Monday, March 3, 1986
9 PM. I’m worn out tonight. Teaching the computer workshop went okay, but it took a lot out of me, mostly because I was so anxious about it. I’ll feel more comfortable next week. But now I’m tired.
Last night Josh told me he saw a Village Voice notice of a memorial concert for “violinist Evan Paris” at some West Side church. It was sponsored by Gay Men’s Health Crisis, so naturally Evan died of AIDS.
Maybe I saw him three or four times. I remember going to a party at the apartment on 120th and Amsterdam (right across from Teachers College), and I 
But he’s the first person I know firsthand whom I’ve learned has died of AIDS. Shit.
Then again, sometimes when I’m depressed, like today, I think I wouldn’t mind dying. Suffering, I’d mind: yes, I’d hate that.
But dying itself has always seemed a relief to me. The best thing about being a human being is that you die. I’m a coward where pain is concerned, but I don’t fear death – unless I’m fooling myself.
In Miramar this afternoon, the teachers at Sunshine Elementary seemed to feel I was on their side – and I am.
I think it’s terrible that they’ve been told to take all these kids to the computer lab once a week.
Imagine thirty kindergarteners at fifteen machines with one teacher, a computer novice, to watch them. With all these basic skills kindergarteners have to master, it’s absurd to me.
Next week I’ll do Bank Street Writer and introduce LOGO. I want to base the 
I barely had time for a couple of Sicilian slices of pizza at Gaetano’s before getting to Joe Cook’s class at BCC/FIU.
He lectured on the community power structure, which was interesting – but I find most of my fellow students’ comments to be too anecdotal and without relevance. The teacher’s disease is Talking Too Much.
No good mail today: the Division of Elections accepted my withdrawal as a 
Today was Mom’s 55th birthday, but I barely got to see her. She was busy with setting up for the Miami Beach Convention Center flea market. Now it’s Jonathan who has the flu.
I’m going to sleep now, if I can. I can’t think.
Tuesday, March 4, 1986
4 PM. I had my usual insomnia last night. There’s been a change, though, in the kind of insomnia I’ve had in the past few months. Before, I always couldn’t get to sleep; now I usually wake up after sleeping for an hour or two and then can’t fall back asleep.
In the past couple of days, I decided that I’m a pretty lazy guy. Let’s face it: I’m 
I made a half-hearted attempt to go to the warehouse and straighten out my things, but I gave up when the job seemed too tough. Hey, look – so I’m lazy: Somebody’s got to watch society.
One trend given increasing scrutiny is generational conflict. Especially down here in South Florida, with its large population of wealthy retirees, a Baby Boomer can’t help resenting that people over 55 or 60 get discounts at banks, movies, restaurants and stores, not to mention public transit.
Of course, the Yuppie myth has fueled the idea that all of us Boomers are driving BMWs – when in reality, our real income is far less than that of our parents at a 
Twenty-five years ago, Dad could easily support a wife and three kids. Today a guy would need a $200,000 income to do that. Meanwhile, today’s seniors are the least likely age group to be poor (except those over 85, widows and minority people) while 40% of the poor are children.
With a smaller generation behind us Baby Boomers, who will be the workers that will provide the money to give us our Social Security? Wait till 2015 and then you’ll see generational conflict. I bet we’ll be reviled in our old age by the generations that come after us.
Oh well, maybe I won’t be around to see it. I sound like Grandma Ethel when she says, “Well, I don’t know how many more years you’ll have to send me a birthday card.”
It’s hard to believe it, and I know this must sound melodramatic that I even think about it, but statistically, it’s a possibility. Sean wasn’t incredibly promiscuous, but he told me about a number of guys he slept with, and I’m sure he was fairly active.
I wonder about the other gay people, friends I’ve lost touch with. Elihu? Vito? Allan? Skip? Leon? Jerry? Are they okay, do they have AIDS, or are they already gone?
Saved by Neurotic Apprehension, the headline should read. I was too chicken or too crazy to go the bars, the baths, the trucks on West Street to pick up guys. It’s funny that that could be what saved my life.
