THE SIXTH YEAR
more tales from the year of the horse

994

Okay, more "assignments" like that and I'll stop bitching about designated sleeping spots at the Black Hole. I've adopted a new strategy of arriving a little later than my former habit. I guess the overseers don't realize some areas are less desirable than others, or perhaps that's just my way of seeing it. In any case, the first arrivals are assigned to my least favorite area and then the room is gradually filled until reaching the spaces I like best, along the windowed wall. There's not much of a breeze from the windows but a least a little fresh air filters in. So when I got there on Tuesday night, only spaces along the windowed wall were left. Fine with me. My companion on one side was utterly dull. On the other side someone had left his mat and gone back out. It wasn't until I woke later in the night that I saw its occupant. Brandon!

He was wearing only shorts, the kind of things we used to call "Madras Bermuda shorts" which I haven't seen in years. They seemed to be quite thin fabric with a fairly tight fit which proved later to be wonderfully revealing of what they were covering. Chalk up one more solid point in Brandon's favor. And that lightly hairy chest is truly a fine one. It was a pleasure to spend some time just watching him sleep, reminding myself that I really had hugged that fine body.

Now how do I lure him into being a regular member of the Bad Boys Club?

The first day of the Sixth Year was fairly dull, slightly irksome, especially since there is some construction work going on at one end of the secluded grove which requires a noisy generator. Despite the disturbance the kittens were waiting for me when I arrived, the dark one having returned, and I shared a can of Alaska pink salmon with them. I finished The Songcatcher, wasn't too surprised to discover from the author's afterword that the historical material in it is based on fact, the author's own family history. The blend of contemporary material was a little too contrived and it wasn't nearly as successful a use of that gambit as was made by Rendell with Asta's Book. Next in line was Joan Didion's Run River. A highlands waitress could hardly ask me, "you don't read women authors, do you?" At least not without getting a much more affirmative reply than Dylan gave.

Later in the beach park I spotted Joe Guam getting ready to depart for home, ducked over to the mall until he had walked past. The bugger didn't keep walking, sat at my usual table, presumably waiting for me to return. Oh well, sitting in Philo Walk isn't too bad, would be far more pleasant if the big luxury tourist coaches didn't keep their motors constantly running (no doubt to maintain the airconditioned interior coolness). I stayed there for half an hour, then took a peek and saw Joe had gone so returned to the park. The memory surfaced of the Sleeptalker irritably saying one evening to Joe, "what are you doing here?" Maybe I should be that bold, but it's probably too late, Joe would think I was joking. I wonder how much a one-way ticket to Guam would cost?

995

The Sleeptalker talks funny. That was the first thing I noticed. The Waianae influence, leaning more toward pidgin. The hair on his arms seems to be getting heavier and darker. He looks splendid despite a rather scraggly beard, mostly on his chin. And he stayed almost all the time in a good mood, even after two large glasses of beer at Manoa Garden and an added forty zones of Mickey's in the beach park. To say it was good to see him is an understatement, of course.

I'd gone back to Hamilton Library after lunch in the grove. That has to be timed now to coincide with the workers lunch break when they turn that wretched generator off. These construction projects on campus tend to drag on and on so I won't be surprised if this operation, something to do with buried electrical connections, continues for a couple of weeks. The kittens are surprisingly unbothered by it, I suppose because they feel safe up there at the top of the wall. The birds are more nervous about the noise. Anyway, back at the library I looked in on Seventh Circle and a few minutes later the Sleeptalker appeared in the game, playing from Sinclair Library. I suggested having a beer at the Garden even though I really couldn't afford it, but we could hardly sit drinking in the grove with all the activity there. On the way to the Garden I called Tanioka, left a message, but he didn't appear. I don't think he even looks at that pager very often, keeps it silent in his backpack (or else he's just never gotten paged when I've been with him).

As always, the Sleeptalker dodges most direct questions and talks about things with such randomness, mixing in reality and the game, so putting together a coherent picture is something like a jigsaw puzzle. His brother is back in jail, will probably be there for a couple of years. And although he talked a little about the "camp" he'd mentioned in an email, he seems to be spending most of his time in his mother's house. All I could get out of him about school was that he's studying "health". How that helps him get his high diploma, who knows? He was turned down for Crazy Money and isn't getting foodstamps although he should be, he's certainly eligible even though he'd have to follow through with their employment people. He says he wants to get a job but then admitted he'd had an offer and hadn't gone to the scheduled interview. I know what he wants, a job with computer access, get paid to play MUD. (Or more likely, get fired for playing MUD on company time, even if he did manage to find such a job to begin with.)

I still had some beer in my bag from lunch so topped up the one I'd bought at the Garden, gave him the money for another one. Once that was finished we went on to the beach park, getting some food for him at a 7-Eleven on the way along with the Mickey's. He was already debating with himself about whether he should return to Waianae and I don't know if he eventually did or not. Paulo joined us for a little while in the park and the Sleeptalker was quite jolly with him despite having grumbled about how much he dislikes Paulo when spotting him from a distance. When Paulo went on his way, the Sleeptalker wanted to work on a card. He'd forgotten to bring in the ones he had been working on, a third "Jesus Saves", so he named this new one "Jesus Saves IIII" and we did two cards for it. Then I thought it would be amusing to see his reaction to the Renée Fleming CD. It was, even moreso when he sang along with it in made-up Italian.

He's such a sweet man.

996

Sigh. Pay the Piper time. No question, of course, that the dance was worth it with the Sleeptalker but if there's any time I do seriously yield to misgivings about that glass pipe, it's such a time as this.

An extended run of pleasant weather ended with a wet Friday, frequent showers and a few heavy downpours. I had to eat lunch in a sheltered spot but fortunately the rain stopped for about an hour in the early afternoon so I was able to feed the kittens. They're back on a human food basis until Magic Third Wednesday, no doubt eating more expensively than any other cats on campus. Let us all be grateful for foodstamps. I was grateful, too, that the damp weather hadn't arrived the day before.

I stayed on campus for most of the day, managed to get to the State Library in the late afternoon without getting wet and then went to the far end of the beach park where it remained dry for the rest of the day. I listened to all of the Renée Fleming CD, unusual since I usually take it a little at a time, and worked on some cards. I like the "Jesus Saves IIII", shall wait and see if the Sleeptalker wants to make any further additions or add more cards to it. I did encourage him to come in again next week, after Wednesday.

Improved weather on Saturday but it was a rather dull day, designated as a one-beer day which didn't help its prospects. On both Friday and Saturday I spent more time than usual in Seventh Circle, got my warrior to level 60. Five more levels and things will speed up considerably since one of the most valuable areas doesn't become accessible until level 65. People were still talking about the Sleeptalker's surprise appearance on Thursday.

I ran into Helen R at the mall, teased her about how her rubber slippers weren't nearly as elegant as black pumps, was told they are a special collector's item since they came from the now-extinct Woolworth's. She treated me to a baked potato at Arby's, reminding me I really should patronize that place more often myself. One of their large potatoes is meal enough for me and makes for a more sensible economic choice than the places in the Food Court, especially since the "combos" there always have more food than I really want. Not until I'd ordered did I notice Arby's has added a BLT to their selection, so Helen suggested meeting there again on Sunday so I can compare it to the Subway BLT. I hope the staff at Arby's has more sense than the Subway crew and doesn't find it necessary to ask, "you want tomato?"

