Someone With a Pen: Richard Grayson’s Diary

Friday, November 1, 2002

7 PM. I’m just starting to unwind after a stressful day at work. It’s no wonder that I couldn’t get back to sleep after I woke up at 3:30 AM. 

I had so much to do today, but I think I’ve got everything under control by now. 

At 11 AM, Pat and I met with Catherine, Ty, Melissa, and Susan from the library. 

I put together and collated packets starting with directions to the computer labs at the big library, and then, after that: the case material writing exercises, two copies of the rubric to be used in grading for peer review (the same system used by Gene Gateskill’s team with the orientation exercises), a list of the top mistakes students make on exams, and an evaluation form, as well as some sign-in sheets. 

Each of the staff members will take one group and one room. 

Tomorrow I’ll have to be at school at 7:30 AM when Aramark comes to set up the food. Richard said we should simply commandeer tables in the atrium for the food and for registration. 

Actually, I probably need to be at the Law Center at 7 AM – so I’ll skip exercising in the morning. 

Steve called me up, and when I told him I was struggling with the logistics of the event, he had the nerve (or delusion) to say, “Now you know what I went through with orientation.”

Of course, it was his research assistants, along with Pat, Thelma, Linda Lahey, and everyone else who did that work while Steve was roaming the country teaching bar review classes for BarBri. 

Yesterday Toni Appel – whose 94-year-old father is dying – told me she thinks Steve is “a complete fraud” and “a total asshole.”  

I’ll just try to keep my mouth shut with Steve and not say what I’m thinking. 

I pulled all the exercises from the exam books and the score sheets – the two answers that the students wrote at orientation. 

Making things difficult was that some students wrote both essays on one exam booklet, and I couldn’t find any booklet for some students. 

It took most of the day to do all this tedious work, and by the end I was bleary-eyed. 

Pat left early with stomach trouble, but she guaranteed she’d be at school tomorrow. 

Thelma said that if she managed to run commencement, I could run TEA: “It will happen whether you’re freaking out or not. Just try to look in control even if you think you’re not.”

In the afternoon, I again met with Jermaine, whose grades concern me very much. He’s barely keeping up with the reading, and he says he feels on top of the material, but he hasn’t done any reviewing at all. 

Anyway, I came home at 4:20 PM, and after dinner I became nauseated, so I took a Phenergan tablet. After skimming today’s paper, I started to feel better. 

No matter how The Exam Advantage goes, it will all be over tomorrow afternoon. 

On Monday I’ve got my own workshops, and I have to start doing evaluations for the ARP teaching assistants. Lately I haven’t had time to supervise the program as much as I would have liked, and some of the TAs have been lax in handing in material. 

I also have to select TAs for next term’s classes. I guess the next three weeks are really crunch time. 

But three weeks from Tuesday, I’ll be on Long Island. 

If I can’t sleep tonight, I’ll take Klonopin or Ambien. Right now my system is shutting down from exhaustion. 

Sat Darshan said Halloween went fine in Phoenix, as she avoided Nirankar and Trevor. On Monday, Sat Darshan begins her new job.

---

Saturday, November 2, 2002

8 PM. I fell asleep at this time yesterday because I was that tired, but Aunt Sydelle called at 9 PM and woke me up. 

Still, when I woke up again at 2:30 AM, I’d already slept over six hours – but I took 0.25 mg of Klonopin and fell back asleep for a little while. 

I was at school before 7 AM, which was a good thing because Aramark came to set up the food soon after I’d arrived, which was earlier than I expected. 

I set up the tables with signs, put out the packets and exam books, and had everything ready by 8 AM when Catherine, Melissa, Susan, and Ty got there. Pat was certainly the biggest help. 

Anyway, the event went off very well despite several glitches: the computers in the room wouldn’t print out; I had to scramble to find the score sheets for people who didn’t pre-register; there weren’t enough seats in Steve’s classroom, etc. 

But all the professors did a good job, and the evaluations were mostly very positive. 

We had about 70 of the hundred or so who registered, and it was almost unanimous that TEA be repeated next year. 

A few people complained, but they were definitely in the minority, and no doubt Catherine will tell Joe what she told me: that I organized the event very well. 

Pat still wasn’t feeling well, so at 10:20 AM I told her she could go home. 

After TEA ended, I felt exhausted, and my feet really hurt from standing for so many hours. (Plus, my right knee hurt from the pressure I put on it while sorting papers yesterday.) 

By 12:30 PM, I was home, where I changed into shorts and a t-shirt and went to Wendy’s to read the paper and eat my baked potato. 

