Someone With a Pen: Richard Grayson’s Diary

Tuesday, February 1, 2000

9:30 PM. I had a surprisingly lively Legal Research and Writing class tonight, probably because I spent lots of time going over our legal memo problem and listening to students tell me how they went through the process of finding the statute and cases involved.

I also went over writing tips from the book and discussed online research with Lexis, Westlaw and the Internet. The class seemed happy – though I feel bad that I haven’t given them much feedback yet.

I opened a can of cat food for my mangy little grey friend when I saw him hanging out by the garbage pails at the parking lot. He (or she) still doesn’t seem to distinguish me from any other human and never looks at me when he eats his food.

But I feel good about feeding him; as I said before, I must be more my mother’s son than I think I am.

Now I can relax a bit and watch the New Hampshire primary coverage when it goes on. During the break, I checked the news on the Web, and the 7 PM exit polls had McCain with a double-digit lead over Bush, and Gore leading Bradley by a close margin.

Last night I again slept well, and I felt quite well-rested this morning. If I did have the start of a cold yesterday, it disappeared. But I still didn’t go into the office until 3:30 PM. In the morning, I prepared for tonight’s class by rereading the text and planning my lesson.

Although today wasn’t really warm, it was just mild enough so that I could go out without a jacket until evening. And the sky was gloriously blue.

At noon, I went to the Davie/Cooper City public library when it opened and checked whatever email I had: nothing major.

At Eckerd Drugs and Publix, I bought various necessities and other stuff I didn’t really need – like supermarket tabloids, to see if I could possibly get any ink on Silicon Valley Diet from them.

On the Publix scale, I weighed 147, so either my weight fluctuates normally or I’ve lost about five pounds lately.

And as I had lunch back at home, I turned on All My Children to see what’s been happening in TV’s Pine Valley the last few weeks.

After reading the Times and listening to NPR on our record-setting expansion, I lay down and rested for a while.

At work, I gave Santa my signed class rosters, noting the students who had stopped attending. I found a couple of new addresses for my mailing list, read the Mercury News online and printed out some Westlaw citations, which I xeroxed and showed to the class tonight.

I read an article in Science Times on depression as an evolutionary mechanism that allows people to respond to situations in which a desired goal is unattainable – or as one scientist put it, “when one of life’s paths peters out in the woods.”

When I look back at the periods in my life when I was seriously depressed – when, at 20, I broke up with Shelli in the fall of 1971, or when I had health, money and career problems in Rockaway in 1980 after my parents moved to Florida – I remember times of great emotional upset and confusion and despair when there were also moments of exquisite beauty as I changed my life in little ways: starting to listen to classical music or read Emerson or learn about herbal remedies or spend time walking alone on the beach. Sweet are the uses of adversity.

I was kind of a mess in late 1990, too, and I remember living at Grandma Ethel’s in September of that year while she was in the hospital and feeling that so much had changed: I no longer had Teresa’s apartment on West 85th Street, my FIU computer workshops had dried up, and my credit card chassis had finally collapsed.

But I went back to Florida and stayed with my parents, took an adjunct job at Broward Community College that became a full-time one-semester replacement position, declared bankruptcy and decided to go to law school.

That was a wonderful change, and by April and May 1991, I went for the first time to California, where I learned that I’d gotten into UF and my bankruptcy was finalized, and then I stayed in Rockaway until August, when I moved to Gainesville. Once again, I had come through the worst time.

Hopefully, if I ever have times like those depressed periods of my life again, I will also come through them and be in a better place.

---

Wednesday, February 2, 2000

9 PM. It’s El Día de la Groundhog.

Last night I watched a little of the Nightline coverage of New Hampshire on the little TV I put on my night table.

Too bad Bradley didn’t win, but I’ve lost confidence in him anyway. I don’t think there will ever again be a candidate for President I would really want to work for – not like McCarthy in 1968 or McGovern in 1972.

I’m still a political junkie, and I’m taken with McCain’s landslide over Bush, but Bush will have the nomination wrapped up in five weeks. So will Gore, and in November I’ll vote for Gore, but not with much enthusiasm and with the knowledge that Bush will win.

My real hopes rest on our amazing economy finally tanking and maybe a nice stock market crash. You can call me a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.

Okay, enough two-bit rambling. Let’s have some four-bit rambling.

I drifted in and out of sleep early this morning, listening to NPR, until finally I got up to face my breakfast whole grain cereal, the New York Times, my morning call to NationsBank (still not yet Bank of America in Florida), my deltoid/triceps/hamstrings/outer thighs Body Electric exercise, my dandruff shampoo, my wrinkled pants, my most expensive and colorful sport shirt, and finally, my office.

I was surprised to get emails from both Camille (forwarded jokes, some of which I’d never heard before) and Teresa, since I thought they were on the beach in the Dominican Republic – but apparently that’s not happening until Friday.