They had Gone With the Wind in the freebie selection at the State Library. Tempting, but I resisted, went instead for Deer Leap by Martha Grimes and a historical yarn about Cornwall, Once On a Far Wild Shore by Malcolm Ross. Time spinning.

What I really want most in Pay The Piper times is a twelve-hour sleeping pill. Wake up, eat a snack, drink a beer, take another pill. Repeat until Wednesday morning.

997

That damp Friday was just a preview. The tradewinds disappeared and the dreaded Kona winds blew in a huge mass of nasty dark, moisture-filled clouds. Floods, rockslides, etc. etc. Honolulu seems to have been spared the worst of the storm, most of the heavy rain falling during the night. (People who live in the beach park would no doubt thoroughly disagree with that "spared" observation.) And surprisingly, the campus area was more often threatened with rain than actually getting it. I even managed lunch in the secluded grove on both Monday and Tuesday.

Magic Third Wednesday. Let us hope a recent dream wasn't prophetic. I dreamed the SocSec check wasn't in the box. Yeukh! Who needs dreams like that, I ask you. Thanks to Helen R, I arrived at MTW with about eight dollars of foodstamps left, unprecedented. We did try that "limited time" BLT at Arby's on Sunday.



Date: Mon, 14 Oct 2002
Newsgroups: hawaii.test
Subject: BLT Test: Arby's vs. Subway

Have tested the Subway version several times, opting for the six-inch instead of the foot-long. Tested the "limited time" one at Arby's yesterday.
The bread at Arby's is much more interesting. The stuff at Subway smells wonderful when it's baking but actually has little taste.
Arby's is more generous with the bacon but they overcook it. I like my bacon crisp, but not so crisped that it's like those "bacon bits" sprinkled on salad.
Subway wins totally on the financial side, the Arby's version (perhaps only slightly larger than the Subway six-inch) is almost $1.50 more.
Conclusion: I think I'll stick with Subway for my BLTs.



And helping out still more, Helen asked me to dinner on Tuesday, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and corn-on-the-cob at KFC. First time I've eaten corn since that tooth fell out. It's like running a harvester over a field, leaving a big gap unmown, have to shift it over a bit for a second go. I'm just lucky I can still eat the stuff at all, better enjoy it more often while it lasts.

998

"No. I will do almost anything for you, but I will not buy that stuff for you," I said to the Sleeptalker when he was wavering from his determination to stay away from the ice.

He'd sent me an email telling me he had an important exam on Wednesday evening, but that he would come into town on Thursday. And he asked me to let Tanioka know. Fortunately, Tanioka and Taiwan came to the beach park so I was able to pass on the message. The Sleeptalker arrived on campus at about ten-thirty on Thursday morning. We played Seventh Circle for awhile and then went to Manoa Garden. Chicken noodle soup and Budweiser, sitting outside under one of the big table umbrellas while the rain fell. And fell and fell and fell. It rained nonstop for hours.

He was being quite delightful, flirtatious and amusing, kept looking around at the other people with an almost mechanical jerk of his head left and right, then wondered why I was looking at him and smiling.

The Sleeptalker got impatient, went to send a message to Tanioka's pager and soon there was a return call. Then Tanioka arrived, with Taiwan of course. They're about as inseparable as Angelo and the PL.

Another round of beer and then we went downhill to Magoo's for pizza and more beer. I don't think I've drunk that much Budweiser in years, but then bars unfortunately don't supply malt liquor.

When I took the GED test to get my high school diploma, it was only one long exam. But evidently the Sleeptalker is doing it in sections, says he has "three more books" to go. He wasn't sure whether he'd passed the Wednesday night ordeal or not. If not, he'll have to wait a year before trying again. I don't know why our "rulers" make such a fuss about that damned piece of paper because it doesn't mean shit, to put it bluntly. But I do hope he passed this one, and passes the others.

He started wishing for "budz", the greenery, and I would have been happy to finance that but with the continuing rain it was most improbable we'd find a supplier. When it drifted to the ice, I said no firmly and was grateful Tanioka stuck to his promise not to encourage it when the Sleeptalker was around.

The Sleeptalker has been listening to his mother's CD collection and has oddly gotten very enthusiastic about Michael Jackson and Madonna [!]. I told him he was showing his age, getting all nostalgic for the 80s. He asked for money for the jukebox which I gave him, even though we were sitting so far from it the music was almost non-existent. I suppose my teasing him about his age prompted him to later claim he was only 23. Sorry, I said, your birthday is on the web.

Ridiculously enough, Bartender Bryant asked them all for ID (Taiwan is 33!) and then again they got asked for it when we went on to a Korean bar. That was supposed to be because the bar had cheap beer and a jukebox, but they'd gotten rid of the jukebox, had karaoke which the Sleeptalker and Taiwan wanted to tackle. Nixed when the server told us it was two dollars a song! How very silly and greedy. But like most Korean bars, they did provide free snacks with the beer and we stayed for two rounds before I told the Sleeptalker I was taking him to the mall, buying him (another) pack of cigarettes and putting him on the homeward-bound bus. Tanioka and Taiwan left us at the stop and I stayed with the Sleeptalker until the bus arrived. He wanted yet one more beer, but I'd had my limit, gave him some money and said if you really want it, go get some. He didn't, got on the bus when it arrived, saying, "see you around".

Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly ...

999

"I don't know how it happened," said Tanioka, when I expressed surprise that he was broke already, only just past the mid-month mark. Maybe it's some special October virus because money seems to be running through my fingers like water. Very bad timing since November's Third Wednesday isn't until the 20th.

Friday certainly didn't help. I told Tanioka I probably shouldn't write about it at all, but then if I start omitting accounts of times when I've been stupid, I might as well retire the Tales altogether, even if I am so close to the Scheherezade benchmark.

After spending the day on campus, I went to the beach park. Tanioka was there, unusually these days on his own. He'd been to his stepfather's house to shower and do laundry, so hadn't seen Taiwan. After a beer we acquired a glass pipe and the filling, went to The Garage to smoke it. Then he went to get another bag while I waited on a bench outside for him to return. Taiwan had arrived by the time Tanioka returned, so the three of us went back to The Garage to indulge. It was one of those times when I get struck down by the Motormouth Disease, just couldn't shut up. Sometimes I think if I'm going to smoke that stuff I should do it only when I'm entirely alone.

Tanioka eventually wandered off, presumably to a new sleeping place he's found, leaving Taiwan and me alone. I should clarify about Taiwan. Despite the name, he's a real mainlander, not Chinese at all. A Navy brat, which makes more sense of the Taiwan-Tokyo-Mississippi childhood.

After awhile he wanted to have another round of the pipe, offered to do the shopping, assuring me would return. He didn't. Oh well, best to get these fellows properly classified early in the game, so he moves to the list headed by Angelo called "proceed with caution and keep your money in your pocket, an eye on your bag".

