Spring except for quick expeditions to buy tobacco and cigarettes.
Aside from completing, I hope successfully, the Task of the Day, I spent the rest of the first day of the Horse online or sitting in a sheltered place reading. The arrival of the Horse led me to think of that luxurious job I had in London. The company, officially a private investment bank, was named after the apparently fine stallions raised in the Ferghana valley in what was part of the USSR, and there was a quite handsome logo, a stylized horse, which I wish I'd designed. I did a search on the web and discovered, much to my surprise, that the company still exists, is now some kind of consultant group in the pharmaceutical/medical field. My former boss (and founder of the company) is not mentioned anywhere. But they still use that logo.
It was a bumper day for Bad Boys spotting although with no direct contact, just exchanged waves of greeting. I was waiting at the stop for the IHS-bound bus when Tanioka, Angelo, Rocky and a young lady left the mall nearby. The three lads waved. First time I've seen Rocky in awhile. They seemed to be headed to the park, took one look at the (drizzly) weather, turned around and went back into the mall. And at IHS, Mondo was sitting outside smoking, despite the drizzle, smiled and waved. He has a moustache and a scraggly attempt at a beard which, I'm afraid, doesn't really suit him. But perhaps he prefers looking less handsome.
It wasn't until I got to that bus stop in the evening that I realized it was Fat Tuesday, prompted by Nawlins-faux party people in beads and masks. Got too busy with the Chinese calendar, lost all track of the Christian one. Lent seems early ... Easter on March 31st. Any sign that Spring is drawing nearer is more than welcome.
Wednesday's Big Task was calling the Social Security Administration to arrange an appointment. Of course, many readers, probably most of them, will not understand why that qualifies as a "Big Task". Two phobias: the telephone and bureaucracy. I had to as patiently as possible navigate a lengthy touch-1, touch-2 labyrinth, then finally listen to music for a few moments (I didn't recognize the tune), and then a foreign-accented voice (India? Pakistan?), male, spoke.
He asked me a zillion questions, said I would be receiving a letter in the mail which I should take to my interview on February 20th. Errr ... that's next week. Are they wired enough to have the letter sent from the local office, or do they trust the US Postal System more than I do, expect them to get a letter from Washington DC to Honolulu in six days? (Assuming they are efficient enough to send the letter immediately.) I told myself not to think about it, simply concentrate on what is now Number One on the Must Do List, be at the SSA office at 10:30 next Wednesday. Perhaps light a few candles in the meantime?
He wanted to send me forms for SSI disability, too. One can get SS retirement money and still get Federal Crazy Money??? Perhaps, but I'm not interested in more Crazy Money dances, I just want what I've supposedly earned in this long life, my old age pension. Of course, the favorite nightmare (and daymare) at the moment is getting there and having them tell me the rules have changed, I haven't worked enough "quarters" to qualify. That would only be funny if I needed one more quarter. Anything more than that would be grounds for justifiable homicide ... of self, if not a mass wipe-out of a governmental office.
As is the pattern these days, we traded a few degrees of temperature for lack of falling water from heaven. So I was able to sit in the secluded grove, much to my pleasure and that of the Zebra doves. After eating, they promptly returned to their cold-weather mode, sitting all hunched down with feathers fluffed up. Little feather balls. It did a brief drizzle toward the end of my time there but not heavily enough to send me in search of shelter. After reading the Honolulu Weekly, a not very interesting issue this week, I returned to Nelson DeMille's Plum Island which is described by one critic as "witty". I assume that critic appreciated the smartassed hero's supposed sense of humor more than I do. Amusing, though, that one theme of the novel is the threat of anthrax. These writers who wrote about such things as terrorists flying planes into skyscrapers or bombing them or setting off bacteriological attacks must have sat back and congratulated themselves on their prescience when "real life" caught up with them.
I finished the rather silly book (which got even sillier when the fabled Captain Kidd's treasure was added to the plot line) with my morning coffee on Saint Valentine's Day. DeMille is the Hemingway of cop stories, I decided. (I don't really mean that as a compliment, not being one of Papa H's fans, aside for some of his very early writing.) And thinking about it as I was trying to sink into sleep at IHS the night before, I decided I'd declare a moratorium on Major Tasks until that whopper of them is behind me next Wednesday. Some minor ones on the agenda, but nothing to be overly concerned about ...
A trip to the State Library yielded Patricia Cornwell's Black Notice, filling in another gap in her Scarpetta history, preceding The Last Precinct, and a very fat volume called The First Man in Rome by Colleen McCullough. Here I go again, back to the beginning of a series after having read the last one, Caesar's Women (oddly enough, at about this time last year).
It was a sunny, clear day but windy and quite cool. Nonetheless, I went to the beach for a shower. A loony old guy was in there, grumbled because he couldn't have the place to himself. Maybe his secretary should call to make reservations for him? Despite the fact that we've just had a New Moon, an awful lot of people seem to be in Full Moon mode, including the jerk at IHS in the evening who refused to sign in the first person in line as long as the second had a mat in his hand. I wonder if the director of that place is aware of these silly little power games her staff play?
No Bad Boys on Valentine's Day. Dame Fortune must be on vacation. I did chat with Joe Guam when he passed my table bound for his sleeping place and gave him money for a Valentine brew. His benefactor still wasn't back and I wondered if the fellow changed his route or schedule (he drives a truck for a beer distributor, appropriately enough). As it turned out, Joe had just missed him during his Tuesday rounds, but did see him on Friday and was rewarded with five dollars. But then, one way or another, Joe somehow rarely misses his beer for the day.
By Friday morning I reached the conclusion that this has been one of the most boring weeks in quite some time.
At least the weather improved and the bronchitis attack entered its gradually disappearing stage. Then the one who never fails to make life more interesting (in one way or another) appeared. I looked in on Seventh Circle. The Sleeptalker was playing, from the other library. Later he joined me and I bought lunch and beer, sat with him in the secluded grove. He made no reference to his recent misadventure so neither did I. He was in a very happy mood despite having been on an extended indulgence with the pipe, perhaps still a little high. He said he'd been so tired after not sleeping for three nights that he'd fallen asleep in his storage locker! A worker woke him, said they'd seen his feet sticking out of the locker and were afraid he'd fall out (it's top of a tier of large lockers, needs a stepladder for access). He had, of course, spent all his money on the pipe and clothes. (I never cease to be amazed how these young men devote so much attention and so much of their limited resources on expensive clothes and shoes.)
It was tempting to take him to the Garden since there was the usual music session on Friday evenings but he was a little too edgy, despite the overall good mood, and too, I was reluctant to spend the money. Crazy Money lasting until the 16th day of a 28-day month is fine, no need to push my luck. So I left him, presumably to return to the game, and I went to the beach park for a sunset brew.
He arrived on campus again on Saturday morning, took the chair next to me at Hamilton Library. I left eventually to get lunch and a beer, bought a sandwich for him in case he turned up in the secluded grove. Then it started to drizzle so I had to evacuate to a sheltered bench where eventually the Sleeptalker joined me. We stayed together for the rest of the afternoon since he joined me when I went to check the mailbox (notice that it's time for another "re-evaluation appointment" for Crazy Money was the only thing there). Then I bought a round of beer for both of us and we went to the park. As on Friday, he was being outrageously flirtatious. Okay, quite clear that all I have to do is come up with some halfway reasonable justification and we can have round .... hmmm ... I've lost count, who would've thunk it? Yes, okay, I do want it so I'll figure something out eventually. Still the Love of My Life, can't deny it (and he does seem to have a need to re-confirm that now and then).
I enjoyed fantasies on that theme sitting in the secluded grove on a pleasant Sunday morning, then told myself to get a grip on reality, remember that the love of his life is the wretched crystal meth and that's not likely to change. Nor is it a promising factor in the future outlook for anything other than the casual, on-again off-again friendship we share. The computer systems at UH were undergoing a massive upgrade on the holiday weekend and it had been uncertain whether anything would be available on Sunday. To my surprise, everything (except the, for me irrelevant, UH email system) was working so I spent a little time on-line before returning to the grove for lunch and a beer. As had been the case with her Caesar's Women, I was surprised by how engrossing McCullough can make the everyday life of Rome two thousand years ago and most of the day and early evening was occupied with First Man in Rome.
Although the libraries and the little computer lab were closed on Monday, I went to campus anyway, knowing it would be a quiet place to spend the day. But massive though the McCullough epic was, it wasn't enough to last through the weekend so I started the day with a trip to the used bookshop and then a visit to the laundromat. I probably would have put that off had it not been for the dreaded SocSec interview. Lunchtime in the grove set off a day of too-frequent grumbling about pushy beggars. Those zebra doves have not only doubled in population, they are sometimes utter pests if not immediately given something to eat. In the right mood, it's amusing. In the wrong one, it's thoroughly irksome. And it didn't help later in the park when there seemed to be a constant parade of people begging for a dollar, spare change, a cigarette, even aspirin. My India training should have better prepared me and most days it doesn't bother me that much. Like I said, in the wrong mood ...
I saw Tanioka and the Sleeptalker when I got off the bus from campus, told them I was going to have a shower and would be in the park later. I almost missed them there since I was about to abandon the place in disgust after the parade of beggars, but they arrived just as I was leaving. Tanioka seriously injured his ankle, was hobbling on crutches. His trip into town was probably premature but he was understandably fed up with being invalided at his stepfather's house. He bought a round of beer and paid me back the two dollars he'd borrowed (which I had actually forgotten). The Sleeptalker was unshaven and grubby looking, wasn't in the best of moods either. Later he said he needed a cigarette and a beer (another one). Neither of us volunteered so the Sleeptalker wandered off. I waited with Tanioka until his bus arrived, did a snipes run through the mall and went off to IHS.
One night I had a very unusual dream, one I don't remember ever having had before. I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow I ended up in the ocean, no land in sight. I had a lifejacket or life preserver, not sure which, and miraculously two rescue boats appeared. I was waving and shouting, trying to get their attention and was amazed and much relieved when I was spotted, saw the boat come rapidly toward me. Next morning I remembered that recent advice about making sure my own boat is seaworthy before trying to rescue anyone else.
Uh-huh.
898
It is done. As the good Father Greeley's admirable Blackie would say, arguably the most important interview of my life was completed, far less painfully than the dreaded anticipation of it. Quite a pleasant young woman called me into the inner sanctum of the Social Security Administration's Honolulu office, admirably within minutes of my scheduled appointment time. I had all the required documents, was amused she never asked to see the actual Social Security card. There was a choice, to apply either for the earned retirement pension or for the SSI-disability status. The latter would actually pay more, absurd as these things are, but I told her no, I wanted no more of the doctor dance, just wanted what I was entitled to. She said I was not the first person who had told her that, explained that the Federal disability dance is much less complicated than the Hawaii State one, probably only requiring a doctor appointment once every six months. No, I wasn't to be tempted.So it is done. Alas, the actual monetary benefits from this now lifetime achievement will not begin until the third Thursday of June. Given the current situation with the US Postal Service, I cannot expect to see check-in-hand until July. Okay, so we do the Crazy Money Dance one more time. If the Qualifying Doc gives me just three more months, home free.
I didn't spend long on-line Tuesday, day before the fateful interview, despite the enforced absence on Monday. The Tale for the week was almost complete, just needed a few final touches before putting the link up publicly. Then I stayed in the secluded grove with lunch and a brew, reading O.E. Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth, a Norwegian classic about early settlers in the American Plains, a sombre, often touching novel but a little too heavy for my current mood. I persevered though, finished it only a few minutes before the next morning's interview.