It’s been snowing again in New York, the kind of snow that melts, turns to ice, melts and refreezes. Yesterday Paul had to salt the village roads three times – which is a nice bonus for him and Teresa.

Teresa’s also saved a lot of money by being her own contractor, though she hopes everything can get finished before their trip to England on March 22.

Teresa set up an online trading account, and the responsibility of having so much money bothers her, but she’s able to do stuff like loan Pam the money to pay half of her out-of-state tuition for her master’s at Lehman. (The state pays the other half.)

If I really needed money, Teresa would also lend it to me – but I wouldn’t ask.

I talked to Mustafa to give him tips for his court appearance on Friday; he’s really nervous about it, and I don’t blame him.

At 11 AM, I went home to have lunch as I listened to Diane Rehm interview Donald Spoto on his new Jacqueline Onassis biography.

For some reason I always liked Jackie, though not in a worshipful way; I just thought she was a decent human being, and apparently I was right, according to Spoto.

In class I finished the chapter on Institutional Sources of American Law and began the next one on Limitations on Seeking Relief, ending with a discussion of standing and mootness.

I talked with Nathaniel, the juvenile justice officer, who got the lowest grade on the midterm. I know he does the work, but he’s not able to synthesize the information.

He wants to go to law school, but I don’t think he can make it, and it’s a pity. Probably he had a bad education in segregated schools in Tallahassee.

On the other hand, some of the better grades on the midterm went to other African-American students who look as if they study less than Nathaniel does.

Randy, that 40-year-old in my class last fall, keeps emailing me about various things. Today he asked what I thought of an attached “personal statement” for his law school application.

After skimming what seemed like some half-baked, pseudo-Oriental mishmash of philosophy from a martial arts master, I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, so that’s how I responded.

Later he wrote: “I’m totally serious. Why would you think I was joking?”

I explained as gently as I could that his writing was totally inappropriate for a law school application. I didn’t say that people on the admissions committee would be certain he’s a total nutjob.

I mentioned this to David McNaron, and he told me that Les had asked about Randy and that Steven had gotten the same email I did from him that I did.

It astonishes me that someone could think that a law school admissions committee would look at such claptrap. It’s the kind of thing that even people I consider space cadets would know is not done.

When I left the campus, I saw the grey cat, and I actually drove to Walgreens, bought cat food and went back to the parking lot and opened a can for him to eat.

So I must be a little crazy myself, no? I mean, would a normal person do that? Why am I – alone among all the faculty, students and staff at Nova Southeastern University – feeling the responsibility to feed this feline?

And don’t tell me anything about the so-called goodness of my heart. My cardiovascular system is irrelevant in this matter.

---

Sunday, February 6, 2000

7 PM. After eating a couscous wrap last evening, I drove to Coral Springs, but the Sunday New York Times hadn’t yet come in at the Barnes & Noble there.

I did see the new issue of XY, which I assumed had folded, and I bought it, making conversation with the cashier to show her I wasn’t embarrassed to buy a magazine with a half-naked teen boy on the cover.

Inside, Peter Ian Cummings, the editor, explained they’ve had problems because fashion advertisers who exploit teen homoerotic fantasies, like Abercrombie & Fitch and Calvin Klein, refuse to buy space in the magazine.

Actually, although the photos of young guys are cute, the articles are really very good. (No kidding.)

Of course, I used the issue to get about 25 addresses for my mailing list. Whether gay readers of XY will be interested in The Silicon Valley Diet is doubtful, but stories in the book like “Boys Club,” “Mysteries of Range Management” and “Diet” might appeal to some.

The issue also led me to some Amazon.com book reviews, which led me to more books and authors I hadn’t thought of before – like David Sedaris – and in two hour-long sessions at the office today, I added about 75 new email addresses to my mailing list.

I’ve also begun to think that I may want to use it to plug the paperback of With Hitler in New York, too. I don’t know how I’ll handle the mass emailing, but I have time to figure that out.

This afternoon I spent time going over the Intro to Law textbook chapter on Judicial Remedies. Because we’ve got only three weeks left in the term, I’ve decided next Monday’s text will be on just three chapters and save Criminal Law and Procedure for the final exam along with whatever else I can fit in between next Monday and the last day of class.

While it’s too bad I was unable to cover everything I’d hoped to get to, I won’t rush through the text.

I remember how in the summer of 1992, in Property II, I thought Professor Julin was senile because he went over the same case day after day – until ultimately I realized he was truly brilliant, and that if you go deeply enough into one case, you can learn so much more than if you briefly scan lots of cases. It’s akin to deeply reading one author, or one book, or one poem.

At 10 AM, I was at Barnes & Noble, reading the news and business sections of the Sunday Times. Later, I emailed Teresa a “Your Money” article on how new millionaires should handle their windfalls.

At 11:45 AM, I left for Wendy’s, where I had a baked potato, and then spent an hour in the office. On my return to Nova at 4 PM, I ran into Steven and asked him how his date went. He made a thumbs-down motion and said the guy canceled because he was ill – or used that as an excuse.