Who knows how I could be cheating death right now: by avoiding eating fish or being too scared to fly to Europe?
As Allan once said when he and I were walking along Broadway and saw a sign advertising K-Y Jelly for 69¢: “It’s all cosmic.”
So is that my excuse? For living my life this way, you should pardon the 
It’s a beautiful day, about 70°, not too warm or too chilly. It’s a Spring Fever day. Remember spring fever? It doesn’t really exist in South Florida.
Where am I going, what am I doing? I’ve got exactly three months – one-quarter of a year – till I’m 35. I’ve lived five seven-year periods.
Remembering the old saw about one’s cells turning over completely every seven years: does that mean I’m becoming my sixth self?
Ed Hogan wrote, saying he understands why some people are infuriated and 
True, I do monitor every penny in cash or coin that I spend (today I spent nada so far) – but that in itself is self-indulgent. March 4, 1986: it’s been a day like any other. And yet . . .
(Exasperating, infuriating and self-indulgent conclusion.)
Wednesday, March 5, 1986
1 PM. I filed a complaint of age discrimination with the Broward County Human Relations Board against AmeriFirst Savings and Loan Association for refusing me their “AmeriPlus 55” program.
–– I’ve got the news radio on, and right now they’re talking about me, “live from the Broward County Courthouse” –– I can’t believe it: this was the lead story on the news!
They didn’t mention my name, though.
Anyway, as I was saying, the Herald story said that discounts of all kinds to senior citizens are clearly illegal. The head of the county board, who’s 70, said he 
It sounded as if they were looking for a test case, and I decided I’d be it. I drove downtown at 8 AM, taking with me a copy of AmeriFirst’s advertisement in today’s paper.
At first, the woman there, Eileen Suchick, didn’t think I had a good case, but after calling the S&L, she discovered clearly that I’d have to pay more for a safety deposit box and credit cards and I couldn’t get other services like free travelers 
She took all the information and I signed the form and statement. I got a copy and went to tell my parents, whom I didn’t want to get surprised by this. Mom wasn’t upset, but Dad doesn’t like the limelight and told me, “You have a hell of a nerve!”
To me, the case is so obvious, it’s beautiful. As I asked the woman at the bank I spoke to, “You wouldn’t have an account for ‘whites only,’ would you?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, this is discrimination, too.”
Of course, that doesn’t make it legal.
Somehow the media found out about the complaint. While I was shopping and having lunch, Eileen – who’s 34, like me – called Dad, who told me to expect phone calls from the press.
We’ll see. Is this a big egotrip for me? Yes. But that’s not all it is. A principle is at stake. Well, I’ll see what happens.
*
The WINZ reporter gave my name out, an so when I went to Davie to pick up the mail, I got called by WNWS (the reporter said she’d interviewed me four years ago for The Western News when I ran for Town Council) and the Herald.
It was a relief to get to Ray’s BASIC class. I got 96 on the midterm and enjoyed listening to Ray discuss the AI conference he went to last week.
When I told Debbie Nycz about my lawsuit, she said she had to give me credit for doing things other people didn’t have the nerve to do. Nerve: that’s what Dad called it too. Yet I don’t think of myself as nervy. (Nervous, maybe.)
Back home at 7 PM, Jonathan said Justin Gillis, the Herald reporter, was on the line; he needed more facts for tomorrow’s article. Also, I called back a reporter from the Sun-Tattler and did an interview. I hope I’m being articulate.
Earlier, I left messages with Teresa and Josh, and I called Ronna at work to tell her. She’d just had a wisdom tooth pulled but was feeling okay. It was important to me to share this with my friends.
Where will this thing lead? Time will tell, but tonight I’m glad I filed the complaint.
Thursday, March 6, 1986
4 PM. In days to come, I may regret bringing this complaint, but so far I’ve been handling things well.
In my public statements, I lean over backwards to be fair, saying that I understand that many seniors need discounts and that I understand 
Basically, I’m taking the stance that I’m bringing this complaint to clarify the law, and that if I didn’t, somebody else would. I was horrified to hear myself called “The Yuppie Avenger” on radio this morning.