It would have been finished earlier, with my sunset brew in the park, but the Sleeptalker arrived. He looked as unshaven and shabby as the day before, but was in a slightly better mood, although still very restless and complaining of being "bored". He was very vague about the details, but evidently he will get the Crazy Money for March and then will be suspended for six months (!). That's a record. Not because he missed a doctor appointment, but because he wasn't keeping to the prescribed routine of medication and some kind of detox (AA-type) sessions he is supposed to go to. I don't see how they could know about the medication unless he was dumb enough not to get the prescriptions filled or to tell the doc he hadn't been taking it. He can't be that stupid. So the sessions, whatever they were, must be the key. Unless, of course, he's making the whole thing up. I'm not sure.
In any case, I went along with the story, said I saw only one solution, then. GET A JOB. He doesn't like the idea but couldn't disagree.
I gave him money to get two cheap burgers from McD's since he was complaining of being hungry, didn't want to ask Paulo (although he kept wondering what Paulo was cooking, since we could see from the distance he was as usual busy at his grill) and it wasn't a Krishna day, and I bought a round of beer for us both. Then some fellow came along who said hello to the Sleeptalker, ignored me, and went to sit at another table. A weed provider, apparently, because the Sleeptalker then tried to get me to loan him money. I refused. I said I did not want him to walk around feeling that he owed me money nor did I want to walk around feeling I was owed. "If I can afford it, I will give you what I can," I said, "or if I can afford it and you want to sell me what you know I want, then I'll buy that, too."
That put the sex basket right out on the table in the open, didn't it? But he wanted to get high first. Nope, payment after delivery, not before, are the terms. He wasn't ready for that. No problem.
He went over to the other table, probably hoping to be offered a hit. I got up and left, went off to IHS.
The elated feeling of having gotten through the bureaucratic dance only lasted for a few hours on Wednesday, then the gloom of the long wait hit. Hard. The problem, of course, is IHS, not the wait for my monthly income to double. The thought of sleeping at that place for another four months is as bad as facing a prison term. I don't see any chance of doing anything about it in March because that's going to be, by the standards of my strange life, a heavy month. Both the mailbox and the LavaNet accounts will be wanting payment. Bad planning on my part to have them both pop up in the same month. But maybe in May I can find a cheap room (April if I could find one that didn't need a deposit) even if it means three months of empty pockets. That, of course, depends on successfully getting through one more interview with the Qualifying Doc. And making that appointment moved to top spot on the Must Do list. Sigh.
A day at a time, I of course told myself. Be here now. But I still spent a very gloomy sunset hour in the park with a beer, a cheap burger and fries from McD's, Anne Rivers Siddons' Fault Line, and the usual chat with Joe Guam when he stopped on his way to his sleeping bench.
And the internal jukebox went utterly whacko, kept getting stuck on every little breeze seems to whisper Louise .... My reward, I guess, for having spent so much time collecting and listening to pop music of the 20s and 30s.
As if the evening hadn't been bad enough, at about nine o'clock on Wednesday night all hell broke loose at IHS. I was already soundly asleep despite the television blaring when someone kicked me, shouted "get up!" Fire drill. The place did empty out fast enough, comfort I guess in the event a fire did somehow start there, and we were allowed to return to our mats within five minutes. But then it took quite some time to return to sleep. I tried to be reasonable and admit the inconvenience was better than posthumous fame as one of "hundreds die in shelter inferno" headlines.
Although I didn't notice when he arrived at the library, I was in the game on Thursday morning and saw the Sleeptalker appear. He didn't say anything. I've been playing my long dormant cleric, Caduceus, and was about to go up to level 69. That accomplished, I left, went downhill where I decided I'd have one of my "luxury" luncheons, see if that would cheer me up a bit. Too-costly French pate and rolls, olives, cottage cheese and beer. Tastey, but I can't say it really did that much to lift my spirits even if it did fill my stomach. (I went overboard and got some Swiss cheese as well, but it was tucked away with a couple of rolls for leftovers dinner.) I finished the Siddons book and began a Grisham-style yarn about a lawyer-author, The Quiet Game by Greg Iles. I was surprised the Sleeptalker didn't stop by and he was gone when I eventually returned to the library.
He didn't show up at the beach park later, either, so once again the only interruption in my late-afternoon/early-evening routine there was the usual chat with Joe Guam. He's another one I'm tempted to tape for later transcription. Readers would no doubt sympathize with the Bad Boys who have little patience with Joe's rambling style, even though a transcription would be missing all the extended gaps of silence scattered through Joe's snail-paced narratives. When I have an engrossing book in my hand, I must confess I sometimes get a little impatient, too, but tell myself I fall short of the "compassion for all living beings" ideal so often I should welcome the opportunity to practise it with someone as gentle as Joe, no matter how tedious his ramblings can be at times.
I had two free passes for the zoo, suggested to the Sleeptalker when I last talked with him that he meet me on Friday, we'd have a beer in Waikiki and go to the zoo (which he's never visited). But true to form, whenever I've suggested some future activity together, he didn't show up. I didn't much want to go on my own, so two free passes went to waste. The Iles book, although certainly in Grisham territory, was to my thinking better than any of J.G.'s sagas and kept me happily entranced until I finished it with the usual secluded grove lunch, pesky zebra doves and all. I probably should frequent a different lunchtime haunt on campus for awhile, let those birds thin out a little as they seek more profitable habits. In any case, I did complete the topmost Must Do Task, made an appointment with the Qualifying Doc. Tuesday, 11:30 a.m. will seal my fate until SocSec arrives. Let us pray ...
How very annoying it is, the way the telephone company has quietly changed all the payphones from the old 35-cents standard to 50-cents.
I went to the beach park, started Clive Cussler's Atlantis Found, a farfetched contemporary fantasy complete with artifacts from some very-distant past combined with a neo-Nazi conspiracy, etc. etc. Time spinning. Tanioka arrived, to my surprise since he'd said he hadn't planned to come into town until next week. But his foot was better, no more crutches, and as always it was fun chatting with him. Joe Guam joined us for a longer than usual session, too, complete with not-before-heard stories about how he used to be a door-to-door encyclopedia salesman in California. To see him now, it's almost unimaginable.
Tanioka wanted to see "Queen of the Damned". I declined. I had planned to see it, too, even though I think the book is the weakest of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. But a look at some of the stuff on the web strengthened the misgivings I already had because of the lurid cover on the paperback re-issue and I read some reviews which were brutal. I decided I'd pass. We had another round of beer, surprised the Sleeptalker didn't show up, and then it was off to IHS for me.
I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I want to do to finish the drawings that are in progress (including four more for "Ray") but I haven't actually done any of it. I can't remember, was winter always a more fallow time for me? Maybe. I know most of what I at the time considered "breakthroughs" came in spring or summer. Whatever the seasonal influence, I'm not too surprised that little is happening right now. Far too much mental energy is going into bureaucratic basics. Time enough later for play, if I survive the transition.
I changed my mind about making the Tales a weekly publication.
899
A mixed bag weekend, gray and gloomy during most of Saturday relieved by a strange hour of sunshine in the late afternoon. Bright and sunny Sunday although with frequent light drizzle, at least in the campus area. I stayed on campus until early afternoon on Saturday, then made a lucky visit to the State Library, found Maeve Binchy's London Transports and the next in Colleen McCullough's Roman novels, The Grass Crown. The Binchy book is a collection of short stories, all set in London, and I was amused to see that it begins with three stories about areas of the city I lived in, Shepherd's Bush, Holland Park and Notting Hill Gate.I checked the mailbox on my way from the library to the beach park, nothing in it. No one in the park, either, except for Joe Guam so I was free to enjoy the rest of the day with Binchy's delightful tales, a relief to read about the lives of ordinary people after that overblown fantasy by Clive Cussler.
As I was leaving campus to get lunch and beer on Sunday, Tanioka and the Sleeptalker arrived and I returned to join them in the secluded grove. They had beer and an almost empty bottle of tequila, the Sleeptalker never removed the headphones of his CD player and frequently did his gruesome singalong routine. He's more manic than I've ever seen him and it seems almost certain he's going to end up in jail again because he steals something in every store he goes in, during the rest of the day got another CD player, three CDs, batteries, a large bottle of Cuervo 1800 and some miscellaneous edibles! Not even Angelo and C-Two in their glory days went on such a sustained crime binge. A weird memory flash from high school days appeared in my head: aching for a breaking, cruisin' for a bruisin'. That's the Sleeptalker, vintage February 2002. Alas.
He went off to play the game for an hour or so. I had been in briefly in the early morning and was seriously debating dumping Seventh Circle altogether. I'm just weary of that awful English woman who rules as dictator there and think I'll be the next on the lengthy list of veteran players she has driven away. Tanioka and I left, I bought another round of beer for the two of us and we went to the beach park. The Sleeptalker joined us eventually, with the tequila. It was too late for IHS by the time they left so I slept awhile on a bench, then moved to the sheltered bus stop when it started to drizzle. The cops swept through the park just before three in the morning, waking everyone up although they didn't appear to be handing out tickets to anyone, even a fellow who had been brazen enough to put up a little tent. Everyone waited for the cops to leave before returning to their sleeping spots (minus the tent). Then the buggers swept through again just before five. Sheez.
Much as I love Cuervo 1800, I surely do hate the mornings after.
Not to mention cold, damp mornings. People who come to Hawaii for a winter holiday are nuts. The weather did eventually improve a bit
and I got to the library without getting soaked, although I would have been happy had they left the perpetual air-conditioning off. The
Sleeptalker arrived, spent some time looking over my shoulder at the
Jephan de Villiers exhibition in Paris, both of us enjoying his work (and I wishing to see more of it, found an interesting article along with a few other sites). A most
admirable artist.
The Sleeptalker followed me out when I left the library, asked where I was going. To Straub Clinic, said I, get my paper signed in preparation for the interview with the Qualifying Doc, and to get my dope refills. I've been reducing the Neurontin intake, preparing for a month-long weaning, and will probably stop the Remeron, too, once the month supply is gone. (I don't see the psychiatrist again until May unless I feel the need for more refills.) But I might as well get myself off all the stuff since I won't have a free supply come July except by going to the veterans hospital, an unlikely prospect.
The Sleeptalker walked off on his own without saying anything further. I returned to campus for lunch after finishing my medical chores, then went online again for awhile. The mostly cloudy day was interspersed with periods of rain, one of which ended my sunset interlude in the beach park and interrupted the usual chat with Joe Guam. Then off to IHS, lucky timing since I got the last available mat. And after that dreary, cold night in the park, it was a welcome relief to settle in the relatively warm, also relatively secure Black Hole of Honolulu.
And then it was Fateful Tuesday. A very windy Fateful Tuesday. After a brief time online, I was sitting in the secluded grove having a final smoke before heading off to the interview with the Qualifying Doc. The Sleeptalker arrived, CD headphones firmly in ears. I have to tell that young man, plainly, that I do not intend to keep company with people wearing earphones. I think it very rude, old-fashioned fogey that I may be. But our time together was brief, and I went off to the dreaded interview.
"They'll send you back to me in June," said the Qualifying Doc in parting. Praise be the Goddess of Fortune. In June, however, the Doc will receive a grateful letter from me thanking him for these months of relative prosperity, but he shall not meet me again, at least not as a supplicant in his office.
My season of Official Dances has ended.
900
Nine hundred tales. Perhaps I'll just go on writing them until I depart this sphere of existence, see how far I can surpass Scheherezade?After the sucessful interlude with the Qualifying Doc, I returned to campus with brew, sandwich and chips, enjoyed a sunny lunch in the secluded grove, happily sheltered from the gusty wind. Then I spent a few hours online, including going into Seventh Circle with Reting, something I do rarely enough to make it a notable event. Reting the Ranger Emeritus. I am going to quit playing the game but shall let Reting gather up all the equipment of my other characters and distribute it to deserving players. No formal note of quitting, of course ... it's a standard cliche in any MUD, people dying and getting angry, posting notice they are quitting forever and then shamelessly re-appearing in a few days. The Sleeptalker has done that act at least twice. I'll do it a different way. Old rangers never die, they just fade away.