I was sufficiently stoned not to care very much, even if I did feel a bit pissed off about it the next day, and I stayed there until about four o'clock, walked to the 7-Eleven for coffee, then had an unusually early shower, pre-dawn, to wash off the dirt from The Garage.

The usual post-pipe wrecked feeling persisted all day Saturday. The touchy stomach is especially a nuisance. So I took it easy in the secluded grove, ate sparingly and sipped a beer slowly. Eventually I had an hour's nap which didn't much help.

The weather finally shifted, tradewinds returning, but remains unpleasantly humid and very warm. The frigid interior of Hamilton Library was most welcome even if I was too wasted to concentrate much on the computer. That week of nasty weather left an unfortunate legacy, though, since it sent my sinuses into the worst spin I've experienced in years. Actually, since the days of the Cloisters, when my sleeping companions sometimes grumbled about my middle-of-the-night coughing attacks. There are plenty of other coughers at the Black Hole, but I still feel badly about being a nuisance. I resorted to some "Extra Strength Sinus Relief" tablets which at least removed the constant slight headache but did little to dry up the gook. It's unfair to suffer from both chronic bronchitis and chronic sinusitis but if I'd stop being such a greedy addict of tobacco it would no doubt greatly help.

Tanioka said the last line of Tale 998 didn't mean anything to him. Just in case there are other readers equally puzzled, it's one of my favorite Jerome Kern songs, from the musical "Showboat":

Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly,
I gotta love one man till I die.
Can't help lovin' that man of mine.
Tell me he's lazy, tell me he's slow,
Tell me I'm crazy, maybe I know.
Can't help lovin' that man of mine

Of course there are certainly other reasons to tell me I'm crazy. See above references to Friday.

1000

Both

1000a

1001

When they were alone, Scheherazade addressed her thus:

"My dear sister; I want your help in a very important affair. My father is going to take me to the palace to celebrate my marriage with the Sultan. When his Highness receives me, I shall beg him, as a last favour, to let you sleep in our chamber, so that I may have your company during the last night I am alive. If, as I hope, he grants me my wish, be sure that you wake me an hour before the dawn, and speak to me in these words: "My sister, if you are not asleep, I beg you, before the sun rises, to tell me one of your charming stories." Then I shall begin, and I hope by this means to deliver the people from the terror that reigns over them."

Dinarzade replied that she would do with pleasure what her sister wished.

When the usual hour arrived the grand-vizir conducted Scheherazade to the palace, and left her alone with the Sultan, who bade her raise her veil and was amazed at her beauty. But seeing her eyes full of tears, he asked what was the matter. "Sire," replied Scheherazade, "I have a sister who loves me as tenderly as I love her. Grant me the favour of allowing her to sleep this night in the same room, as it is the last we shall be together." Schahriar consented to Scheherazade's petition and Dinarzade was sent for.

An hour before daybreak Dinarzade awoke, and exclaimed, as she had promised, "My dear sister, if you are not asleep, tell me I pray you, before the sun rises, one of your charming stories. It is the last time that I shall have the pleasure of hearing you."

Scheherazade did not answer her sister, but turned to the Sultan. "Will your highness permit me to do as my sister asks?" said she.

"Willingly," he answered. So Scheherazade began.



It has, of course, taken me somewhat longer to reach the 1001 mark, but then the worst fate I faced when skipping a day, or two or three, was having a reader complain. Not quite so fearful a penalty as having one's head chopped off.



from Martha Grimes: Hotel Paradise

I have always been sorry she never got a chance to go to Paris and be famous in a place that's worth being famous in.
*
There was another French painter who lived and worked at the same time and whose name (which I also forgot) was almost exactly the same as this one's except for one letter. And the second one also painted in those watery colors, with tiny little strokes and dots. Now, I wondered how anyone in his right mind could be expected to keep those two M-painters separated -- or even why I should keep them separate. I wondered if it might not be a hoax, and it was all one painter.
*
I guess it makes you comfortable, knowing where you'll be at a certain time and in a certain place. I know it does me. Clockwork habits make me feel safer.



A most atypical novel from Martha Grimes. A mystery element, indeed, but it more resembles Catcher in the Rye, a female Holden Caulfield. I was happy to find it on the bargain table at the used bookshop, especially since I'd thoroughly exhausted it of things from Mysterious Press.



So what did Tanioka think of his pal Taiwan's deception?

I haven't seen him since it happened, am curious myself to see what he'll say about it ... and to see what Taiwan does about it. I guess I'll never cease to be amazed by how greedy and shortsighted some of these guys can be.



And another one : in the Tales, you allude only to one beggar, the lovely Dewey. Is it that there are few beggars among the homeless in Honolulu, or few among those you know ?

Oh there are many of them. Every day some stand outside the shops where I usually go to buy lunch or my sunset beer, always asking for a dollar. The less ambitious ask for "loose change". There's one man who stands on the same corner near the mall, asks for money "to get home" (I did mention him once in the Tales). Dewey's the only "professional" I've met and spent a little time with.

I think I wrote once that it seems there are more beggars here than anywhere I've lived except Delhi.

What is the American law as to begging, panhandling etc. ?

It varies by city. I'm not aware of any state laws. So far as I know, there's no actual law against it in Honolulu (certainly not enforced, if there is). It's against the "rules" at the mall and they do make some effort to discourage it.



Actually, the tobacco beggars are a much greater nuisance than the ones asking for money since they're far more numerous, many seem clearly affluent enough to buy their own damned cigarettes, and they're much harder to spot than the loose-change crowd.

Old bums who want to tell you every detail of their extraordinarily boring day are as much of a nuisance. (Yes, I got caught by Joe Guam on Thursday evening, thinking he'd already departed for his homestead.)

Grotesquely overweight slobs who snore and can't stay on their own mats make the list of special pests, too. I was joined by one of them sometime during the early hours of Friday, was so disgusted by the audio and visual spectacle I moved.

Earlier in the beach park a quite cute young man came over to the table and offered me a cigarette [!]. He said he'd heard I'd bought a pipe recently and wondered if I wanted to sell it since he was looking for one. I assume he must have heard about it from Lady Moana, the only regular who'd been around, but I wasn't going to admit to a total stranger, even such a cute one, that I owned such a thing so I just said my friend had bought it. I guess the young man was as paranoid as I was because after making a comment about my "accent", which he thought was Australian, he asked, "you're not a cop, are you?" Ha! "Would a cop be hanging out with a guy who was buying a glass pipe?" I asked. "Well, you could have been setting him up." Somehow I don't think the Honolulu Police Department would go to that much trouble to bust one user. Probably just in case I was getting the wrong idea, he told me about some Australian girl he knew who has a really cute ass. I resisted the temptation to tell him he did, too.

1002

"It takes a long time to come," said the Highlands waitress. Same thing could be said about my Saturday morning student playmate. If the hard boiled eggs in Highlands had taken that long, they would have been petrified. But good things are worth waiting for, as they say. There's no sweeter sound than the little moans and gasps of someone who is really enjoying himself, and a decided pleasure to be responsible for it.