Later, I drove to the public library and emailed Tom, Teresa, Mark B, and Sat Darshan. 

Reading an article in the Times about the Complete Idiot’s Guide to and … for Dummies series gave me an idea. What about the Complete Idiot’s Guide to Sikhism? 

I emailed Alice and Sat Darshan about it. It may end up only as a plot device in a story. 

Later I also got an idea for my “Superstition Freeway” story: what if Sat Darshan wanted to kill Nirankar but couldn’t do it because of her religious beliefs, so she hired as a hitman a fiction writer – say, an MFA student at ASU – to write a story in which Nirankar or a character based on her got killed.

The other night I really didn’t know where I was going with the story, so I thought, Well, why don’t you make it a murder story? But I can’t write that kind of fiction, so I’ve got to make it a story about a murder story. 

Whether I’ll follow through with this is, well, another story. I had all these ideas while riding around tonight. 

I again risked the car dying on me by driving so much, but the Borders in Fort Lauderdale didn’t have the Sunday Times. 

A Sun-Sentinel vendor at U.S. 1 and Broward Boulevard told me how bad business was when I was stopped at a red light (I had my car window open). 

Then he asked me for money, and when I said I had just spent $1,000 on car repairs, he said, “You didn’t spend $1,000, you faggot.”

“Fuck you,” I said to him.

God knows why a slur from a street person should bother me for long. 

At Borders I did get The Express, which had a beautiful profile of Rob Nathans. 

I didn’t know what an accomplished, well-regarded visual artist Rob is or that in the 1970s he and his then-boyfriend started Henry’s End, that cafe on Henry Street in Brooklyn Heights where Josh and Simon and I used to hang out all the time. 

Rob moved to Florida years ago after being devastated by the nightmarish illness and death of his brother David, a theater director, from AIDS. (Rob’s most recent boyfriend also died of the disease.)

At 6 PM, I went to Barnes & Noble and had a small (“tall “) iced tea and a low-fat biscotti, and I read more of Davis’s Magical Urbanism: Latinos Reinvent the U.S. City. 

Earlier, I’d seen my neighbor Leslie, who doesn’t have a car, and I gave her a lift to Walgreens. She and Bruce are going on a cruise to the Bahamas next week, and she said they’re keeping my book “until you get rich and famous.”

I decided not to go to the Halloween party at Zane’s apartment tonight, mostly because I’d just seen enough law students for the day. 

But today was also a bit of a breakthrough for me, like the bar exam: I did something new, something I thought I couldn’t do. 

Of course, it was Steve and Brian and Mark and Jane who did the real work of teaching, and the staff and Pat helped me a great deal. 

But I was the one who organized everything, and it worked. Maybe I can do this job after all. 

Wyatt and Lindsay sent me a cute Halloween card. They are the niece and nephew I never had. 

I probably won’t sleep tonight, but that’s okay.

---

Monday, November 4, 2002

6 PM. I’m returning to work in a little while, as I’ve got my Torts exam writing workshop at 8 PM. 

Hopefully I’ll be able to sleep tonight, as I’m feeling a bit sleep-deprived after a so-so night. 

Pat said I should have gone home this morning, but I wanted to stay around because the timesheets by ARP teaching assistants needed to be signed so they could get paid, and I also wanted to be available to anyone who needed to see me. 

I told myself I should be very pleased with the way everything has gone this year. 

Joe forwarded a letter from a student praising TEA, and he later sent me a note of thanks and congratulations. 

I did write thank-you notes to the faculty members and staff members who worked on Saturday. 

I guess I would have been blamed if TEA had been terrible, so I should try to take the praise now that it turned out to be successful. 

This morning I spent some time goofing off, writing emails, and reading the New York Times on the Web. 

I copied 600 sheets of blank ARP teaching assistant evaluations and started giving them out because next week is the last week of the TAs’ sessions. 

When I saw Debra Curtis on her way out of her LSV class, she told me, not unexpectedly, that Micah got a D on his memo – and only because she had mercy on him and didn’t take off all the points for it being late. 

She also told me that Gautam also got a D. 

Both these guys are upper-middle-class kids who went to American University and Washington University, respectively, so they really have no excuses. 

It may not be right, but I tend to worry more about underserved minorities and working-class white students: people who went to FAU or CCNY or community colleges before that. 

Charlene Pinkney of BLSA asked me to speak on exam-writing at a BLSA meeting on Thursday, and I’m doing Lisette’s Lunch and Learn on Wednesday. 

I guess that eventually I’ll become an expert on exam writing. For now, I feel I’m mostly faking it. 