I saw the Sleeptalker again as I was leaving campus. He asked where I was going and I said to the park for my sunset brew, apologized because I couldn't afford to buy him one as well. I said perhaps Tanioka would be there and treat as usual. The Sleeptalker said he didn't want to see Tanioka because "he gets me too drunk." I pointed out the fact that Angelo does not force the Sleeptalker to smoke ice, Tanioka does not get the Sleeptalker too drunk: "YOU do it." He walked off in a huff. I called after him, "true words, my friend, true words."
Not surprisingly, he didn't appear in the park so I returned to my pleasurable reading of events in ancient Rome with my sunset brew. Joe Guam walked over, had seen his benefactor who had given him five dollars ending a brief (but rare) run of beer-free days. Another fellow Joe usually sees each night at his sleeping place is also encouraging Joe to file for his Social Security and get foodstamps. Excellent! The more help I get in that act of persuasion, the better.
I wandered the mall for a bit, collected a full box of snipes but found no quarters. The Mongoose wasn't around so perhaps he has finally given up the game. Can't blame him if so. There was a longer than usual wait for the bus but it didn't matter since they were having a staff meeting at the Black Hole of H, so we had to stand in a lengthy line outside under the light of the almost-fool moon. The lunar influence seems to be strongest this time on those who talk to themselves or invisible friends. They are all in full rant, including the young black man who often stands outside the shelter pacing nervously back and forth, stopping occasionally to rave and gesture at his invisible companion. He was in full array and provided entertainment while we were waiting to get inside.
My esteemed French reader recently sent me a little piece of paper which identified itself, in Arabic numerals, Roman and Greek alphabets, as ten Euro. Of course, except for our rather mystical dollar bill, Americans have no claim to elegantly designed currency, but this Euro thing is exceptionally banal, cluttered and unimportant looking. It must be especially grating for the French and the Italians, both with a history of handsome currency design. In any case, I took the thing to Waikiki intending to use the venerable "A-1 Exchange" service. Alas, that place is no more and despite what I'd heard, the automatic exchange machines do not yet recognize the Euro.
So I went to the bizarre Bank of Hawaii on a corner opposite the Royal Hawaiian Shopping Center. No human contact there. In a rather sci-fi setup, one pushes a button under a monitor screen. A human head appears, one states one's business, places currency to be exchanged in a cylinder which is whisked off. Shades of department stores of my childhood, the last time I saw such pneumatic tubes in use. While waiting, the monitor provided news headlines and weather reports. A young woman using the terminal next to mine shared my amazement at the news that it was 29 degrees F in Nashville, along with the amused (or bemused) reactions we were sharing to the entire setup of the "bank".
The head reappeared, told me there would be a fee of two dollars for the transaction. Oh well, okay. The cyclinder then returned with a computer printout of details and $6.21 in cash. Three bottles of Colt45, anyway, so a votre sante to the Euro and all who use it, a pox on the Bank of Hawaii for its outrageous greed.
I returned to campus and the usual secluded grove lunch, went online for a little while and then headed off to the beach park a little earlier than usual since it was sunny and at least slightly warmer than it has been lately, decent enough conditions for a beach shower and a sit in the sun. Tanioka arrived, said Angelo and Okinawa were supposed to appear (they didn't), and we drank beer and talked. He told me more of his family's history and his own position in the clan, not a happy one since he's pretty much alone in the "black sheep" spot (unlike the Sleeptalker whose older brother is even "blacker"). It was an enjoyable time with him as it always is and he treated to a plate lunch box of stuff from the Orleans Express. I left all the meat to him but pigged out on the mashed potatoes and gravy plus cornbread. As close to down home Southern cooking one can find in this place.
Although I was much later than usual getting to the Black Hole, to my surprise a mat was still available and it was quickly off to dreamland where I seemed to spend all night looking for an apartment. Really, since it's all just a dream, it would see much more fair to end up with a luxurious penthouse or something instead of spending what seemed like days looking at squalid little dumps with six hundred dollar pricetags.
901
Know thyself.I understood that intellectually at a very early age but it was not until I encountered "psychoactive" drugs that my understanding deepened and I realized how little I did know about myself. Certainly LSD gets the major credit for increased understanding and knowledge. In the early days, as I've written elsewhere, use of all such substances was undertaken more as a serious quest than the "party method" used by many, especially in America.
That crucial bit of advice has surfaced recently. In one of the discussion groups with devotees of Rudolf Steiner, someone posed the question: if you had a group of people starting a new community, what would be the most important first tenet you would establish? One person advocated "love one another". I disagreed, said no one could really love another unless they first loved themself. No, I thought "know thyself" should be the first commandment.
Then in the research inspired by the letter from Felix about the "E" at Delphi, know thyself once again was brought to mind.
In the March Ice Follies, it was the major message although I didn't truly grasp it until the aftermath evaluation. I've failed to see how "ice" is a tool of self-awareness, not just a party item. But even though I didn't clearly see it during the expedition I was keenly aware throughout how the drug was helping me to step back and watch myself. I wasn't too happy with my performance even though it was, all in all, a most pleasurable experience.
I had borrowed twenty dollars on Friday morning, Saint David's Day, just in case the Fabled Pension Check failed to arrive, not wanting to be stuck with a penniless weekend. No problem, the Check was in the box. I cashed it, went to the discount clothing store where I couldn't find a cheap pair of trousers I wanted but did buy two tee shirts and boxer shorts. Then I got three packs of cheap Filipino cigarettes (one for Joe Guam) and a beer, went to the beach park.
Tanioka, Angelo and Okinawa soon joined me. Angelo and Okinawa went on a shopping expedition. Angelo scored some power tool (destined for the pawnbroker), Okinawa a high class Sony CD/FM/AM player. He wanted to sell it. Tanioka bid twenty dollars. I topped that with twenty plus my old CD player. Offer accepted. I didn't discover until the next afternoon just how good a machine it is, aided by the excellent quality of the headphones. It also meant I no longer had to carry my Walkman radio/cassette player and eventually I "sold" it to Angelo for a pack of cigarettes. I would have just given it to him anyway, but I needed the smokes.
We shared amusement at a newspaper article which caught our attention. It seems there are over 75,000 outstanding warrants on this island alone. [!] The police have only four people involved in the effort to process those warrants so are necessarily devoting attention only to warrant-dodgers who are "a danger to the community" and parole violators. We agreed it was almost an invitation to commit pretty crimes like smoking dope, shoplifting, sleeping in the park, etc. Of course, Okinawa is still on parole (after about twenty months jail time), so he's foolish to risk being sent back to prison just to pick up twenty bucks. Such is the life of an icehead.
When we finished the beer, Angelo and Okinawa asked me to go in on a round of the glass pipe. Tanioka went with us but only until we reached a little cafe they often use where he stayed to eat and the three of us went for the ice (me staying outside the place where the purchase was made). Enterprising lads that they are, they've discovered a new sanctuary, a large multi-story parking garage which is not used on the weekend and has no patrolling security guards or cameras. It's surprising more people haven't found out about it, but then it's surely an unusual set-up. If staying there during the week, it's essential to leave before the staff arrives at six. I wouldn't feel comfortable with that, but it's a welcome alternative for Friday and Saturday nights. The Garage.
Astonishing news: Angelo has a girlfriend, although I suppose "lady friend" is the more accurate label. A 28-year-old local Japanese lady friend. To say she is a disturbed woman is a considerable understatement. She's a mental wreck. She was there when we arrived, sitting in a corner with one wrist slashed and dripping blood. It wasn't a very convincing suicide attempt. She is utterly smitten with Angelo but wants to be his first love, not play second fiddle to the glass pipe. Not much chance, poor dear. She thoroughly annoyed me at one point by collapsing on her side with her head in my lap. Yeukh. After two rounds of the pipe, the lads left to get more, leaving me with "Tiffany", as I decided to call her although "Pathetic Lady" would be more suitable. I tried to talk to her, to warn her that she's going about it the wrong way. Demanding that Angelo give up the pipe for her or trying to get sympathy with feeble suicide attempts just wasn't going to work. When they returned, a big local man looked in (apparently the only regular user of the sanctuary). He had a bottle of vodka. Tiffany asked for some and he gave her the bottle. She downed about half of it within minutes, then swallowed six pills with yet more vodka (I asked what the pills were but she only said "tranquilizers", prescribed because she is "bi-polar"). After another round of the pipe, Angelo managed to get her out of the stairwell into the parking area (which is wonderfully dark, as I discovered later). Only some time later after he returned alone did he realize she was gone and went searching for her. She had left her shoes and purse with us. Even though we agreed her disappearance was only an act to get his attention, he still fretted about it from time to time (although not too heavily). It wasn't until the next morning he telephoned her home and discovered from her mother that she'd been taken to a hospital emergency room. He called the hospital and she had just been released. I had already suggested that was what happened. A drunk woman, shoeless, with caked blood on her wrist was very likely spotted and an ambulance called.
Aside from that drama, the Follies mainly consisted of the three of us sitting there. Forewarned by Angelo, I wasn't surprised that Okinawa remained silent through most of it. I later realized how I'm failing to give ice the same policy of respect for fellow trippers I'd use if it were acid. Far too much of the time, I just couldn't shut up. Fortunately I was able to give the lads a break now and then by going out into the parking area on my own.
I didn't sleep from about five on Friday morning until ten on Saturday night, ate nothing between lunch on Friday and a cup of miso soup on Sunday morning, a "natural high" factor which no doubt helps to account for the fact that I got much more stoned than has happened before with this substance. I thoroughly enjoyed it. As I enjoyed and was grateful for the aftermath evaluation, Sunday on my own, which was a invaluable assistance in furthering that goal: know thyself.
902
Up/down, high/low, can't have one without the other, as the Tao te Ching says more elegantly with mountains and valleys as a reference. And of course it is always a fact of life to a druggie. Dance and pay the piper. I got off fairly lightly with the March Follies, mainly because of timing. It was fortunate that the Follies occurred after the arrival of the Fabled Pension Check and before Crazy Money Day, less scarce resources having gone up in smoke. At one point during the Follies, when Angelo was off on a supplies expedition, I counted my remaining money, trying to make sure I'd keep enough to ensure beer and tobacco until Crazy Money morning. I failed. I told Angelo he must have been a banker in his past life and should be one this time. He has a truly uncanny talent at charming money out of people, one he used with the usual success with me and with Okinawa as well. (I did not ask how it happened that the two of them had money so near of the arrival of Crazy Money, better not to know.)Having failed, I did nevertheless manage to keep enough for two beers each day, helped by running into a friend who gave me four dollars and then an incredible find, a crumpled five dollar bill on the floor of McDonald's Sunday morning. That was exceptionally fortunate timing, walking in at just the right moment, given how many almost-penniless people walk through there each morning. So I did have beer money to ease the post-ice slump and only on Monday had to rely on ashtrays for tobacco.
The weather cooperated, too, with a run of pleasantly sunny days but far colder than usual for this place, especially after sunset and before sunrise. Even at the Black Hole, the beach towel was pressed into service as a blanket rather than its usual role of bottom sheet. For reading I had Graham Greene's melancholy masterpiece, The Quiet American, a surprise find at the State Library, followed by Gerald Seymour's Field of Blood. Vietnam, when it was the French-Indochina War, Northern Ireland where the war seems neverending. Both might be expected to contribute to the post-ice downslope but instead made me feel fortunate to have lived and to be living in relatively peaceful circumstances.