The drama of the October Ice Follies, Part 2, continues. Lady Moana sat with me for awhile on Saturday afternoon and we were joined by the PipeSeeker. She was complaining about her pipe not having been returned. Good grief, Tanioka paid ten dollars (of my money) just to borrow the damned pipe?! Little wonder he let me think he'd bought it, but naughty of him not to tell me it was just borrowed ... and especially who had loaned it. Well, I shall retrieve it from my locker and return it, muttering to myself all the while that I really should just stay away from that stuff altogether because all these petty irritations just aren't worth it.

Lord Moana stopped by after she had left, was complaining about the morning's anti-war rally. "Woke me up, shouting no war, no war," he grumbled, said he'd gotten up and shouted back, "Yes, war!" I told him they should make him a sergeant, let him go after Saddam. I agreed with the PipeSeeker who said he didn't see why we didn't just send in assassins rather than make war. Good question.

A trip to the State Library on Friday yielded another Martha Grimes novel, The Old Silent from 1989, one of her more typical English mysteries. They also had a couple of titles from the Mysterious Press imprint and I took one of those but left the other in favor of a "Miss Sweeton" book. Strange, that series, three different authors writing yarns about a feisty old British lady in the style of Christie's Miss Marple but somewhat more dizzy. Amusing fluff.

Despite Saturday's delightful encounter, I'm afraid Jonathan Cainer struck out with his "forty-eight hour" prediction. Same old, same old ...

1003

Well, perhaps not as wonderful as Cainer was predicting but things certainly did get more lively (must always remember he is writing from GMT time so a forty-eight hour period gets extended here by twelve). After a quiet Sunday morning on campus I left to meet Helen R for lunch. We went to a newly opened restaurant near where she lives, Cuisine Tony. They have one of the most eclectic menus I've ever encountered, most dishes named after some country or city and covering just about every kind of international style. Even interplanetary, since I opted for a Saturn Pork Chop. I can only assume the sunny-side-up fried egg on top of the chop was the planet and its rings. Helen couldn't resist Fried Rice a la Portuguese. The only thing which seemed to distinguish it from any Chinese fried rice was the addition of black olives (not bits of Portuguese sausage which one might have expected). But despite the oddities of naming dishes, the food was quite delicious and was provided in very generous portions.

I went on to the beach park. Angelo soon arrived, on his own, said it was his 27th birthday. Damn, I'd completely forgotten, wished I had spent a little less on that dumb Friday party so I could have at least treated him to what would undoubtedly have been his most-desired birthday present. Oddly enough, Saturday had been the PL's birthday. I was surprised she wasn't with him, especially since it was his birthday, but I didn't hear the story until the next morning. She was supposed to have met him in the mall at eleven in the morning. He and Tanioka had waited for her but she didn't show up. She did finally arrive at The Garage at about nine-thirty with two bags of gifts, some of them quite silly for a homeless boyfriend and most of them destined to be sold or exchanged for the little plastic bags within hours.

We were joined by Lord Moana who was very drunk and stoned, later by Lady Moana in the same condition, and then the PipeSeeker. I gave Lady M her glass pipe. Despite having ranted at length about how it was her favorite, made of thicker glass, etc., she traded it within minutes to the PipeSeeker in exchange for a fancy sweatshirt which he'd bagged earlier at the mall. They all hit the same department store which must have very lax security, although I did see a young man being handcuffed outside it on Saturday. He'd evidently walked out of the store with a fancy box of Armani toiletries, not even taking the trouble to conceal it in a bag! So the PipeSeeker finally got his pipe.

Angelo walked over to the mall with me when I offered to buy him a beer, wanted me to go to the department store with him. I declined, saying I thought he'd be less conspicuous on his own and I'd wait outside for him. He returned in a few minutes with three pairs of expensive sunglasses. We went back to the mob in the park because he was hoping to get some pipe filling from them in exchange for the glasses. No luck, so we went on to the usual "drugstore", the PipeSeeker joining us. No luck there, either, so they were going on to Chinatown. I said I was dropping out of the expedition and since there was still more than an hour before time to depart for the Black Hole, I went to the benches outside The Garage, where Tanioka soon arrived. I gave him the money to get beer for us and he eventually had to go to Chinatown to find an open store, saw Angelo and the PipeSeeker down there still on their quest. They did return and Tanioka showed us his new sleeping area. Nice, but not really sufficiently sheltered if there was rain, especially windblown rain.

The PipeSeeker wandered off, to my relief. It's clear he's another one of the hangers-on, spongers, whatever you want to call them ("users", in the Sleeptalker's terms) and that's the last thing I need added to my life. Angelo, Tanioka and I went back to the drugstore, finally scored a bag and settled in The Garage to pass the pipe. When the PL arrived, Angelo went off with her and a little later Tanioka went further upstairs to sleep. Angelo and the PL returned, he said he was walking her to the bus and would be back. She is living with her mother again, one of the few sensible choices she's made in recent times. When Angelo got back, it was off to the drugstore again. I gave him what small bills I had left, keeping silent about the fifty dollar bill I had tucked away. Life is going to be too poor for the next three weeks without blowing any of it already. So with a small bag, it was back to the garage and another round of the pipe. A delightful time, one of the best, even if I did get crazier than any time other than that one outrageous party with the Sleeptalker and the Cherub. Angelo is at times so wonderfully patient, tolerant and amusing.

At about four in the morning, I said I wanted to walk to the 7-Eleven for coffee. He came along, stopping first at the drugstore in an attempt to trade in more birthday presents. The poor PL, but then I imagine she had expected him to do just that. No luck, though, so on to get coffee (chocolate milk for him) and an interesting breakfast conversation with him telling me unusually detailed stories about some recent misadventures with the PL. I won't repeat them, seems like one of those violation-of-trust things, but I do hope that relationship doesn't end in tragedy.

He tried to persuade me to go to Chinatown with him, continuing the pursuit of another bag of pipe-filling, but I begged off, said I wanted to go to campus to get a clean tee shirt from my locker and would be back in the park a little later. I got the shirt, very briefly logged on to check email and then went to the far end of the beach park, not in any mood for Lord and Lady M or their courtiers. A long shower, a beer and light lunch, a nap for about two hours ... quiet day reading and dozing. I knew I was going to run out of reading material but just didn't feel like making the trip down to the State Library. So when I finished the book I went to Border's, said not a chance to the absurdly high prices on new paperbacks these days and saw nothing of interest on their bargain table (even those aren't much of a "bargain"). Ridiculous that writers who have been dead for a hundred years or more can't be made available in inexpensive paperback editions.

So I got my sunset brew and listened to the radio, learning more than I wanted to know about the Moscow theatre massacre and a bunch of other stuff, enjoyed Garrison Keillor reading a Bukowski poem, and heard for the first time, I think, Gliere's odd Concerto for Coloratura Soprano and Orchestra. A good choice for Sutherland since there are no lyrics, just aahhh-ahhh's, so her often irksome diction didn't interfere with her splendid voice. That made me try to remember whether I saw her in Norma and Sonnambula at the Met or at Covent Garden. Can't recall. Then Respighi's Fountains of Rome and Stravinsky's Firebird (so adventurous, our National Public Radio concert calendar). I gave up after about five minutes of the Stravinsky and switched to the hard rock station. Great timing since they launched into several Hendrix classics.