I read the Herald’s story first: “Man Challenges S&L’s Age-Based Discount.” It was fairly straight-forward (although it led off by calling me “a droll short story writer”) and I came off okay.
After the half-hour interview, Dad called me up to say that I sounded responsible and intelligent, and I know if Dad, my harshest critic, felt that way, I was fine.
Next, I was a guest for an hour on WNJO in West Palm Beach. As the host kept escalating the rhetoric, I kept moderating my position.
Obviously, these things can get out of hand, and I’ve got to learn from her experience. Probably people were incensed by the $50,000 in damages awarded her. I’ve consistently said that I seek no damages, and if I were awarded any money, I’d donate it to research on Alzheimer’s disease.
The Hollywood Sun-Tattler featured me on the front page: “Man, 34, Protests Senior Discounts,” in a story that presented the issues fairly.
Probably when the Sun-Sentinel comes out tomorrow, I won’t fare as well, for 
Every reporter asks me: “How far do you plan to take this?” – and by now I’ve decided to say that I’ll accept whatever decision the Human Relations Board makes. I don’t intend to make a crusade out of this. If I come off as some sort of shrill opportunist, I’m dead.
It’s a very, very tricky area: legally I’m right, but as the epigraph to Hardy’s Jude the Obscure states, “The letter killeth.”
Maybe we need to amend our laws to permit these discounts; I honestly don’t know. Anyway, that’s not for me to decide.
One talk show host told me I’ve “opened up a whole can of worms,” and I see that, but I am still bothered that senior discounts can occur in violation of, yes, 
Perhaps it isn’t “discrimination” to give people added benefits rather than depriving people of their rights; maybe our society needs more of that.
A spokesman for AmeriFirst appeared on the WNJO show on the condition that I not speak to him – which was fine with me – and he explained their position rather well, I thought.
Am I naïve to think that I can get some people to think, maybe to understand that there are complexities and ambiguities in life? Today it’s all black and white: “Alla way USA” vs. The Evil Empire, Rambo vs. Commie gooks, right vs. 
Of course, I am naïve to think it could be otherwise. The media, as Neil Postman pointed out in his book, are incapable of dealing with complex issues like this one or affirmative action. Well, I’ll just take this day by day.
Yeah, I’m a troublemaker, but so were most of the people in history whom I admire. As long as I do what I’m doing right now – take the phone off the hook and have time to get my thoughts straight – I’ll be as okay as I can be.
Meanwhile, I’ve had a sinus headache all day, I still found an hour to exercise, and Chevy Chase S&L sent me a letter saying my Visa with a $5000 credit limit is on the way. I got an ATM card from my Republic credit line which is good at NYCE in New York and Publix Tellers here.
I’ll be grateful for the tedium of my Money and Banking class at FAU tonight.
Friday, March 7, 1986
Last night I had terrible insomnia as my mind wouldn’t stop racing, so I took two Triavils at 5 AM and also took the phone off the hook so I wouldn’t be pestered.
I got up a little groggily at 11:30 AM, and as soon as I placed the receiver down, the phone rang with a call from the CBS News producer.
After making myself look presentable enough to appear on network TV, I got over to my parents’, stopping off to get the Fort Lauderdale News.
So far so good. Yesterday I was invited on the Neil Rogers show on WINZ next Wednesday evening.
With some hesitation, I accepted, mostly because I feel I owe Neil for helping me sell so many copies of Eating at Arby’s.
Well, if I play good cop/bad cop, I’ll probably end up okay.
With CBS, I felt the reporter, Bernard Goldberg, was trying to make this confrontational – that is, after all, the style of public discourse on the nightly network news – but I hope I deflected that.
Neighbors listening in told me I made some good points. Still, I have doubts as to whether my actions will do more harm or good.