Three fire drills in a row. First at the Black Hole, then at the computer lab on Sunday morning, again at Hamilton Library on Monday. Strange. I left the computer lab on Sunday, went to the secluded grove and didn't return to online life for the rest of the day, preferring instead to read or listen to music. I love that Rolling Stones Stripped disc. All the tracks are better than the original studio versions. But I finally admit, I find Dylan's Love and Theft relatively uninteresting except for the mysterious song about having stayed in Mississippi a day too long. Had it come at another time in his career the collection probably wouldn't suffer as much as it does in the role of follow-up to Time Out of Mind. That one I have to buy again in CD form since I left my tape of it in the Walkman I gave to Angelo. I'd be happy to trade the newer CD for the older one.
Then it was Crazy Money morning. I spent the first half of the day as usual, first online at Hamilton, then with my sandwich and beer lunch in the secluded grove. Afterwards I went to check the postbox and paid the bill there for the next three months. There is a new printed edition of the Tales, the first four years, and Volume One was waiting. I had asked for one three-volume set to be sent directly to Felix and through the vagaries of the postal services, French and American, there was also a letter from him waiting. He had already received the books, was some "50 odd pages" through volume one and said he thinks it's my "best writing yet". I like the implied compliment that there might still be better. Naturally, I read the first fifty pages myself to see exactly what he'd based that opinion on. Acceptable. I wondered if he'd get bored eventually.
There was also written confirmation that I've been accepted for Social Security retirement money. Contrary to what the woman said at the office, this says payment is made on the third Wednesday of each month. I was thinking about that during the Follies, how naughty it is of Dame Fortune to set things up so that I get my monthly largesse just at the time most of the Bad Boys have gone through theirs. A window of opportunity, or a downfall trapdoor?
Time will tell, as they say.
903
The "cold wave" ended with a very pleasant Wednesday, then shifted to the other extreme on Thursday which was as close to sultry as it can get this time of year. Horrible day, heavy feeling air, sweaty and one of those days when nothing went really wrong but little went really right, either. I should have just parked myself in the secluded grove for the duration.Angelo arrived in the beach park in the late afternoon on Wednesday, unusually on his own, carrying a six-pack of Budweiser. He even offered me one! Extraordinary. The first time he has ever bought me a beer. I can forgive myself for cynically thinking later he only gave it to me because he didn't want to carry it with him. We talked for about an hour, mostly about his wretched lady friend whose latest gambit was to threaten jumping off The Garage. (It would certainly be a more successful effort than slashing one wrist.) Although he didn't say so, I think he left to join her, didn't ask me to go along which was just as well since I would have refused.
To my surprise, Tanioka was on the morning bus I almost always use to get from the Black Hole to the mall, and he sat with me while I had my morning coffee, then went off to some new all-you-can-eat buffet place for breakfast. His latest enthusiasm is joining the Peace Corps and he plans to be on campus next week when they have their usual once-a-semester recruiting session. It's an idea I have certainly toyed with during the past few years, never seriously enough to really investigate it further, and it would certainly be a sensible option for him (or any of the Bad Boys). I'm not sure whether their troubled histories would sink their chances but I guess we'll find out in this one case, anyway.
I have the choice on campus of either heading downhill for lunch provisions or taking a bus further into the valley to a small shopping center called Manoa Marketplace, an option I rarely take. But I did make the trip on Thursday, wanting to get batteries and a new supply of ziplock bags in addition to the usual sandwich and beer. That trip was more successful than a later one to the discount clothing store. My clothes were in need of a laundromat expedition but I didn't feel like doing that so replaced them instead. There was one long-sleeved shirt I should have bought but balked at the eight dollar price tag. Silly, since the one I did get was far too bulky and the sleeves too short as I discovered when first putting it on. I almost always try on trousers in the store before buying but don't bother with shirts. A mistake. Oh well, three dollars down the drain. I discarded the thing the next morning, scolded myself for having thrown away the old, much nicer one instead of washing it.
On the way back from the store, I stopped in the State Library to change into the new trousers and dump the old ones. Okinawa was there, asked for a dollar to get some food. I'd forgotten that he's suspended from Crazy Money this month. No surprise his buddy team with Angelo is suspended for the duration, too. I told Okinawa I was headed to the park thinking he might show up there later (he does have a bus pass), but I guess I should have been more explicit with the suggestion. Tanioka did arrive bearing two bottles of beer and some food and we spent the sunset time together, having to take shelter in the mall when it started to rain. Then he went off to see if he could find Okinawa, planning to buy him dinner. He said the Sleeptalker is in a new buddy team with a fellow who is also homeless but has a car and they're staying under a bridge somewhere, so I guess the Sleeptalker will remain absent for awhile. Wouldn't do him any good to be on campus, anyway, if he was there to play MUD since both Seventh Circle and Ravenloft have been down, the latter possibly for good.
I'm enjoying re-reading the Tales of the first year although I do annoy myself now and then by an overreliance on abbreviated sentences. 'Went to the store' instead of 'I went to the store', etc., and perhaps a little too heavy use of local idiom. 'I stay' for 'I am'. But it is interesting to be reminded of how different that first year was from how it is now, that time before the Bad Boys were anything but intriguing sleeping buddies, when the income was limited to the Fabled Pension Check, when the lack of a "curfew" meant so many evenings listening to local musicians, and when the potency of 'cheap' fiction played almost no role at all.
It doesn't seem either better or worse a time than now, just different. And since there is not really any desired direction or goal, it's not possible to think in terms of whether or not "progress" has been made.
Just keep on truckin'.
904
Main Entry: follyEtymology: Middle English folie, from Old French, from fol fool
Date: 13th century
1 : lack of good sense or normal prudence and foresight
2 a : criminally or tragically foolish actions or conduct b obsolete
3 : a foolish act or idea
4 : an excessively costly or unprofitable undertaking
5 : an often extravagant picturesque building erected to suit a fanciful taste
No doubt many readers would say 1, 2, and 3 apply. I say 4, for excessively costly (not unprofitable, though) and 5 only if we're talking about ice castles. I'd say 1 for "normal prudence" but then I don't have such a thing so can't lack it upon an occasion of folly.
Like Part I, the March Ice Follies Part II began late on Friday afternoon and continued until Sunday. I was sitting in the beach park drinking my second beer of the day when Tanioka, Angelo and Okinawa arrived. We soon went on to begin the follies, again in The Garage. Tanioka stayed for one round and then left, alas. Although I admire and support his determination to go ice-free, I do miss his company during these parties. I didn't budge from the aerie until Angelo and I went on a coffee/breakfast run the next morning and then not again until heading out for a bottle of Colt late on Saturday afternoon. Okinawa never left. Even the one time when he agreed to do a beer run, he got prepared and then just sat there ignoring us until Angelo gave up and did the run himself (by that time I just didn't think I'd be able to climb those stairs to the top floor). So it was up to Angelo to keep us supplied during the party.
With the exception of that one awful time with Angelo and Rocky, I very much enjoy Angelo's company during these follies. I begin to have doubts about Okinawa. He is just so utterly self-absorbed and silent, usually even physically unmoving except for occasional bouts of cracking his knuckles and less often partially unpacking and repacking his backpack. In short, he's a bore, but I suppose gets some credit for being a very quiet, unobtrusive one.
Unfortunate for me, I suppose, but fortunate for him, he's also rather "un-shockable" in that state. So when I fall into one of my ludicrous urges to do something outrageous, he's just not a good audience at all. Angelo's had too much experience with me in that mode, so he's beyond being shocked, too. When that mood did strike me (utterly take over, more like it, this time), there just wasn't any way to act upon it without throwing all sense and caution to the wind. I did at one point say to Angelo, in talking about it, that perhaps I should walk to the store in my underwear. We agreed that with boxer shorts which are more modest than much one sees on the beaches here, I probably wouldn't shock anyone that way, either. Naked, perhaps, but I'm not willing to risk being locked up just to satisfy an urge to outrageousness. I did spend some time on my own out in the dark parking lot, the first time I've been naked under the stars since winter began. Then I walked in to get something from my backpack. Angelo grinned. I don't think Okinawa even noticed. So much for being shocking.
That interlude was amusing even if somewhat frustrating, as was an extended time of stronger visual hallucinations than I've yet experienced with this substance. The roughly plastered wall became a panorama of images. My favorite was a spot which changed from a male head to a female one to a cat, the cat being especially delightful. Another favorite was a parade of Easter bunnies marching across a space near the ceiling. There was also a very large phallic image on the ceiling itself, too abstract to be of significant interest.
But there was a lengthy time which reminded me of the acid trips of yesteryear, a time of not being high enough or low enough, stuck in an in-between limbo. To get out of it, I weakened and financed another round of the pipe. Okinawa, of course, contributed nothing to this party since his Crazy Money suspension has him with empty pockets. That clever miser Angelo carefully supplied his half for the earlier purchases, reduced it a little on the third round (after all, he was making the effort to go get the stuff) and then pled being broke to leave the final rounds entirely to me although he did finance one beer round completely. But I know he feels he's got my number, knows I'll eventually want more of the stuff enough to pay for it. And he was right, of course.
When it came time for that final bottle of Colt for me, it took my last dollar and some of the laundry-intended quarters. Sigh.
Well, I did pay the mailbox rent, the LavaNet bill, and bought new clothes. So being flat broke for the rest of the month produces only two major problems: laundry and batteries. I did buy new batteries but gave Angelo one pair. I guess I'll have to limit my listening to the radio, lay off the CD's. And weather permitting, doing laundry in the beach shower is always an option. Tobacco? Ashtrays, of course. Beer? Okay, that is a major problem but I refuse to allow it to be classified as such. If you wanna dance, you gotta pay the piper.
Was the dance worth it? Yes. Although I know it will alarm and concern some readers, it seems likely that crystal methamphetamine (ice, batu) will become for me in these years what LSD was in the late sixties and early seventies. Of course I would use LSD if it were as readily available. It isn't, ice is. The sensible method would be to restrict myself to one Follies per month. I just don't have the stamina to make it a once-a-week expedition as I did with LSD, even if the financing were available.
I made major progress this time on staying out of the motormouth trap, so much so that Angelo asked several times if I was okay since I wasn't saying anything. Little progress at all with the annoying onslaught of sexual urges, not helped when it focused on Okinawa. Ordinarily I have no special desire for him at all, but it was quite strong this trip. I kept it to myself, not wanting to intrude on whatever it is he is doing in these adventures. I did tell him at one point that the next time we're together just drinking beer, I am going to ask about the way he experiences the follies. He just grinned.
Although Angelo didn't forewarn us, which was naughty of him, his Pathetic Lady arrived on Saturday evening. Some time before her arrival, Angelo took his stuff and went down to the level below us. I thought he was just going to sleep (which he did for awhile). I doubt Okinawa wanted to spend the night with just me, so I moved to the level below Angelo, telling Okinawa he could have the "penthouse" to himself. It was only about seven-thirty and despite the all-night, all-day party I still wasn't anywhere close to wanting sleep, still had a little beer left, so I sat there, smoked and reviewed the events of the follies and my reactions to them. The Pathetic Lady came climbing up the stairs. Good thing I wasn't misbehaving myself or sitting there naked or whatever, although she probably wouldn't have provided much of a shocked audience either. After a brief conversation, she and Angelo moved outside, I suppose, since I didn't hear any more from them until early the next morning (or very late at night, I'm not sure), they came walking downstairs, Angelo saying he was walking her to the bus. So even though I think it was rude of him to say nothing about expecting her, at least he kept the intrusion to a minimum.