Jimi Hendrix Winked at Me. Good title for a book about the sixties? (He did, actually.)

Off to the Black Hole for a very solid sleep. As I was waiting for the bus to campus next morning, Angelo and Taiwan came along. Angelo said his party had continued all day. More stamina than I've got, that's for sure. I gave Taiwan the deepfreeze treatment. (Neither he nor Tanioka have made any comment about Taiwan running off with twenty dollars, so I guess we're just supposed to pretend it never happened.)

And on the computer was an email from the Sleeptalker complaining because he'd been in town on Monday and hadn't found me on campus.

Sigh.

1004

As I mentioned in a very early Tale, finding a "spot", in the Castaneda sense, is important. I know, Castaneda has been somewhat discredited since the immensely successful publication of his Don Juan books, but it has never been important to me whether he was writing true documentaries or fiction, the ideas were of great interest either way, still are. Of course, for a long time now, there's one bench in the secluded grove which is a decided "spot". I think I've finally, at long last, found the one I like best in the beach park.

It's at the far end, more or less across from the huge Border's store, a picnic table which is a little too exposed for most of the urban nomads, very near the drainage canal which lines one edge of the park. A major attraction there is a very large bird who hovers at the top of the wall by the canal, eyeing the fish below. He's clever enough to know that if someone throws some bread into the water, the fish will swarm for it. He dives down and sits in the water on his spindly legs and snatches the biggest one he can spot. On Tuesday evening, he got such a fat one from my thrown piece of bread it took him sometime to swallow it. He gobbles them (still alive) head first, then sits and clacks his long, black sharp beak over and over as if he is gulping. Half an hour later, he's back looking for more, the greedy fellow. I must look him up in the Audubon book about birds of Hawaii, find out just what he is. From the back, he looks like a big bowling pin.

Another advantage is that there is a 7-Eleven store just across the street, source of a sunset brew. And there's no Joe Guam to avoid, no Lord and Lady Moana and their crowd, and miraculously, thus far anyway, no tobacco-beggars.

One disadvantage is that the area isn't sufficiently illuminated to allow reading after sunset. Thus, the radio returns to a more prominent spot in my day. On Tuesday I didn't pull it out of the bag until After All Things Considered had finished. There's only so much of "news reports" I can stand in one week. There was a very dull four-hand piano work by Schubert, made moreso by the pianists seeming to pound heavily away even in passages which might have been quite touching had they been a little more delicate. I wondered if "four-hand" meant they were playing side-by-side on the same piano or on two pianos. Probably the latter. That was followed by three short, incredibly beautiful pieces by Gabrieli. Then came the second symphony of Saint-Saens. All I could think was that if Rimsky-Korsakov had written it, the orchestration would have been far more interesting.

Garrison Keillor's Writers Almanac spot was a bit puzzling. I suppose that it was the anniversary of the premiere of Don Giovanni makes a little sense, but why did the NYC debut of Maria Callas rate mention on a "writers almanac"? Nevertheless, I liked the quote from her which he read, about how she started living the opera hours before she performed it and continued to live it hours afterwards. And I liked a very funny poem he read by a poet I've never heard of, made me laugh aloud.

Laughing aloud, or even talking to an imaginary companion, would rate no attention in that area of the park. There is one horrible woman who occupies the same picnic table day after day and rants away full steam, often shouting loudly. I don't know how her voice can cope with such constant abuse. There's another old guy who sometimes sits at a table near her, jumps up now and then and starts preaching to an invisible audience, waving his arms around as he does it. I think I mentioned him once when he got too near to me and I shouted at him, "shut up! who the hell is listening?!" I still get a dirty look from him any time our paths cross.

Fortunately, my newly chosen table is far enough away from them, their shouted rants are just a faint nuisance.

I'd not only failed to see the Sleeptalker during his Monday visit, I'd also failed to feed the kittens so I bought them a giant-sized can of Nine Lives tuna on Tuesday. On Wednesday, big brother must have been asleep when I arrived, but she was waiting and, I think, consumed the entire daily largesse.

I tend to waver back and forth about Kevin,

1005

1006

1007

Tuesday was Election Day and one of the (many) oddities about this place is that it's a State Holiday. In most places I've lived, one gets an extra hour or two off in order to vote (as is the case with much of the private sector here), but in Hawaii the State government and the schools close for the day. Consequently it was an off-line day for me and, as usual, that throws my daily rhythm into something of a peculiar syncopation. I did go to campus for the morning and an early lunch. My little feathered friends had better sharpen their alertness because the smaller kitten is developing an increasing interest in them, on Wednesday ventured down into the secluded grove for the first time, stealthily stalking dessert (having already had lunch provided by me as usual). Effort unsuccessful, but she shows great promise as a hunter after more practice. I do not look forward to arriving and seeing feathers scattered around the place.

Then I went to the Moanas end of the beach park for the first time in about a week. No one was around. In the late afternoon I went to get my sunset brew and moved to my new favored table at the other end of the park. The routine of Empty Pockets Time is varied somewhat from the usual. I make a round of the mall (well, one quarter of it) after my morning coffee, harvesting ashtrays, and repeat that after my morning on campus. Abandoned food has been luxuriously abundant. I suppose it probably always is but I just don't go wandering like that when I've got money so I don't notice it. But there has been so much I've not had to consider the Krishna handout or use many of the happily-received new foodstamps supply (more of that has gone on the kittens than on me thus far). That's partly, too, because the magnetic stripe on my card seems to have died and the clerks have to manually punch in the number. A nuisance, as is the prospect of going to the welfare office to get a replacement.

The Sleeptalker finally surfaced on Wednesday, in the game. He didn't say where he was playing from. Probably the State Library, since he usually says he's on campus when he is. He was in punk mode, badmouthing everyone (including me) in the game. He really is beyond schizoid.

On that afternoon round of the mall I always look over to see if anyone I know is in the park. Nope. It doesn't escape my notice how much more frequently I see some of the Bad Boys in the time after Third Wednesday than during their own welfare-money handouts.

I didn't much like either of the candidates for governor but was sorry the one I liked least won. That was nothing compared to the sorrow over the national part of the election, though. It's absurd people turned the Senate over to The Bush party, it really is.

That rather exotic murder-mystery in Tibet was followed by two almost as exotic, one set in Japan and the other in Mexico City. James Melville's first novel, The Wages of Zen (cringe), features a delightful Japanese detective, Tetsuo Otani, who will no doubt be the subject of further installments. The blurbs suggest that Paco Ignacio Taibo II is one of Mexico's star writers of detective fiction and Return to the Same City follows on a series of books featuring the same detective. Very strange writing. As one critic said "as if Garcia Marquez had been taking writing lessons from Dashiell Hammett". A trip to the State Library on Wednesday yielded yet another Mysterious Press imprint, The Fourth Durango by Ross Thomas. Just a small California town as setting this time, although in some ways that's probably as exotic as anything Tibet, Japan or Mexico has to offer.