That’s why it’s not a good idea to broadcast news about one’s dates. I keep my personal life personal, at least from work colleagues. Not that I’ve had much of a romantic life to speak of – but if I were seeing someone, there would be no reason for anybody at Nova to know about it.

I may be a chatterbox like Steven, but I’m a little more discreet. In my writing, I can be as open as I want, but that’s different.

Miriam returned my last email message, apologizing for the delay but said she was wiped out after going to Boston for a reading (which I’d read about in the Globe.)

Yesterday Kate called Miriam to congratulate her on winning Red Hen Press’s chapbook contest. “So now I think even more highly of them,” Miriam said. I’m glad that Miriam and I will have the same publisher. Maybe I didn’t make a mistake in going with them.

---

Wednesday, February 9, 2000

9 PM. Last night I couldn’t get to sleep till after midnight, and of course I couldn’t sleep much later than 5:45 AM, so I’m ludicrously sleep-deprived.

Yet once I shook off the drowsiness after awakening, I’ve been like the Energizer Bunny all day. Not that I’m complaining. I actually feel pretty good although I can feel my batteries beginning to wear down.

And even with all I got done today, I still wasted time and effort, and I have so much to do before the early parts of next week.

(I’m so tired that I almost wrote party instead of parts in the last sentence. Is that a Freudian slip showing I’m more optimistic than I think?)

When I awoke this morning, I had this terrible tip-of-the-tongue problem trying to remember the name of Professor Weyrauch from law school. I could see him in front of me, I remembered his accent, his Legal Counseling class, his academic interests, his wife. I also knew that I had used his name in that “Cough!” story that was never published.

So I opened up my laptop, and just as I knew I was about to see his name, Weyrauch popped into my head and I didn’t need to look.

If I was 28 or 38, I probably would have forgotten about this forgetfulness, but at 48 – almost 49 – I can’t easily chalk it up to something routine. Am I getting forgetful?

I don’t expect to get Alzheimer’s, but I’ve always had a prodigious memory, and I’m afraid of losing it. I guess we’ll see how I react in the next few months and years.

One of the most important goals I’ve set for myself is to accept the fact that I’m aging, that I’m not a kid and not an up-and-coming young adult anymore. It’s important I come to terms with my age.

After exercising, starting to read the paper, and my usual morning ablutions, I went to school at 9:30 AM and prepared for class.

Today we finished the chapter on Judicial Remedies. And then I played the oral arguments in Loving v. Virginia, the first case in the Criminal Law and Procedure chapter.

The tape proved a nice break for the class; I think the students got a lot out of it even though miscegenation statutes seem medieval to them.

So I was glad I was smart enough to think of bringing in my tape player and borrowing May It Please the Court from the library.

Kate Gale sent an email saying she also liked Miriam’s poetry. That’s a good start at being human for her. Maybe I need to understand Kate better; she grew up in a weird religious cult commune, and I’m sure that must affect the way she interacts with people.

Tom says he’s discovering it’s impossible to see a movie, get to a decent bookstore (the college store is terrible) or buy health food without a car in snow-covered Salisbury.

His creative writing students’ poems were even worse than he expected, and he’s going to do what he did at Tulane: concentrate on teaching them literature rather than workshopping bad poetry.

Tom doesn’t want to teach anymore, so he’ll retire after this term and somehow survive with Annette. At least in New Orleans, they live rent-free.

Tom said he got a letter from Crad with his usual bigoted ranting: “Oh my. And he doesn’t have the interesting fiction to make up for it anymore.”

Online, I found some more email addresses for my mailing list. At the College of Staten Island, Professors Cullen, Jochnowitz, Fuchs and Leibowitz are still in the English Department, and the college still offers an M.A. in English, though now with a rhetorical track alongside a literature one.

I also checked out Tallahassee Community College and was surprised to see that Alan Merickel was heading the English Department.

He was a full-time English professor at Broward Community College the first year I taught there, after which he returned to his former home in Northampton, Massachusetts so his wife could care for her elderly parents.

And at Santa Fe Community College, Anne Kress is now the English Department chair. (Of course, I can’t remember the name of the old one. Her last name began with R, and I can see her face . . . Oh shit.)

Back at home from 3 PM to 7 PM, I read the paper, did the laundry, went to Publix to buy $50 worth of groceries and a Valentine’s Day card for Jaime.

(Why not? It’s not as if he has a boyfriend. I don’t care if he knows I still have a crush on him.)

Miriam had an article in Sunday’s Albuquerque Journal discussing the superiority of mature love, saying that while it may be less about lust and more about companionship, older couples are more joyful and have more fun.

On Saturday night I heard Garrison Keillor talk how great being in his fifties is. “I’m enjoying my decline,” he said. According to Gale Sheehy’s flawed theories, once guys my age get through the hump of the late forties, we do very well in our fifties. I think that will happen to me.