When I did finally fall asleep, some time after he returned, it was a brief one. I gave it up, packed my stuff and left to enjoy morning coffee in the park. Sunday was a wonderfully sunny and warm day, unseasonably warm for this time of year. So I stayed in the secluded grove either listening to the radio or continuing my way through the print edition of the Tales (up now to early summer of the first year).
I'll have to pay special attention to how I coped with being utterly penniless, see if I can get some tips on how to handle it this time around.
wave to the piper ...
905
As I said, I don't have "normal prudence" but in recent months I've been unusually close to prudent and that seems to be working as a complicating factor in these final days of winter, early days of spring. For several months now, I haven't had to worry about lack of money until only a few days at the end of a month, haven't had more than a day or two of scrounging for tobacco, no days without beer. This makes the prospect of the next two weeks more daunting, I think. Of course, I hasten to add that there's no one or nothing to blame but myself, just in case anyone would think I feel otherwise. Regrets, not a one, but a little twinge of saying "hey, that really wasn't very smart, now was it?"Thoughts dominating Tuesday and Wednesday, even before the actual drought begins, the deep desert is reached.
Anything but a drought, as it happens. I'd been on-line for awhile on Monday, was sitting in the grove with the third of McCullough's monumental Roman epics (Fortune's Favorites) when the Sleeptalker arrived. I didn't talk long with him since he was eager to play the game and soon went on to the library, but he came to the park later where I was sitting with Tanioka who had bought a round of beer for us. The meeting in the park happened again on Tuesday when the Sleeptalker joined me, Tanioka and another park regular I haven't yet given a name (a session when both Tanioka and the other fellow provided a round of beer, the Sleeptalker one of weed). The Sleeptalker's hair is longer than I've ever seen it and he's very, very thin, so much so his cheeks are a bit sunken. Sleeptalker the Gaunt. Tanioka is revelling in the tax refund he got from those months of construction work, the Sleeptalker in his last month of Crazy Money before the supposed six-month suspension. And the Sleeptalker has now decided to become a purveyor of smoking requisites, that is to say, a weed dealer. Now this would be a reasonable way to finance his own pleasures but I don't think there's a chance in hell he can do it without smoking up the profits before taking the necessary step of accumulating the reserves for the next wholesale contact. Perhaps he'll prove me wrong, but I surely will be surprised if so.
Concentrating on the weed and laying off the more potent substances hasn't done much for his sociability. He always seemed on the verge of hostility, a dance I declined by ignoring him when it veered in that direction even if I did frequently think of saying "sheez, aren't you ever going to grow up?!" I know, I know, just thinking it sent the wrong subliminal messages, so I can't claim to have handled it well, was rescued mainly, I think, because I was genuinely pleased to see him.
But I was also pretty weary myself, mentally and physically, not at all recovered from the Follies, and eventually on Tuesday evening I wandered off, walked out to a bench on Magic Island and spent the night there. The weather continues unseasonably warm, with no indication of falling moisture in the immediate future, and it was a pleasure to once again be sleeping on my own under the stars. At about four in the morning, a policeman arrived on his three-wheeler. He said they didn't want to give out citations so all we had to do was sit up when they arrived and once they were gone we could return to sleep. ?!? What utter nonsense.
Aside from that ludicrous interruption, it was a welcome night of rest even if I am totally out of practice with sleeping on a narrow, backed park bench, was still feeling somewhat stiff when I made the trip down to the clinic for the monthly session with the psychologist. That was a pleasure, as always, even including a welcome cup of tea. I'll miss our chats when this pauper's medical insurance ends, as is likely in July.
Tanioka said one evening, "there are no old ice smokers." Even aside from the fact that, in this form, it's a fairly new drug, I know what he means and agree with him. Anyone starting young and going heavily at it is very highly unlikely to reach middle age, I'd say. And someone starting at my ancient age has to consider the fact that the time of experimenting with it is limited. It needs the stamina of youth or a lengthy recovery time, eventually would surely no longer seem worth the effort. Like Joplin sang, "get it while you can ..."
And heaven help me through the next two weeks ...
906
Spring hasn't sprung just yet but it certainly is near and feels even closer, often seems to already be here. The unusual run of bright, sunny, warm days continues, sweatingly so on Thursday. I stayed on campus longer than has been my usual habit recently. Before leaving the mall in the morning though, I was treated to the latest little tantrum there. A man was stationed in the men's room, radio-contact gadget in hand. No more small army of the homeless there each morning performing their daily grooming routines, can't even brush your teeth anymore. And the rather stressed-looking announcer of the new policy was nervously prepared to call for reinforcements if anyone disagreed. Stuff and nonsense. If I thought getting busted for stealing ice cream was ludicrous, how about the major crime of brushing teeth in a public toilet?!Perhaps the powers that be are displeased that Honolulu only made the top ten in the list of "meanest" cities, want to hit the top five? "Meanest", in this case, a rating based on how a city treats its homeless population. I'd hate to find myself in one which was "meaner" than this town has become, a situation which is, true, greatly alleviated by the climate and the general affability of the local population, authority-types aside.
I hadn't indulged in my usual daily computer routine, browsing the "what's new" lists or even reading the absurdities on Usenet, so that kept me occupied for several hours. I looked in briefly at Seventh Circle where there weren't many players and no sign of the Sleeptalker. Since I was nearing the end of the Roman epic, I followed lunch in the grove with a trip to the State Library where there was an abundance of Danielle Steel. Trouble is, I need to compile a list of what I've read. I can't remember from the titles or even from scanning the first few pages. So I refrained from taking one of those, selected two other timespinning novels by writers I've not heard of, and went on to the beach park. Time for a shower and for some shower laundry. My first companion was dull but he was soon replaced by a young local Japanese lad in quest of service. I was happy to oblige. Maybe the calendar is off and spring has sprung? Spring on, if so. Sweet.
When I walked back to my usual area I spotted Tanioka sitting on his own and he kindly gave me money for a beer. I told him I need to start a little credit card, make a mark or a notch for each beer I'll owe him when April arrives. At the rate it's going, we'll need a major bar crawl for me to catch up. Tanioka said the Sleeptalker was in the area but he didn't join us. Joe Guam made his usual sunset stop to chat and hint for snipes. Sorry, I told him, had enough trouble keeping my own box full that day (and true it was ... both on campus and in the mall folks seemed to be smoking the damned things right down to the filter). Another of the park regulars joined us a little after sunset but I had to go on my way for one final snipes hunt before heading to the Black Hole.
We did talk a little about the idea of going back to school, a notion which has some appeal to both of us ... if the funding could be found. In my case, sheer laziness continues to prevent further exploration of the idea. I'm told there are grants available for old folks wanting to return to school, that there are a number of older students at UH ("non-traditional students", they are called), and certainly I can easily pick from the available list of options a number of subjects it would be interesting to pursue, especially in the areas of art, history, philosophy and languages. But I still haven't made up my mind about the question of travelling. Do I want to attempt yet one more Journey to the East?
Or just continue to drift through the life of Homeless in Honolulu, albeit slightly more luxuriously?
Questions of a thousand dreams ... and yeah, it's hard to be here now when faced with two weeks of waiting for the Fabled Pension Check and almost three months of waiting for the first even more fabled SocSec Check.
907
On the threshold of Aries and it seems to be coming on pretty strong this year. Perhaps that hitherto-unnamed comet, Ikeya-Zhang is an appropriate herald, supposedly not seen since 1661? As for the moment itself, the Old Farmer's Almanac tells me it arrives on Wednesday the 20th at 2:16 PM EST. Spring is sprung ... almost.After that highly pleasurable run of warm dry days, the pattern broke slightly on Friday with occasional showers, especially in the campus area which had some brief morning downpours. So I left earlier than usual and went to the beach park where Tanioka was sitting on his own finishing up an also earlier-than-usual bottle of Mickey's. I had picked up one of what may be my few remaining ones for the month on my way there and a little later we were joined by Okinawa and Angelo.
Although everyone was apparently too busy running to find out for certain, it seems likely the Sleeptalker yet again spent the night in the downtown holding cells after he, of the three of them, unluckily got caught during a shopping spree. All three of them seem to be in overdrive, grabbing stuff whether they want it or not or even whether it has potential re-sale value, epitomized by Okinawa's haul of several dripping wet shirts pilfered from a laundromat! To each his own form of Spring Fever Madness, I guess.
Paulo was back, after a lengthy absence on one of his periodic fishing boat jobs, generously gifted me with a little plastic snowy bag, asked where the Sleeptalker was. That made me remember the Sleeptalker's new "occupation" and I hoped he didn't get caught with his own plastic bag in pocket. Seventy-five thousand outstanding warrants or not, the Powers That Be are no doubt still likely to frown more heavily on plant-life-in-pocket than pilfered CD player. Justice in America, where a pothead is a bigger criminal than a thief.
Okinawa and Angelo went on their way, probably to continue the crime wave. Tanioka and I were joined by that fellow who had also been with us in the park recently. Time to think of a name for him, but thus far nothing has come to mind. I did one beer run, financed by Tanioka, and started a little tally of what I owe him when April's Fabled Pension Check arrives, wished I hadn't been quite so lavish with the second act of the March Ice Follies since I probably would have been ready for a repeat even if I had told myself numerous times during the week that my major goal must be to limit the Follies to a once-a-month event. Hmmmmm. Paving the road to hell ...
It's partly the touch of pre-Aries mania. Will this one be like especially zaney ones from the more distant past? Wouldn't surprise me. I don't remember the ones in these years documented by the Tales as particularly extravagant, but I decided to have a glance backwards, was especially amused by the Tales from Aries advent in the third year when I was grumbling about Tanioka and his role as the "ice man". Now he's the only one abstaining.
Saturday again started as a beautifully warm, sunny day. But there was a most unusual weather pattern for this island: east winds. And they blew in some of the heaviest, darkest clouds I've seen in years. I was fortunate in my timing, left campus and went to check the mailbox, returned to the mall just before the downpour began. I had been lucky, found 86 cents on Friday, 52 on Saturday morning, so had enough for an unexpected sunset brew (even if the actual sunset was definitely hidden). So I sat in my favorite sheltered place and continued Gary Braver's Elixir, a fountain-of-youth yarn which was passable enough to keep me occupied until time for the Black Hole.
The only thing in the mailbox was a welcome letter from Felix who was nearing the end of the Tales from the first year, asked, "I'm wondering if in Vol. II or III you talk about Householders who are really nomads and Nomads who are really householders." Ha! I think I've been the former all my life and in the latter category are all the nomads who plod around with heavily-laden shopping carts, more possessions than many householders may have (and far more than any true nomad would desire).
Felix also included a photo of a pair of his "bad boys" and I was struck by how European they look. Aside from the Sleeptalker, my crew doesn't look at all European. Nor, funnily enough, do they look as "bad" as these young friends of Felix do, although I suspect the opposite is true. I shall have to ask Felix if his lads go on "shopping sprees" and what form of refreshments they favor. He's already made it clear he hasn't been as lucky as I've been with the more physical side of things.
We grow old, we grow old ... but in our different ways, mon cher Felix and I aren't doing too badly at it, methinks. This is not to say, in my case at least, the act couldn't be better. Maybe I'm still in rehearsal before I take it on the road?