Not only is Anne Rice's previously-most-recent book now in paperback, a new one just appeared in hardcover and this time another volume in the Vampire Chronicles. And Maeve Binchy's Quentins is also in the bookshop window. Oh my.

My tape repair on the headphones has had to be renewed each evening, having fallen apart after 24 hours in the bag. I must certainly look for a sturdier pair. Not much of interest on the radio, though, since it was dominated on Election Day evening by political nattering and I didn't at all like the work which opened Wednesday's evening concert so listened instead to a new country music station. This is, as I recall, the fourth attempt by someone to launch a country station here and so far this one seems the weakest, especially because the advertising is too abundant for a start-up effort and it all sounds like those hysterically whacko things one sees on very early morning television. Pills that make you lose weight without dieting or exercise, etc. etc. (No penis enlargement pills yet. I guess they leave that to junk email and the web.)

And now that un-lovely deja vu experience of waking up each morning and saying "ah, only [x] more days ..."

1007a

Date: Wed, 6 Nov 2002 15:10:49 -0800 (PST)
Subject: ur my only e-mail buddy

fag



Date: Thu, 7 Nov 2002 12:57:32 -1000 (HST)
Subject: Re: ur my only e-mail buddy

That could have something to do with what kind of an "e-mail buddy" you are.

You've called me a dick, said you should have beaten my ass, called me a fag, all in the past few weeks.

Do I need that kind of an "e-mail buddy"? Does anyone?

You really should just get over the fact that I'm gay, Coy. Just get over it. Or like the Fleetwood Mac sang, "you can go your own way".

1007b

Walking toward the Sunset Table on Thursday, I could see two men were sitting there, surprising since that table is almost always empty. Tanioka and the Sleeptalker. No doubt Tanioka's idea since he said he'd read the recent Tales, didn't know until then I'd moved to that area (I had told the Sleeptalker by email specifically where to look for me in the late afternoon).

Tanioka gave me the twenty he owed me which brightens the financial outlook for this [x] days wait. And he said Taiwan was also going to re-pay me. "I'll believe that when I see it," I said, "but unless he does he's definitely off my guest list."

The big news. "Angelo is pregnant." An odd way of putting it. I expressed my doubts about the feasibility of such a thing, but of course, Tanioka meant the PL is pregnant. I guess she's the PPL now. Evidently she wants the baby and plans to have it, but marriage is not being considered. Poor child.

I told the Sleeptalker I'd sent him a "sharp email". He mumbled something about how he might never see it because he's "giving all that up." Email or Seventh Circle, I don't know. If the latter, it's a perennial song.

"He's smoking again," said Tanioka. Uh-huh, what a surprise. Not. "I get so whacko on that stuff," said the Sleeptalker. Well, he's certainly not alone in that.

They were both stoned and a little drunk, went over to the 7-Eleven for food and returned, Tanioka bringing me a beer. The first day I've had three beers in quite awhile. We talked a bit about Kevin's claim that religion plays a significant role in the life of a homeless person, not even the Sleeptalker agreeing with the notion. Somehow we got onto the subject of the Ten Commandments and between the three of us we couldn't come up with all ten. So much for significance.

Tanioka still had half a bag (for some reason they refer to those little plastic bags as a "paper") and they went to the shower house to smoke it. I declined. Half a bag, even one full one, just isn't enough for me to bother with and would probably only have tempted me to spend that needed twenty.

The new sleeping spot has been lost already, a "no trespassing" sign having gone up, so they're back at GovSanc. I declined that invitation, too, for the same reason.

The Sleeptalker was moody but at least not surly and it was, as always, good to see him. Likewise, Tanioka. I did try to persuade the Sleeptalker to at least apply for foodstamps but not with much apparent success. I don't know, I just don't know.

1008

I had just finished taking a shower and washing some clothes on Friday, was headed to the Sunset Table when Angelo arrived. He'd seen Tanioka earlier who'd said he planned to join me. I said I guessed congratulations were in order (I'm uncertain whether condolences wouldn't be the more accurate term, but didn't say so). He looked sweetly wrecked, went over to a nearby tree and collapsed on the grass, was soon asleep. I returned to my book, the third I've found in the Maggody series of very funny detective tales by Joan Hess, set in a small Arkansas town. Later Angelo woke up, came over to sit at the table and I gave him the rest of my beer, offered to buy him another when that was finished. As we were walking to the 7-Eleven, Tanioka came out. He'd been to the movies, explaining his delayed appearance.

Back in the park, I asked Angelo if he'd told his mother about the pregnancy. He said yes and that the first thing she asked was, "are you sure it's yours?" He said he thought so, would have to wait and see if "it comes out black". Or blonde, blue-eyed, I added. The PL, on the other hand, is not telling her mother because she'll be kicked out of the house when mama finds out. They agreed this was the local Japanese way, the grandparents only relenting after the baby is born. Peculiar.

The PL is already using it as a weapon, though. Angelo said they'd had another big argument and the PL threatened to get an abortion as retaliation. [Reprise: poor child.]

On the way to the 7-Eleven he had tried to persuade me to go to the mall first. I declined, and did again after we'd finished the beer, saying I just didn't want to go through all that routine, trip to the department store, trip to sell the proceeds, trip to buy the "paper", and all that for one bag. So he and Tanioka went off on the mission and I dug out the radio, put some more tape on the broken headset and groaned through a horrendously conducted symphony of Mozart. It takes a very special talent to mess up that music, but James Levine has it. In spades.

A quiet Saturday, nothing at all exceptional happening except for finding $1.05 in a vending machine's change slot. I can understand how people forget to pick up a quarter or smaller coins, but four quarters and a nickel? Very strange, because the machine accepts dollar bills, nothing larger. So someone must have made two purchases and left the change from both, or else two different people left their change?

The second of my four-book purchase is Barbara Wood's The Prophetess, also quite strange, but thoroughly engrossing. It's especially interesting because of the way she documents all the born-from-a-virgin, died-to-redeem-mankind "saviours" we've had in history. If people had been a little more aware of all this, they might have said about "Jesus", same old, same old. It's the same old song ... On one of the anthroposophy Yahoo groups there has been a recent discussion about Rudolf Steiner's bizarre contention that there were two Jesus persons. (He found this in the "Akashic Records".) Although there is much of interest in Steiner's work, I'm afraid I've never been able to believe in this particular bit. Sorry about that, Felix.

I had an amusing letter from Felix, including a splendid photograph of him which I'll scan the next time I go to document the new collection of scribbles and one of this year's collection of his Bad Boys, two of whom are particularly alluring. I won't scan that, because he wouldn't approve, but I did tell him I'd use any device, any artifice to see them without their clothes.

Which, of course, reminded me of Little Brother, whom I guess can be called Little Uncle in about eight months time, if the PL doesn't change her mind.