During the break, Mark asked me if I’d been doing anything “crazy” lately, so I told him about my complaint. Obviously he was impressed. I know publicity makes a person more attractive.
In a way, Mark reminds me of Sean.
Once I even caught him looking at my photo in an article about me in the paper. That was when I could first tell how he felt about me.
I got home at 10 PM and began catching up on my reading when Teresa called. She’d been in Albany for a few days. Work is okay, though she leaves home at 7:30 AM and doesn’t get back till twelve hours later.
They take so much out of her paychecks that she’s netting only $2200 a month. She did get a MasterCard that she had to deposit money in a South Dakota 
Teresa discovered that the woman at the Comptroller’s office whom she’s replacing – who finally leaves the office today – was having an affair with the press secretary.
“It’s ironic,” Teresa said, “as if I were seeing what it would have been like to replace myself at Andrew’s.” The woman broke up the boss’s marriage, then lost interest in the job and let a lot of things slide as she got into the punk rock scene.
So the others in the office see Teresa as someone who can straighten out a bad situation and there’s a huge reservoir of good will she intended to use. Teresa sounded fine, actually.
As I mentioned, although tired, I couldn’t get to sleep till 5 AM.
Monday, March 10, 1986
Josh phoned last night, the only break I had in an evening of reading. He was violently against what he called my “campaign” against old people because he believes most old people are sick and need a break.
I understand Josh’s feelings. He’s always generalized from his own experiences, and now he’s going through the heartbreaking blindness and illness of his mother. Josh’s mother is like a saint to him, and he feels he’s caring for her when his father is not.
This knowledge, and the deaths of Josh’s sister and niece, have given him a dark view of life. And why not?
He got into a big fight with Artie, and now he realizes he was totally in the wrong but he feels so bad he doesn’t even want to be friends with Artie again – if Artie would forgive him – because he’s embarrassed he acted so stupidly.
(What it was, was that he accused Artie of stealing an idea for a product – earmuffs with headphones built in – that he planned to sell mail order.)
I’ve withdrawn from the Education Commissioner’s race, but it’s typical that the newspapers ignored my tax proposals and picked up on a silly idea. More and more, I’m convinced that Neil Postman was right about all the public discourse becoming entertainment and baby talk.
That being so, I xeroxed ten copies of Fab Fed Magazine, my publication turning the members of the Federal Reserve Board into teen idols, and mailed three of them to different editors at The Wall Street Journal and one to USA Today. Maybe I can figure out a couple of other places to send it if I go to the library.
I used my new gold Visa card and got two cash advances of $2000 each and 
I met Greg at the credit union and later saw the Gilmans in the BCC parking lot and Dave at the computer lab; all said they’d seen me in the paper. (Dave told George, my ex-student who’s in charge of the lab: “You better be nice to him or he’ll sue you.”)
While at the lab, I previewed Bank Street Writer, which I later introduced to my class at Sunshine Elementary this afternoon.
Most of the teachers had a hard time with Bank Street Writer, but I know they learned the basics of using it. I’m not a bad computer trainer after all; I’ve enjoyed doing it unofficially for years.
After teaching, I stopped at my parents’ for dinner. Dad and Mom have decided not to go to the Miami Beach Convention Center flea markets again.
They made $300, but that isn’t worth all the work they put into the job. Yesterday 1.3 million people were at the Calle Ocho Festival, and the flea market 
Over Italian food, my parents told me they are not going to vote for Art Lazear in the Davie election tomorrow because they think he’s a phony.
Ever since at the debate four years ago, when I overheard Lazear disparaging me (someone said about my running, “Well, you’ve got to give him credit,” and Lazear replied – when he could have afforded to be generous – “No, I don’t give him credit. The way he’s using bad language,” a reference to my taking Jimmy Carter’s “I’ll whip his ass” line), I’ve thought of him as a fifth-rate Nixon.
At the Town Council last week, he talked out of both sides of his mouth, but 
At my parents’, I caught the start of The Flamingo Kid, which reminded us all of old Brooklyn and Rockaway, and then I came back home to Lauderhill.