908
Fifty-four cents found on Sunday, Saint Patrick's Day. But ah, you see, I may have been loony enough to leave myself facing two weeks of dire poverty but was NOT totally insane. I knew there was one day within those two weeks when I'd definitely be crying in my nonexistent beer if it was indeed nonexistent. And that, of course, was Saint Patrick's Day. So I managed to keep four dollars in reserve, helped considerably by Tanioka's frequent generosity.It was an extraordinarily windy day although clear and sunny for most of it. The wind was so strong on campus that it almost blew my backpack off the bench at one point. Very cool, too, so much so I deliberately shifted position to stay in the sun rather than the usual secluded grove routine of moving with the shade. I'd finished that inconsequential yarn about the herb-of-youth, moved on to an exceptionally good first novel, Killing Floor by Lee Child, was not surprised to discover on the web that he's since written four more books featuring his very-American hero, Jack Reacher. I was progressing through it too rapidly, though, stopped for awhile to listen to the radio where I could find nothing of much interest and so threw caution (and battery juice) to the gusty wind and listened to the Stones' "Twisted" again. Well, I thought, I've got one pair of spare batteries so if the razor's juice runs out, I can always grow a beard which listening to the CD player instead of shaving. And I made a quiet vow to listen to "Twisted" the next time I'm zonked on that white stuff. (No, I haven't been tempted to indulge on my own despite having the means, even though Dame Fortune tempted me further by putting some tinfoil in my path.)
By mid-afternoon I was ready for that second beer even if it was too early, so I left for the mall, got the beer, made a round for snipes and then crossed to the beach park where Tanioka was sitting on his own. Not long after I arrived, the Sleeptalker joined us. As before, he made no reference to his recent misadventure but seems to have had yet another one, tangling with one of the large security guards at the supermarket. Not a very wise move, to say the least (given the size of that fellow), and now the Sleeptalker is banned from the entire mall for a year. This is actually very good news but I don't expect the Sleeptalker to see it that way, of course.
He had, surprisingly, replenished his inventory and I gave him a five-dollar IOU in exchange for a smoke. I wrote it on one of the long cards on which he then wrote/drew some things but didn't show me what he'd done. If he keeps that card, I'll redeem it for double. His merchandise is packaged so as to look very generous but I think he rolls twigs and all to make the cyclinders fatter because they certainly are harsh smoking. I later took one drag, then put it away planning to open it up, clean it more carefully and re-roll. Panther and the fledgling Grassdealer. Well, one should encourage initiative and free enterprise, no?
Tanioka bought another round of beer for the two of us, the Sleeptalker declining the offer and only later wishing he hadn't. That's when the story came out about the mall ban, since Tanioka offered him the money to buy a beer but the Sleeptalker couldn't. By then it was time for me to leave for the Black Hole, later than I should have waited, actually, considering how cold it was. And indeed when I got there, it was a packed house, no mats left. No matter, I spread out my beach towel and was soon soundly asleep. A third bottle of Mickey's is a fine aid to sleeping (even if it does mean a couple of nocturnal visits to the pissoir).
So for the final days of winter, the last week on campus before Spring Break. The timing is excellent this year since the Break week includes two holidays when everything would be closed anyway, Kuhio Day and Good Friday. It was uncomfortably cold on Monday morning and very windy. But oh my, was Dame Fortune smiling down upon me. I had my usual cans of foodstamp-provided coffee, then set off on a snipe-hunting walk through the mall. Outside a restaurant there are two planter boxes which have oddly been left empty for several weeks now. I glanced in one of the boxes in case someone had dropped any butts there, saw a crumpled piece of paper. Green paper. A ten dollar bill! How it came to be dropped in that box is a major mystery, how it came to stay there until I noticed it, a minor miracle.
Then like they say on the game show ... and that's not all! Dame Fortune Airways delivered a melon from heaven in record speed. I expected my readers to unanimously say "silly old man, you got yourself into this mess so pay the piper." I may indeed be a silly old man. But also a lucky one.
909
Day One of Aries 2002. Shattered, wrecked, sleepless for twenty-seven hours (and counting). I left campus on the last day of winter after having a can of tuna fish and a beer for an early lunch (every now and then I get the urge to eat tuna out of the can). I picked up another beer and went to the beach park, was soon joined by Angelo on his own. We walked over to the mall to get him a beer, too, and he asked if I wanted to share a pipe. Rocky must be doing very well right now because he had given Angelo a decent lump of crack. Oh boy.Both of us prefer the ice and of course I still had the gift bag from Paulo. But it's true, that crack does give an incredible rush even if the high doesn't last very long and it made a very interesting start to what I guess counts as the March Follies, Act 3.
We finished the beer and went to The Garage. I picked up another beer on our way, should have bought two, not to mention coffee for the morning. We continued smoking the crack pipe. Okinawa arrived and joined in. Then we switched to the ice. Although Angelo hadn't expected her, his Pathetic Lady came creeping up the stairs. She didn't make any comment about the pipe circulating, brought a couple of beers. Once the pipe was almost finished, she and Angelo moved down several flights leaving me and Okinawa to get the last hits from the pipe.
I had a really difficult time with the motormouth routine, calmed it a little with the still unsmoked weed from the Sleeptalker. It was too cold to spend much time outside so poor Okinawa was stuck with me through the night. I wonder if he'll ever let that happen again? Wouldn't blame him, if not. I do get way too crazy with that crack/ice combination. I'm sure I said "I'm getting too old for this" at least half a dozen times.
It was just impossible to get control of my mind and that irked the hell out of me eventually making it even worse. I tried several times to leave Okinawa in peace but I strangely didn't want to be alone. I really did want to be sitting there with him, so I did. He wasn't quite as remote as he gets when there's more to smoke and perhaps Angelo and I teasing him earlier about turning into "The Lump" had an effect, too. I'm not sure. But then I wasn't sure about a lot of things during this trip.
Am I learning anything valuable from these drugs?
909a
In some ways I like the day after a Follies better than the party itself. This one started off a bit rocky but then the "second wind" arrives and the aftereffects of the drug(s) plus prolonged sleeplessness and fasting are a high, without some of the pressures of the drug experience.Alas, it's the second day when the crash comes, this time made worse by a ferocious hangover from a day and evening with too much beer and no food at all.
I spent some time on Wednesday morning searching the web, looking for accounts of actual experience with crystal methamphetamine rather than the numerous medical reports and intense negative propaganda. Not many people write about their direct experience.
Then I left campus, bought the first beer of the day and went to the beach park. The Sleeptalker soon arrived. He was in one of his "looking for something better" moods and wandered down to Paulo's area several times. I listened to the Stones during his absences until Tanioka arrived, then went to the mall to buy another beer for myself and one for the Sleeptalker. Neither of them had seen Angelo or Okinawa so I didn't get any feedback about how Okinawa had reacted until Angelo arrived. He didn't think there was any problem, an assumption which was later proven correct when I went to The Garage and Okinawa was there.
The Pathetic Lady joined us in the beach park, was in a very strange mood. I missed how the thing started, but evidently she accused the Sleeptalker of being gay, he must have said something nasty back to her and the two of them started a slapping match! Tanioka was trying to restrain the Sleeptalker, Angelo was trying to keep her back (and got several nasty scratches in the process). What a hellcat that woman is. Then she went and called the police. The Sleeptalker quickly disappeared, the police were talking to Angelo and her at the nearby bus stop, then one came over to ask us what we'd seen. I said I hadn't seen how it started but added, "she's a very disturbed woman." They left, as did she. Angelo returned to our table and said that was it, he was finished with her. The Sleeptalker returned, still fuming about the whole thing and we had yet another round of beer, still with nothing at all to eat.
We got the bus downtown. Tanioka went off to his favorite night sanctuary. I climbed all the way to the top of The Garage, Angelo and the Sleeptalker settling on lower landings. I still had an unopened beer in my backpack plus about half of another bottle, so I gave one to Okinawa, told him I hoped I hadn't been too much of a pest during the Follies. No problem. He's a funny, cool man, and it was good to settle down next to him again for what turned out to be a very sound sleep.
But oh my, did I feel AWFUL in the morning. Paying the piper ...
910
Fortunately, the "cold wave" which was making life less than comfortable finally ended and after the worst of the hangover was gone on Thursday it was a pleasant day, warm enough for a beach shower, warm enough to seek shade rather than sunshine. Just in time, too, since the unusual routine of sitting in the sun to keep warm was pushing me to the brink of sunburn. I had Danielle Steel's Now and Forever and Barbara Delinksy's The Vineyard for distraction. Both soap operas in printed form, the Steel definitely not one of her best, but passable entertainment and the most promising of a lacklustre selection at the State Library. No Bad Boys appeared either Thursday or Friday and I spent both nights at the Black Hole. I arrived too late on Thursday to get a mat, smiled at myself when I did get one on Friday and sank down on it thinking, "ahhh, such luxury."There were the usual sunset chats with Joe Guam on both days. On Thursday he'd found a twenty dollar bill in Waikiki, was so excited about it he repeated the story three times, each time swearing on his mother's grave that he was telling the truth. I haven't gotten that thrilled by a "chance find" since that morning I found the hundred dollar bill.
I finally worked on one of the cards-in-progress, tentatively called "Black and Blue" (for the simple reason that it's done entirely in black and blue ink, thus far no collage), and again told myself I should have done both things during the last Follies I was doing then, listening to the Stones and working on cards. But headphone music is a solo thing to be doing and neither Angelo nor Okinawa are likely prospects for collaborators (at least where the drawings are concerned) so I don't know if I'll ever follow through on that intention when with them.
And of course I spent a lot of time thinking about the March Follies. Am I learning anything valuable? I'm not sure. There's a conflict in mind between seeing (and using) the drugs as fuel for entertainment versus the kind of inner exploration which dominated drug use in earlier decades. No resolution to that debate is in sight. Despite my slight grumbles about Okinawa's cocoon act, I do realize and appreciate the fact that the combination of him and Angelo is a treasure, one of the best pairs of "tripping partners" I've ever encountered. I do wonder what it would be like to take LSD with them, although I'd certainly want a more sympatico environment than the brightly lit stairwell of The Garage. (It doesn't bother me at all with the ice.)
So ... a lot of time thinking about it, but no notable conclusions.
As I told Kory K on Friday, one thing I'm determined about. I won't fall into the silly pattern so many of the pipesmokers have of swearing "never again" after each time. I won't go out of my way to score or share in the crackpipe, that drug just isn't for me. But the ice? Sure, although even with it I'm not much interested in solo puffing.
I spent Saturday morning on campus, then stopped by the State Library for more reading material. I had picked up a Stephen King book on my last visit but so disliked the thing I threw it away after about thirty pages. The freebie collection at the State Library has been unusually sparse and uninteresting in recent weeks, time to budget a few bucks for books, I guess.
Tanioka was sitting in the beach park with that still-unnamed new player. Later we were joined by Lord Moana and I was struck by how many of his phrases (right down to exact tones) have been adopted by the Sleeptalker, no doubt the result of the years when they set up housekeeping under a bridge. I'm surprised I haven't noticed it before. Eventually I left on a snipes run through the mall and Tanioka was on his own when I returned.
I always thought "ponce" was just British gay slang, but I find it in the dictionary:
Main Entry: ponce
Function: noun
Etymology: origin unknown
Date: 1872
British : PIMP; also usually disparaging : a male homosexual
Although not mentioned in that dictionary, it's also used as a verb. And that's why it came to mind when we noticed the Sleeptalker go poncing by. He passed by on his way to the showerhouse, on his way back from there to the mall, and one more time on his way down to Paulo's area ... without once acknowledging our presence! Steve Martin also came to mind: well, excusssse me. Silly boy lost out on a beer because Tanioka was going to give him the money for a shopping expedition (since the Sleeptalker is apparently ignoring his one-year ban from the mall anyway).
Oh well. Whatever his game is, I suspect he'll soon get bored with it. And I've got no patience for it right now.
910a
Whatever his game is, I suspect he'll soon get bored with it. And I've got no patience for it right now.No, "patience" isn't the right word. I thought about alternatives on Sunday, wondered if perhaps "strength" is the better fit. But it's probably more a case of just not finding the game elegant enough to maintain my interest. There's no question that the Sleeptalker still has enormous appeal. Tanioka gave me three recent photos he'd taken of the Sleeptalker and even if I hadn't been seeing the man himself often enough in recent weeks, those pictures would have reconfirmed his lasting hold on me. But the dance these days is boring and his most recent obsession with looking for something better is especially tiresome, however much I may sympathize with his restlessness and greed.