1010

Life Family Friends Home

1011

1011a

1012

1013

1014

1018

An enquiry to the I Ching about the Sleeptalker gave Hexagram 32, Hang, with lines 1, 4, and 6:

Hang indicates successful progress and no error (in what it denotes). But the advantage will come from being firm and correct; and movement in any direction whatever will be advantageous.

1. The first six, divided, shows its subject deeply (desirous) of long continuance. Even with firm correctness there will be evil; there will be no advantage in any way.
4. The fourth NINE, undivided, shows a field where there is no game.
6. The topmost six, divided, shows its subject exciting himself to long continuance. There will be evil.

A field with no game and evil in two lines, not a very auspicious oracle but understandable at this point, when the Sleeptalker has done his usual pendulum act, swinging from positive to negative as he always does. It's partly my fault. I've been too generous to him since his return to town life and like the proverbial dog with the hand that feeds, he can't eventually resist lashing out at a provider. This is probably mostly because he resents needing assistance. I've also spent too much time with him since he always turns against everyone who keeps company with him too frequently. Nothing to be done about it but wait until it swings the other way again, or just give up on it altogether. As he knows, the latter option would be very difficult for me.

He came to the Sunset Table at about four o'clock on Thursday afternoon, was I think hoping to find Tanioka and get to share a pipe. I told him Tanioka had said he was almost broke, so I didn't think there was much chance of that. It was one of those conversations which seem to hover on the verge of becoming hostile and I'm out of practice after his long absence, but managed to keep it from tilting too far. I gave him the rest of the beer I was drinking, then bought another round. He was listening to my CD, then radio. If it hadn't been Thursday with the necessarily late access to the Black Hole, it would have been a not unpleasant time with him, if not as enjoyable as some of the recent ones. But since there was still another hour to go, I made the mistake of offering to share another beer with him if he went to buy it. I gave him the money, he walked off with the CD player even though I asked him to leave it. And he didn't return.

Oh well, the CD Curse strikes again. I either have to give up owning one of the things or give up my so-called "friends".

Tanioka's birthday is the twenty-second and I said we'd have a party close to the day, since he plans to be with his family on the actual day (hoping for some money gifts). But the way things are going, I begin to wonder if there will be anybody left to include on a invitation list except him and me.

Okinawa was sentenced to a year in prison, a $1300 fine and five-year probation. Time served (since late July) is credited, so with probable early release for good behavior, he'll likely be out in April or May. Out for a little while, anyway.

I saw Tanioka at the Sunset Table on Saturday evening. He told me the Sleeptalker had said someone stole the CD player from him. I thought in the sober light of the next morning, the Sleeptalker would return it, but when he didn't show up on Friday I gave up on that idea. The thing was so beat-up, held together by tape, that it could hardly have been sold but no doubt someone would have agreed to share a pipe for it, so I'm not sure I can swallow the "stolen" story.

At one point Tanioka said he needed to find "more friends". Yes, me too, ones who aren't stuck on the glass pipe ... and already have their own CD players.

1019

I mean the man was such an utter bubblehead, but if you're going to be a friend of a bubblehead, there's not much point in getting furious because he is a bubblehead. That's a bit complicated, but it does make sense, doesn't it?
Lawrence Sanders: McNally's Trial



Sunday got off to a wacky start when a young man managed to set off the Black Hole fire alarm at about four in the morning. They somehow caught him, because I saw two of the security guys escorting him into the office as the rest of us returned from evacuating the building. I had planned to get up earlier than usual because I wanted to get out of the path of the Honolulu Marathon before it started, but that was earlier than I would have preferred. Just as well, since by the time a bus came I could see the fireworks display marking the start of the race.

Sad. A thirty-three year old man collapsed and died after finishing the race.

I had an egg salad sandwich and coffee for breakfast, arrived on campus before sunrise so sat and read until the computer lab opened at eight. Then it was downhill to the laundromat, a visit postponed longer than it should have been, as usual. Catfood and beer shopping, back to the secluded grove, but I wasn't hungry so the birds missed out since there was nothing in the trash for them either.

Tanioka came to the Sunset Table in the evening and I bought us a round of beer and nachos, letting him grab the chili and cheese, etc., since he's much bolder than I would be, takes enough to make a reasonable meal for two. We were drinking Olde English missing, as it happened, a last chance to have a Colt45 at its former price. On Monday, the cost of the things went from $2.18 to $2.70! I do hope the other brands don't follow suit. If they don't, Colt45's market share is sure to plummet.

That kind of leap and the mailbox fee going up to $50/quarter makes me grumble that the 1.4 percent "Cost of Living Adjustment" to SocSec is rather out of step with reality.

I bought two Lawrence Sanders novels from the fifty-cent cart at Hamilton, so had plenty of reading for Sunday and Monday, postponed a trip to the State Library. Since the kittens are back on foodstamps until next week, they got their first taste of mackerel, seemed quite happy with it. Oddly, it's only a few pennies more than catfood-fish, but means an extra walk to the supermarket since 7-Eleven only has sardines and tuna.

And that walk brought a new experience for these islands. A bug flew into the side of my head and I reached up to brush it off. Ouch! A bee. And a stupid bee which left its stinger embedded in my left index finger. Hurt like hell for about twenty minutes, then became a very white swelling and the whole finger mercifully went numb. Half an hour later all signs of it had vanished. I think bees die once they sting. That one gets no sympathy from me.

I had a glimpse of the Sleeptalker who was standing outside Borders when I went by on a bus headed for the mailbox (which had nothing but the LavaNet bill in it). And speaking of glimpses from the bus, I've been by the Moanas end of the beach park a number of times recently without seeing Joe Guam. I sat down there for awhile after returning from the mailbox and even though the Krishna truck was there, I still saw no sign of Joe. I wonder what has happened to him?

And now it's x equals time again.
x = 6



Fantasy, fantasy, all is fantasy. But what would life be like without sweet dreams?
Lawrence Sanders: McNally's Trial

1020

Silly bureaucratic shuffle. Letter from the social worker informed me that my foodstamps will be reduced in January owing to the increase in SocSec. Uncle Sam giveth and Uncle Sam taketh away. So overall, I end up with a three dollar monthly increase in foodstamps for 2003, after having enjoyed a seven dollar increase for one month. Heaven knows how much it costs them to juggle all this stuff, send out letters, etc.

Silly friendship shuffle, too. The Sleeptalker appeared in the game on Thursday morning. I looked around, didn't see him at Hamilton. He said nothing at all, either privately or publicly. A rare event, for him to play silently. When I left to do my lunchtime shopping, I spotted him, sitting on the opposite side of the area where I had been, hidden by a column. I returned to the secluded grove but he must have ducked that when he left, if he hadn't already gone by the time I returned. Silly boy should just say he's sorry and put an end to the dumb game.

Tanioka came to the Sunset Table on Wednesday evening, said he'd treated the Sleeptalker to lunch and they'd then managed to sneak into a theatre to see a film. I bought a round of beer, rather foolishly since the cash supply is running on empty. But then, as I said, it wouldn't kill me to go without beer for a few days and I do have enough foodstamps for the x equals duration. Tanioka was all antsy, twitching for that glass pipe, and he eventually went off to seek some filling. I'm so grateful I don't suffer from that urgent yearning that attacks him and Angelo.