I gave the twenty or so students who showed up for my 3 PM workshop half an hour to do a Torts question that I’d taken from an old bar exam, and afterwards we went over the model answer.

To me, the class seemed like it wasn’t going that well, but later students told me that it proved valuable for them. 

Coming home at 4:30 PM, I lay down for an hour before dinner. In a little while I’ll put on my dress clothes and go back for my evening workshop. 

Tom sent his memoir via Randy Bates to a literary agent – but of course the guy found it unmarketable and thought it was fiction, not memoir. I don’t understand why Tom bothers to try for mainstream success.

---

Wednesday, November 6, 2002

9 PM. Last night the Republicans did even better in the midterm election than I expected, but I had called the voting about right. 

It’s a bummer, but I guess I’m over it. After all, it’s not like I’m 17 and Nixon has just gotten elected president. 

Yesterday I got my new Authors Guild membership card, which said that my membership began in the fall of 1978, in anticipation of the publication of With Hitler in New York. 

That was 24 years ago. Who would have thunk it?

Having spent so much time watching the election returns, I really needed caffeine this morning, so I got hot tea from Maurice and then iced tea at the Connections Cafe. 

Somehow I got through the day just doing the minimum. 

For Lisette’s Lunch and Learn, I followed Bill Adams and Steve Friedland. Comparatively, I probably sounded inarticulate and not as informative. 

But I’m just learning this stuff, and even a perfectionist has to cut himself some slack sometimes or his back muscles will tense up all the more. 

Tomorrow at the BLSA meeting, I will again follow Steve. Woe is me. 

I managed to be coherent through much of the day. Luckily I work among nice and tolerant people. 

When I got home at 7 PM, I saw that I got the latest HBO video sent from Apache Junction, and I watched Six Feet Under after I called Dad to thank him. 

China got a good report from the veterinarian on her eye pressure. Dad had to postpone her original appointment because she “went in the car” (as in defecated or urinated, I didn’t ask which) on the first trip there. 

It looks like Democrat Janet Napolitano was elected Arizona governor, but the early and absentee ballots, like Mom’s and Marc’s – Dad and Jonathan voted yesterday at the junior high next to Apache Junction High School – haven’t been counted yet. 

The only bright spot in the Florida election for me was the passage of the small class size amendment. Jeb Bush campaigned against it, saying it was too expensive. 

At 8 PM, I watched my guilty pleasure, Dawson’s Creek. I can’t help it that I like “stories,” whether it’s the HBO dramas or BBC serials or daytime soaps. 

My back and backside ache, but the pain hasn’t gotten worse.

---

Thursday, November 7, 2002

9 PM. My back is still a bit messed up, but the piriformis syndrome seems to be better. 

Last night I slept for eight hours, and this morning I felt calm and didn’t have sweaty palms, so I felt pretty good today. But for the second day in a row, I felt tired at work. 

The noon BLSA meeting went fine. Beforehand, Steve told me that I can’t keep undercutting myself, that I should accept the title of “professor” when someone calls me that and not correct them. 

I told Steve that being self-deprecating is part of my personality, but he said that doesn’t work at a law school – which is probably correct. 

He gave me the manuscript of the book he’s working on about how to pass the bar exam on the first try. When I started going over it, I was surprised at how poorly written it was. 

I took a pen to it as if I were doing line editing. The manuscript was filled with awkward phrases, passive constructions, and several mixed metaphors. 

I don’t know how well Steve will react to my comments, but it makes me feel more secure to know that I am a much better writer than Steve is despite his Harvard J.D. and Columbia J.S.D. 

Of course, it’s just a first draft. 

I met with two potential teaching assistants for next term: Matt Berger, who’ll be doing Grohman’s Property class with Greg Schrager, and Carlos Sardi, the #1-ranked evening student, will be doing Civ Pro if Rogow agrees. 

I emailed several of next term’s first-year professors – Mark Padin, Mark Rohr, Mike Dale, Mike Flynn, and Mike Masinter (we have a lot of Marks and Mikes!) about their choices for teaching assistants for Property or Civil Procedure next term. Flynn said he wants Tanya again, and she’s an excellent choice. 

Ron, a 1L, came to talk to me about Cindy’s LSV class. (I miss having Cindy next door since she’s moved to her new office upstairs.) 

Cindy marked down Ron’s memo because it was supposedly late, but it was because of a mix-up, he told me: Cindy’s secretary gave him the wrong exam number. 

Ron said that he was in another class at the time his memo was handed in, and he can prove that with Linda Harrison’s attendance sheet. 