And, as too often is the case, I've got my hands full with myself right now. This promises to be one of those extreme Aries, no doubt exaggerated by the "home stretch" feel, the approaching end of the four-year wait which I knew faced me when I embarked on this so-called nomadic life. Right now it's probably complicated by withdrawal, too, as I end the long Neurontin routine and rarely resort to the Remeron at night. So it's see-saw time, manic depressive rollercoaster squeezed into minute-by-minute swings.
Such a day was Sunday. The forecasters had predicted a rainy day but evidently the storm system bypassed this island and dumped water on Kauai instead. But it was muggy, clammy even, and not at all pleasant. I even considered getting on one of the buses that make the entire circuit of the island, just to enjoy the artificially cool, dry air. Instead I stayed on campus, went on-line briefly, then sat in the secluded grove alternating listening to music with reading Red, White and Blue by Susan Isaacs, a more interestingly written book than some I've been reading recently. And feeling alternately bored and elated.
Then to the beach park. No Bad Boys, no one poncing by ignoring me. The deaf-mute fellow who contributed to card four of "September" came along, first time I'd seen him in quite awhile. He sat with me for half an hour or so with the usual extremely limited communication possible without resorting to pen and paper (which I wasn't then in the mood for, although I later started another card for "Black and Blue"). Then the Weasel came along. He is such a bore, reminds me greatly of the dope-dealers in Delhi, always talking about the next great deal which is just around the corner. I was relieved when he finally wandered off, leaving me to play with the pens and listen to a bit of "Prairie Home Companion". I finished a card I'd begun writing to Felix on Saturday, then went back to the book until it was time for a final snipes run through the mall.
Most unusually these days, a shopping cart was at the bus stop. I took it back and there were two more in the corral outside the supermarket. Seventy-five cents in one swoop, a miracle augmented when I spotted a stroller sitting by its return corral next morning, sitting by it but not pushed into it for the two quarters. It's certainly clear the Mongoose has retired from the game.
And despite the assistance from a kind reader plus a borrowed twenty, it has come down to that game again for me, counting the quarters until there's enough for another beer. Roll on April ...
911
In addition to budgeting some bucks for books, I should check the calendar for the next month and budget an allowance for days when public net access (via the university or the public libraries) isn't available. Entire days without even an hour online are a hassle, even if they shouldn't be, and Holy Week 2002 is about as bad as it can get, with three off-line days. Empty pockets and dreary weather don't help, either. So Tuesday, the Hawaii-only holiday, Kuhio Day, was, at least until sunset time, a mess.Monday hadn't been much better despite a couple of hours online in the morning. It was a dreary, gray day again although only a few drops of rain fell. The islands are smothered under a huge cloud mass hovering overhead and the wind shifts direction far more often than it normally does. I had planned on only one beer for the day so was postponing it until the sunset hour but after I walked through the mall on a snipes hunt, I sat outside the shop where I usually get my beer, was counting out coins for the planned later purchase, when Bikku arrived, wheeling his bike. "Bikku" is the fellow who has remained nameless until now.
He asked if I'd seen Tanioka, then asked if I'd watch his bike while he went in to buy a forty. His bike is a fine looking model and although he has what appear to be more than adequate security devices, he almost always keeps his bike with him or has someone watching after it. Wise fellow, considering how most of the bike people usually lose theirs to thieves. Then he asked an even better question, did I want a forty? So it turned into a two-beer day after all. He didn't hang around to drink when we got back to the park, so I returned to Red, White and Blue, happy but a little puzzled by Bikku's unexpected generosity (and that makes two I owe him, now).
The unsettled, rain-threatening weather combined with end-of-the-month empty pockets has the Black Hole filled to capacity and even though I got there a little earlier than usual, only the thin rubber "roll-up" matts were left ... and very little choice of floor space. I really should try to find an alternative to that place for the next two months (I told myself yet again).
Then messy Tuesday when I couldn't think of anything to do so spent almost all day just pacing through the mall, scoring a few quarters and other dropped coins, plenty of snipes and a few things to eat. The clouds partially cleared for a couple of hours so I had a shower at the beach and washed a tee shirt. By mid-afternoon I was fed up with waiting for the sunset brew so bought a bottle, planning to drink about half of it then and the rest later. I was just about to sit in Philo Walk until time for the Black Hole when Tanioka arrived and provided the second brew ... and a third, after we were joined by two local fellows I've never seen before (Tanioka didn't know them either). One was only seventeen and could all-too-easily be a major player in these tales and my life, easily but not likely. Still, I did enjoy his company immensely. "I don't mind gay people," he said, "as long as they don't hit on me."
I stayed on my own for awhile after the three of them left. By then it was too late for the Black Hole but it had turned cooler and rain still seemed possible so staying in the park wasn't a great option. What to do, what to do, too drunk to think much about it. So I went to The Garage, settled on a lower floor and could hear conversation coming from above. The Pathetic Lady. So much for Angelo's resolution to be finished with her (I hadn't believed it anyway). I only saw them briefly when they were leaving, presumably Angelo escorting her to the bus stop.
A groaning hangover on Wednesday morning. That's much too soon after the last one. And when I checked my email, there was a plea from the Sleeptalker who said he "has a computer" but couldn't manage to connect with Seventh Circle. He makes it sound like (yeah, sure) he's suddenly got his own place with a computer. I wonder who the new patsy is ... or if he went after Rocky's professor again, which would have been a smart move once Rocky left. (I still haven't heard the story directly from Rocky so don't know any details aside from his having moved out.)
Spring Break means an acute shortage of snipes on campus so I abandoned the idea of lunch in the secluded grove and returned to (sigh) the mall. I do get really fed up with that place in these times when so dependent upon it for supplies. Tanioka was in the beach park, waiting until time for a doctor's appointment. He's trying to enlist in a drug-testing program at the clinic I went to years ago. I don't think I'd qualify for this one since it's to do with "anti-psychotic" drugs instead of garden variety depression. I saw him again after his appointment and he made it past the first hurdle, anyway, had a follow-up physical exam still to get through the next day.
And the next day ... Maundy Thursday ... at last, blue sky and sunshine! Not predicted to last long, but it surely was a welcome change after those gloomy gray days. And before the sunrise, that big fool moon beaming down when I left the Black Hole.
912
The man could switch from charming to abrasive in no time flat. Psychotic? Possibly. Schizophrenic? Possibly. It was also possible that he was mentally fit but simply driven by private demons.That passage from Barbara Delinksy's splendid Lake News immediately brought to mind the Sleeptalker. It's a better description of him than anything I've written. And he proved it yet again on Good Friday evening when I mistakenly joined him and Tanioka in the beach park. "Mistakenly", because I did ignore an intuitive nudge telling me not to. Fools rush in, and etc.
I hadn't wanted a repeat of Tuesday's aimless day but with little money and no online access, there was nevertheless a day to live through, one way or another and preferably as pleasantly and as least boring as possible. The fine weather of Thursday had, as predicted, vanished, replaced yet again with dreary, gloomy gray clouds and constantly threatening rain. After my usual morning coffee at the mall, I sat and debated options for awhile, then got on a bus and crossed to the other side of the mountains. So far as I recall, it was my first visit there since the weeks after the hospital adventure.
No matter how many years I've lived here and how many more (or few more) I survive, I'll never cease to be awed by the view once the bus crosses over the mountains and the magnificent panorama of the other side is so dramatically visible. It's there that one most clearly understands what a beautiful island this is. The only thing in my experience which compares is the first glimpse of the Himalayan peaks, so high above the surrounding "foothills" that they at first look like clouds. By contrast, on the journey back to this side the view does little but slam a cityscape back into consciousness.
I left the bus to visit the Windward Mall, definitely the first time I've been there since the Kaneohe Misadventure of the first year of the Tales. Again, such a contrast between it and the urban Ala Moana mall, laidback, casual, little evidence of the Mall Cops who dominate life at Ala Moana (probably necessarily). I had to smile at the naivete of some of the store displays, thinking Angelo and Okinawa should move their crime wave to that side, would be far less likely to get caught. Remembering my dream of the previous night, getting busted in a supermarket for eating bread while walking through the store, was sufficient caution to bypass several temptations.
In a nod, at least, to the season, I'd decided to make Good Friday a fast day. Almost. A beer and bread fast. When Dame Fortune put an almost half-full bottle of Mickey's in my path, I conveniently took it as a sign from heaven that it wasn't necessary to adhere to bread and water, a sign confirmed when I did finally return to the beach park with my leftover Mickey's and found two little loaves of bread abandoned at my usual table. All right, agreed, not a very dedicated approach to a Good Friday fast, but at least I had the historical justification for the holy day in mind. Maybe my weaselish approach was at least partly the reason I failed when trying to nudge the Sleeptalker out of his later tantrum by reminding him it was Good Friday and why.
I went to check the mailbox but, as expected, the Fabled Pension Check was not there. Once again I kicked myself for not having at least attempted to get a savings account so that largesse would arrive by automatic deposit (but then I'm not sure, unlike the Crazy Money it might not arrive until the day after a holiday anyway). I really hate the routine of waiting for that damned check and can just imagine how much more difficult it will be when the check is the SocSec one instead. Yes, I must see if I can find a way around that banking blacklist I appear to be on.
Back at the mall, I was amused by the tables set up as a mini-petting zoo with all sorts of rabbits one could touch. Sweet, how rabbits wash and groom themselves like cats (or do they precede cats in evolutionary terms, and cats wash and groom like rabbits?)
Then I saw Tanioka and the Sleeptalker in the park and, despite that little nudge from intuition, joined them. Tanioka offered a round of beer if I'd do the shopping, an easy offer to take. It was probably at least the second round for the Sleeptalker, a partial explanation for his eventual blow-up (if no excuse). But at first he was passably close to "charming", touched me with his plaintive memory of what fun it used to be when we were both so active in Seventh Circle. Tanioka was in an unusually chatty mood and as always I enjoyed listening to him. The Sleeptalker was uninterested in anything either of us had to say.
When we talked about the coming arrival of Crazy Money, at least for me and Tanioka, the Sleeptalker grumbled about how the system was screwing him. How could they ask a "poor, homeless dude" to follow a routine in order to get the handout? I said I thought it was pretty easy "work", all in all. Tanioka urged the Sleeptalker to apply for the easier Federal SSI benefits (easier, once gotten, although much more complex in the initial getting) and he offered to help with the lengthy application papers. The Sleeptalker wasn't interested. I think he wants the additional weight to his "persecuted" image.
"Fuck you, I hate you!" was the Sleeptalker's Litany for Good Friday, and he even shouted it a few times to strangers passing by. I noticed he didn't do it to anyone who looked big enough to walk over and pound his mouth shut. And every name that came up in conversation brought a "I hate her, fuck her" or "I hate him, fuck him" response from the Sleeptalker. Poor old Joe Guam got the treatment, too, but he's no stranger to the Sleeptalker's tantrums and at least the Sleeptalker only said it when he saw Joe approaching, didn't repeat it to his face.
Naturally, the hate-wave turned to me eventually. I left to a barrage of shouts from the Sleeptalker which lasted until I'd disappeared from view.
Rolling Stones, this time. Wild Horses.
I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
But could quite possibly make me feel the need to avoid you, my poor, angry young friend.