The two John Sandford books I found at the State Library turned out to be a two-part yarn about a whacko serial killer who fortunately got his head almost blown off at the end of the second book. I didn't much want to read any more about this particular creep so was more than pleased with the end of his revolting career. But Sandford either doesn't do drugs or has had little experience, because the villain was credited with popping more stuff in a day than I could handle in a month. Absolutely impossible anyone could take what Sanford claims was swallowed and do the complex stuff his killer did.

It was even more foolish than usual for me to leave an empty-pockets x equals period this month because the mall is horrible. It would be a perfect time to avoid the place altogether instead of being dependent on it for tobacco (although I did also score two quarters on Thursday and two generous boxes of that under-cooked spaghetti from Mamma Mia's, two different sauce styles). That tape of the-worst-Christmas-music-ever-recorded is all too successful and the live performances at CenterStage aren't much better. Of course the place is almost always mobbed with people scurrying around frantically spending money. Macy's opened at seven o'clock on Friday, open until midnight, bringing out an even earlier than usual mob. Christmas turns into nothing but a huge retail scramble and must create terrible tension for most people, especially those with children. What a dreadful holiday it has become.

1021

x = 2

I told Helen R on Saturday that my only New Year's Resolution will be to end this absurd x equals cycle, added, half in jest, that I need a bank account which has an ATM card allowing only $150 per week withdrawal. Of course, with that I'd probably end up penniless on the last day of each week, but at least it would be spread through the month rather than bunched-up just before Third Wednesday. But one real answer is to shift any "parties" to the last week of the SocSec cycle, not the first.

Veteran readers will no doubt be astonished at such a display of discipline, but I saved that found bag of greenery until the Moon was in Aries (what, me believe in astrology?), even though the Sleeptalker had urged me to "fire it up" the last time we were together. Nope, saved it until Friday, Moon in Aries, and a one-beer day. Fine, potent stuff, confirming my belief that I'd far rather smoke the green stuff than the white stuff. If only it were so readily obtainable. If Mondo weren't such a weirdo, we'd be a great couple because he prefers the greenery, too, the only one of the Boys who does.

I was sorry I didn't have music to go with the experience but I did write a few notes in reply to a letter from Felix, scrawled on the back of two photos of Joseph Conrad, since he'd asked if there were any on the web and I'd found those two, printed them. And I thought about a lot of things with the dusted-off perception of cannabis sativa, including the Sleeptalker.

Moth to the flame or flame to the moth? He continued the same routine on Friday, showing up in the game and playing in total silence. Again I noticed when I left that he was sitting as far from where I had been as he could get. Then later in the mall I was sitting in Philo Walk and he came up behind me, gave a little chuckle (endearingly close to that sound from him I love so much), gently patted my shoulder twice and continued on his way. An amusing strategy, this little series of "black-out" skits.

A bow and a tip of the hat to Skoy, the Master Game Player.

Helen R took me to see Star Trek: Nemesis on Saturday. A thoroughly engrossing film, my favorite of the ST's and the only one which at one point had me on the verge of tears. Because we got there quite early it turned out to be the longest waking time I've gone without a cigarette since the hospital adventure. Proof of the film's effectiveness is that I didn't once wish to pop out for a quick smoke. I popped out quickly enough for one afterwards, though.

We had a late lunch then at the Kakaako Kitchen where I had one of the daily specials, three-bean vegetarian chili on brown rice. The beans hadn't been cooked long enough. What's with these places taking pots off the stove too soon? The little green side salad was a treat since it included watercress, not much used in salads here.

Some bum was sprawled on the Sunset Table so I had to have my sunset brew sitting on my beach towel under a nearby tree, before returning to the mall for a final snipes run. One thing is certain: after Third Wednesday I'll no doubt continue to go to the mall for my six o'clock morning coffee but then I'm staying well clear of the place for the duration of these happy holidays.

Speaking of bums, I did spot Joe Guam early on Saturday morning, heading into the park. I guess he must have changed his usual spot in the park. And speaking of spot, that human (well, sort of human) I call Spot keeps trying to get chatty at the Black Hole. I mutter a few brief, semi-polite things before escaping with the sleeve of my shirt over my eyes. He and Joe belong in the same paragraph, being among the most monumentally boring people I've encountered in this long life.

Joseph Conrad, eh? I wonder what Felix is up to, have a suspicion I know. And my grass-enhanced intuition prompted me to write, "no, no, you've got it all wrong."

1022

The Third Tuesday of December may be one of the shortest days of the year so far as hours of daylight are concerned but I'm afraid, like every Third Tuesday, it is for me subjectively the longest day. It certainly got off to an unusual beginning since my post-coffee stroll through the mall not only yielded a full box of lengthy snipes but also a half-pack of Marlboros with disposable lighter and a fine leather coin-purse minus coins, alas, but with a classic brass Zippo lighter. Dame Fortune putting the emphasis on tobacco.

The mall also kindly provided means for a sunset brew on Monday, a profit of $1.50 from baby strollers. It should have been two dollars but one return corral was out of refund quarters. The Mongoose was dashing around frantically, first time I've seen him hunting in a long time. I assume he thought, as I did, that people would be more likely to abandon strollers in this season of hectic shopping. It's very silly of him to rush about so, though. There's no set pattern to where those strollers turn up so it makes more sense to casually stroll around rather than get hysterical about it. Naturally, once he spotted me he speeded up even more but I never saw him find one.

Something completely different in the reading category was also dropped like a melon from heaven. I was about to give up and part with a dollar on Sunday, started to walk toward the used bookshop when I saw a cardboard box with "free books" written on top. So I browsed the selection and consequently am reading Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Well, actually re-reading but it has been years since I last read it. Magister Hardy doesn't need my praise to add to his deserved reputation but he has it anyway.

There is a growing encampment not far from the Sunset Table, a group not unlike that of Lord and Lady Moana and their courtiers. I was afraid I might end up with another Joe Guam when one of the group came over to the table to talk on Sunday evening. He asked where I sleep, a very rude question for one homeless stranger to ask another, but I told him at the Black Hole. He asked upstairs or downstairs, expressed sympathy. He said the police haven't been bothering people in the park, explaining why the population there seems to have grown significantly in recent weeks. I wish some of the Black Hole residents would relocate to the park because that place has been filled to absolute capacity. The first batch of SocSec payments made no dent in the crowd. I hope the second batch does, or that some people have places to go for the holidays. I wonder what they'll do if people show up and there just isn't any more floor space?

My fears about gaining another Joe were eased a bit on Monday evening when that new fellow walked by the table and just waved, didn't interrupt my reading. Joe has made me more reluctant than ever to be overly friendly to old strangers, an unfortunate attitude but not lacking common sense.

No reluctance when it comes to young ones, though, and there was quite an amusing adventure with a campus one on Sunday, a lad in his late teens or early twenties, probably of Korean descent. Sexy little rascal.

It's odd how much the reality of old age differs from what I always thought it would be.