But he told me that Cindy told him not to bother with protesting, that no matter what, he wouldn’t get his grade changed from a C to a C+.

The matter is basically out of my hands. I told him he should speak to someone in Student Affairs/Services.

Elihu sent a long email saying that normalcy has returned to his household. 

Roger is back at work, although his new hours are from 3 PM to 11 PM, Tuesday through Saturday. But Roger has been able to go to the Gay Men’s Chorus rehearsals on Monday nights. 

Elihu himself has been very busy with Chorus and the co-op board. 

“Work sucks,” he wrote, telling me how they’re schemes to make him more productive “so I can be given ’more responsibility’ – in other words, ’how can Elihu be forced to do more work.’”

Earlier in the day, Elihu had sent me a photo of a clown, but I didn’t realize it was Elihu himself, rehearsing for a number for the Chorus talent show.

---

Saturday, November 9, 2002

9 PM. Last night I slept for nine hours, waking up at 7 AM and feeling very relaxed. I didn’t have any diaphoresis when I exercised, so I guess now is one of those times when my anxiety is waning. 

I went to Starbucks with the New York Times but spent more time musing than reading. 

At the Davie library, I returned a book and the tape of The House on Mango Street, which didn’t play properly. 

Going on the computer, I checked my email – all junk – and read the online diaries of Justin Clouse and C. Bard Cole. 

It’s been about ten days since I wrote to Vincent, and I haven’t heard from him. Frankly, I don’t think I’m going to hear from him again. 

It’s a little annoying, but I’ll always value Vincent’s coming into my life in the fall of last year. 

I always knew he was somewhat volatile and that his friendships with Dennis Cooper and Dale Peck ended badly, as did other relationships. 

I think people always end up disappointing Vincent. 

Well, I never did anything rotten to him. If he doesn’t want to get back in touch with me, it does hurt a little, but it’s his mishigass. 

Angie didn’t show up at work today, so I rescheduled my massage for next week and went to Barnes & Noble for more iced tea and the New York Times. 

I got to The Psych Team office slightly after the time for my scheduled 1 PM appointment. I was in a pretty good mood for our therapy session. 

After Dr. K listened to my stories about work, he said I seem to be doing pretty well. 

He also said I need to get started writing the Contemporary Authors autobiographical essay, and he appealed to my anxiety. 

So this evening I got my Compaq laptop out of the box, set it up on my desk, and started my first fumbling toward my 10,000-word essay. 

I got about 500 words done, which isn’t much, but if I do that twenty more times or so, I’ll have 10,000 words. 

There are two months and ten days till the January 20 deadline, and it’s not as if I have to research my own life. I can write as if I were talking to a new friend. 

Today I talked to Dr. K about my childhood and my summers in Rockaway. 

I was always a very short and skinny, bookish kid, but I never got picked on by anyone. I think it was because I could always read people pretty well. 

Maybe I’m flattering myself, but bigger kids seemed to want to protect me, as they tended to treat me as being younger than they were even though we were the same age. 

I don’t remember ever being teased – and if I had been, I either wouldn’t let it get to me or wouldn’t show that it had. 

I also talked about not being able to remember a lot of the details of early parts of my life – even a period as recent as working as a staff attorney at CGR from October 1994 to March 1997. 

I lived in Gainesville for six years, and I would like to go back for a visit, maybe for my tenth law school reunion in a couple of years. 

As I was leaving Dr. K’s office, I told him that I was going straight to the movies to see 8 Mile, which opened yesterday, “because I love Eminem.” He looked at me quizzically. 

I’m not saying this to pretend that I’m with it, or whatever expression young people use today, but I knew that I would like 8 Mile, and I did. 

Two years ago, when I was teaching at ASU and Mesa Community College, my students read a lot about the controversy about Eminem’s homophobia. 

In 8 Mile, he first shines as a rapper when he defends a gay co-worker who’s being attacked – the same kind of tolerance toward gays exhibited by John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, but I guess 8 Mile does for hip-hop what Saturday Night Fever did for disco. 

The movie also reminded me how I loved Prince in Purple Rain back in the mid-1980s when I lived on the Upper West Side. 

(I remember I had to go see it a couple of extra times because Teresa had a guy in her bedroom for a couple of hours.) 

I was probably the oldest person in the theater. I know that hip-hop isn’t my generation’s music, but I admire the verbal dexterity and inventiveness. 

Sometimes it’s hard for me to comprehend the fast-moving lyrics, but Eminem enunciates clearly, and he’s quite clever. Plus, he’s cute. 

I’m going to start reading that book I’ve got on Los Angeles hip-hop history now.