913
Jonathan Cainer wrote about the first week of April: The question, this week, is not "What will happen?" It is "What will not happen?" You are far more interested in avoiding something than encountering it. You are hoping that a showdown will not take place or that a key development will not occur. This is not because you are afraid. You are an Aries. You fear nothing and no-one. Well, no-one apart from you-know-who but that's another story. Your desire to ensure the non-occurrence of a possible event is based on the most noble of motives; you want to protect a particular person from the consequences of their own silliness. You cannot prevent certain things from happening but you can decide and encourage others not to worry about it. And you should.Synchronicity. And that's the second time recently he has mentioned "you-know-who", even more aptly this time with that "you want to protect a particular person from the consequences of their own silliness". Well, I naturally thought and thought about you-know-who through much of the weekend, even went so far as to seriously consider making the move to another island. Premature thoughts, because such a move would only make sense in June, not now. If it made sense at all, which is debatable. And I was keenly aware that to avoid the Sleeptalker, whether here or by relocating, I'd have to give up Tanioka. That's too high a price.
Then the whole debate was shelved late Sunday afternoon when the Sleeptalker arrived at the beach park where Tanioka and I were sitting, talking about him. The Sleeptalker apologized immediately and offered his hand.
A reader wrote: I'm sorry about the Sleeptalker. First for you, because even if he is sure to return to better feelings towards you, it leaves a scar each time, doesn't it ? and I'm sorry for him too, because he seems so self-destructive. What's more self-destructive than to insult one's friends? True words. Before he arrived, Tanioka and I were puzzling over how bizarre it is for the Sleeptalker to be insulting all his friends just at the time he's facing six months of no income (and I wasn't the only target of his tantrum as I heard both from Tanioka and another regular in the park who'd had to threaten to wrap a metal rod around the Sleeptalker's neck). But, of course, it's just that knowledge of penniless months which is probably the core reason for the Sleeptalker's tantrums.
What a muddle.
Easter Sunday was a splendid day, blue sky and sunshine replacing the gloomy clouds of Friday and Saturday, matching internal gloom lightened somewhat by the arrival of the Fabled Pension Check on Saturday. I had such an awful night Saturday, filled with horrendous dreams, one so bad I went outside just after midnight to have a smoke. My father and sister had been very real in the dream, but my mother had died and was replaced with a hideous stepmother. Dreadful dream, and there were several more in the early morning hours almost as bad. So I gave up before five o'clock and left the Black Hole, took the bus to the 7-Eleven to get coffee and then went on to Waikiki. I bought a bottle of Mickey's, a sandwich plus a bag of chips, and walked along the beach to Kapiolani Park, settled on an isolated bench in the shade and greeted the day with beer instead of church. I did listen to some religious music, rather obscure English anthems and such, but gave up the radio after Rimsky-Korsakov's "Russian Easter Overture". He's one of my favorite composers but that's only surpassed by the wretched Bumblebee in being the least-liked of his works.
I greatly enjoyed Barbara Delinsky's Lake News, think it's by far the best of her books I've yet encountered but the contrast between that (or any other contemporary novel) and the next volume in the backpack was extreme, to say the least. E.M. Forster's Howards End. I read Forster when I was too young. It's time to re-read them all.
The feudal ownership of land did bring dignity, whereas the modern ownership of movables is reducing us again to a nomadic horde. We are reverting to the civilization of luggage, and historians of the future will note how the middle classes accreted possessions without taking root in the earth, and may find in this the secret of their imaginative poverty.
When the beer was finished I considered going for a second bottle and staying alone there in the park. It's such a peaceful place compared to Ala Moana Beach Park, especially on a day when there are none of the sporting events taking place, and it's a more dramatically scenic spot, Diamond Head looming over on one side and the ocean on the other. But I hadn't seen any of the lads on Saturday and missed them already. So back to the beach park I went, picking up a hot fudge sundae from the newly opened Dairy Queen at the mall as my Easter treat, along with that second bottle of Mickey's. Tanioka was already in the park. Paulo joined us briefly, looking absolutely shattered (hitting that glass pipe too hard, probably) and asked for a couple of dollars to buy rice. And the big fellow who'd made the Sleeptalker back down also stopped by only briefly. I was just about to suggest another round of beer when the Sleeptalker arrived.
The reader is right on target. Each time does leave a scar. Love stinks but life would stink even more without it.
914
I should have said "most contemporary novels", not "any other contemporary novel". The leap from Delinksy to Forster was extreme but from Forster to Tan not at all. Amy Tan's The Bonesetter's Daughter was as rich and rewarding as Howards End. I haven't read her work before, an omission I'll further correct in the near future. This one added much to the pleasure of the first Monday and Tuesday of April, days which were otherwise unexceptionable but enjoyable, especially the evenings spent in the park with Tanioka. The Sleeptalker joined us again for awhile on Monday and the main entertainment was playing Blackjack. Tanioka seems to have extraordinary luck with cards. Little wonder he's so keen on that return to Vegas. I was sufficiently intrigued by his insistent fantasy that I looked on the web at some of the package trips available but am unconvinced I want to spend almost $450 for five nights at the Hotel California (airfare and meals included). Who knows. Stranger things have happened, as they say.The Sleeptalker appeared in Hamilton Library on Wednesday morning, remained on campus after I left but then showed up at the beach park later. He was again in his restless, looking-for-something-better mode (or perhaps more accurately, itching to find someone willing to share the glass pipe) so soon wandered off. I was too nearly broke to offer even a cigarette or a beer, alas, much less the batu. A little later, though, Paulo tried to sell me a bag for a twenty dollar IOU payable on Crazy Money Friday. I declined, but didn't say I wouldn't buy it when money is in pocket.
I still don't know what I'm going to do with the April Crazy Money, consider options from the extremes of going into hiding to an all-out Ice Follies. Tanioka wants to have a barbecue in Waikiki on Friday. When I told the Sleeptalker that, he said he couldn't join us because he has "business to take care of". Hmmmmm. Me, too, but it's just a "responsible shopping" expedition since all the necessities are running on empty, business I can easily take care of in the morning. Tanioka is determined to save all of his Crazy Money this month, live just on the income from the clinical study and foodstamps. Okinawa doesn't know when he'll eventually get his since he had to re-apply after his month's suspension and, of course, the Sleeptalker will get none. Money, money, money, what a tiresome object of contemplation it is.
Exactly one cent of Crazy Money to carry over this month, less than a dollar of foodstamps, and the Fabled Pension Check was gone by Wednesday except for one beer's worth of money for Thursday. An empty pocket is an even more tiresome object of contemplation.
A tiny tale.
914a
I must, absolutely must, make one resolution and stick to it. When eating little or nothing, make certain no more than 80 ounces of malt liquor are consumed. Yes, I'm getting too old for hangovers, especially since they can so easily be avoided.Of course, I expected to have little or nothing to eat on the day before Crazy Money arrived. But I also expected to have only one 40 ounce bottle of Colt45. I even attempted to follow the Joe Guam model, bought the beer at about one o'clock in the afternoon intending to drink half then, the other half at sunset time. Thursdays are difficult because of that AA meeting at the Black Hole, delaying entry until after the meeting ends (officially at eight, but frequently running over some minutes). But even so, that bottle didn't last until anywhere near sunset time. No matter. Tanioka was in the park when I returned after making a snipes run through the mall and he shared some of his second bottle with me, then bought another round for all of us when Bikku joined the party.
In the mall, I stopped to look in a trash can because there was a quite beautiful lei discarded. I didn't intend to take it, was just admiring it. A Mall Cop scolded me, said he'd been following me for some time, thought I'd been looking in trash cans (I was actually checking the ashtrays, luckily hadn't spotted any butts lengthy enough to be grabbed). "Well, you didn't see me reach into any," I said. "No, not yet." Silly bugger. I went into a department store to get him off my tail.
There's a Sony mini-disc player/recorder for $170 now, quite a drop in price from the last time I checked. Tempting, but not yet. One more thing to put on the list titled June Options.
Back at the park, Tanioka said Angelo and Okinawa were planning to join the proposed barbecue. He'd seen the Sleeptalker so already knew about the "business" which would keep the Sleeptalker from joining us. Tanioka suggested we stay at The Garage, start out the day together. I wasn't enthusiastic about that plan since I needed to do my own "business" in the morning, plus not feeling comfortable about sleeping in The Garage when the next day is a working one. I know they're going to get evicted from that place sooner or later, but definitely don't want to be the one who causes it ... and it wouldn't take many times of early-bird staff spotting people with backpacks leaving the building to eliminate it as a sanctuary, maybe only once.
But then Bikku decided to join the group. I said okay, I'd do a final snipes hunt and meet them at The Garage. On my way there from the bus stop I saw Angelo who was on his way to buy an ice bag, financed jointly by Bikku and Tanioka. Naughty Tanioka, backsliding again. I went on to The Garage, climbed to the top, no sign of anyone. It was still early for the Black Hole so I just sat for awhile, then walked downstairs, found Tanioka, Angelo and Bikku sitting there having just finished the pipe. They certainly had been quiet about it. No one knew where Okinawa was. Without his exceptional ability as an "alarm clock" I definitely didn't want to stay, so went on to the Black Hole.
As always at this time of the month, plenty of mats and space, and I was quickly asleep. Horror of horrors, "Jane Wyman" parked himself next to me as I discovered when I woke in the early hours. He's an old local Japanese guy with white hair cut in a classic pageboy style, complete with upcurled ends. And he has the extremely nasty habit of blowing his nose vigorously every morning at about 4:30, can be heard anywhere in the building. If he blew a trumpet it couldn't be any louder. Imagine spending your life living with that. Yeukh.
So when he starting blowing his horn I gave up and left. A very early start to Crazy Money Day.
915
April Crazy Money Day was extraordinary ... in being so ordinary. In fact, it was little different than any other day when I have enough money for beer and cigarettes, except for the added treat of a fried chicken dinner from Lahaina Chicken, complete with mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, and cole slaw. Last time I did that I made the mistake of picking their baked beans which aren't nearly as good as the common old canned variety; this time the mistake was the cole slaw which provided indigestion for the rest of the day and much of the night.People who eat very little shouldn't go wild and stuff themselves with a large meal.
After that unusually early start to the day, when I left the Black Hole I walked over to Chinatown, caught the bus there. Two cans of coffee and a blueberry muffin from 7-Eleven for breakfast, then to campus for a short session at the little computer lab, a longer one at Hamilton Library. A fuse blew, fortunately not affecting the computers, so much of the time was eerily spent in total darkness except for the glow from the computer monitors. Then it was downhill for a sandwich, chips and a beer. The birds in the secluded grove were no doubt well pleased to see Crazy Money day arrive.
On my last trip to the State Library I picked two inconsequential detective yarns from the sparse selection, finished one and began the other. Then to the beach park with a second bottle. Since the lads had probably indulged in an all-night ice session, I didn't really expect any of them to still be interested in a barbecue but I did take the bus to Waikiki and have a look, just in case. No sign of ice-hungover-barbecuers but it was amusing to walk through the Hilton Hawaiian Village for the first time since the new building opened. I must remember to change into shorts before going to Waikiki in the afternoon. I felt like a total outsider in my long pants.
Back to the beach park. I did make that purchase from Paulo, tucked it away for sometime in the future when I can play that amusing trick of pulling out the bag when it seems we're at the end of the supply. Or, who knows, maybe even for a solo session next Friday ...
Joe Guam stopped over twice, once on his way to look for his benefactor and later just to chat. As I told Tanioka after the last time we were sitting together with Joe, I'm still a little intrigued with the idea of doing an "oral history" with Joe (although it would probably take half a dozen tapes, all interspersed with long silences).
At one point when I was sitting alone reading, a very old Japanese lady came up to me and said something in Japanese. Her equally aged husband told me she had said I look just like her father used to. I look like I could be some Japanese woman's father???