A Writer’s Diary Entries From Early June, 2001
Friday, June 1, 2001
3 PM. On the computer last evening, I did a search for Silicon Valley Diet, and up came something new: from the March-April 2001 issue of American Book Review, “Henry Grinberg reviews The Silicon Valley Diet by Richard Grayson.”
I called the Hayden Library at ASU this morning, and a librarian told me they carried American Book Review and even had the most recent issue. So I could have found this review two months ago if only I’d known about it.
After lunch, I made the 50-mile round trip to Tempe to see the review. Since the title was “Defiant on Thin Ice,” I expected it to be as bad as the other reviews I’ve gotten from ABR.
I started to sweat and felt a little faint, awaiting a gratuitous slap in the face. On Wednesday, I told Susan that at (almost) 50, I realize that I’m never going to become “rich and famous,” she used the phrase foreshortened horizons.
Yesterday’s Times had a nice story on Eileen Myles, “the last of the New York School of poets.” Eileen is published in little magazines and by small presses and she’s a lesbian. But Eileen was always in the downtown scene, and she’s got a band and performs.
I keep imagining that someday I will get that kind of treatment from the time – or I should say, I used to think that. But as I said to Susan at our therapy session, while I’m alive, there’s hope: “I might write a bestseller when I’m in a nursing home.” But certainly the odds are against it.
For now, I’ll have to settle for Henry Grinberg’s excellent review that began: “Richard Grayson’s ninth collection of stories achieves many goals, and he is clearly a master of the genre.” It just gets better from there.
Excerpts: “Grayson rarely palls. His young men are imbued with the sweet, enduring nuttiness that serves both to energize and individualize . . . Wherever Grayson casts his gaze, he manages to isolate panoramas of city and small town life in America from 
the 60s to the present . . . connected to public events, such as the uncertain outcome in Korea and defeat in Vietnam . . . ”
Grinberg especially liked the stories that alternate “narrative with what at first seems like droningly dull passages from textbooks . . . These particular stories are unusually effective.”
He goes over “Boniatos Are Not Boring,” “Moon Over Moldova,” “Mysteries of Range Management,” and “The Silicon Valley Diet” and actually understands what I was trying to do.
The other stories in the book, Greenberg says, “are accomplished and make their points with enviable skill . . . everything is poignant . . .”
This review gladdened my heart and made the sweat worth it. I copied it into a Word file and emailed it to myself, and at OfficeMax, I made copies – perhaps to convince myself that the review was real.
Diet has gotten the best reviews of my books, so publishing it was indeed worth the $5,000 and even a future bankruptcy.
Monday, June 4, 2001
10 PM in Los Angeles. Despite being awake for nearly 24 hours, I’m not tired. However, I am very gassy, probably not from anxiety but because of the change in my diet and not eating the stuff my body has become accustomed to.
No one in Libby’s family knows that today is my 50th birthday, so I’ve basically avoided any hullabaloo.
Last evening Dad and Jonathan were watching the Tonys, which started at 8 PM on CBS (even though the news already said that The Producers had won the most awards).
I must have fallen asleep thirty minutes into the show, so I never got to watch the season debut of Sex and the City on HBO.
Unfortunately, I woke up just before 11 PM and never really got back to sleep despite Ambien, Ativan and an extra .25 mg. of Klonopin. Perhaps I dozed off a little between 3:30 AM and 5 AM, but it was just barely sleep: mostly lucid dreaming.
During the night I watched TV and used my relaxation tapes, which I sometimes think are counterproductive because they remind me of my most anxious times back in the fall and winter.
I felt pretty crummy this morning. But at 6:30 AM, I exercised to the Body Electric show I had taped earlier, and I was ready to go to Sky Harbor at 8:30 AM.
Jonathan drove me there in the Prizm. He was intending to spend most of the day in Phoenix, at the zoo or at parks.
Once I got to my gate, I used a pay phone to call Sat Darshan. “Nirankar is gone,” she said.
“Good riddance,” I said.
Sat Darshan said that the night before she left, Nirankar gave Kiran a “time out” in Ravinder’s presence, basically ignoring the fact that he’s Kiran’s father.
She also said that Nirankar, “like the trailer trash that she is,” left a lot of junk behind in the apartment.
I was only a little nervous about flying and took just .25 mg. Klonopin, figuring that I’d had an extra dose earlier.
The flight took off and arrived on time, leaving Phoenix at 10:30 AM and arriving in Burbank an hour and fifteen minutes later. I was not nervous at all and ate my cheese sandwich and sweet potato along with a cup of tomato juice.
It was about 72° when we landed, and I remembered from three years ago that the baggage carousel was outdoors and that we walked down onto the tarmac from the plane on jet stairs.
It didn’t take long for me to get my luggage. At the car rental place the Budget van took me to, I got a tan Corolla for the week.
Knowing I’d have trouble finding the Ventura Freeway, I just drove west on Burbank Boulevard until I hit a cross street I knew had an entrance on the 101, which I took, passing Woodlake, to Valley Circle/Mulholland Drive.
I went to the Wendy’s at the shopping center on Platt off Victory and then bought a few things at the Pavilions supermarket nearby.
What I didn’t know is that Grant met Libby and a couple of her girlfriends for lunch at Alessio’s in the same center – and that they were still there when I arrived at the house.
But I let myself in through the back and ate some baby carrots I’d just bought at the grocery, left a voice mail message for Kevin, and was about to call my parents when Libby and Grant, who was still suffering with a bad cold, came home.
I went with Libby to pick up Wyatt at his school at 2:10 PM. He was glad to see me, and I spent the rest of the day around the house, staying with Wyatt when Libby went to pick up Lindsay at the middle school and take her to gymnastics.
Libby had asked me watch over Wyatt as he did his mandatory reading soon after we came home. He believes I’m crazy for loving to read “even when you aren’t forced to.”
Later, he, Libby and I watched Miss Congeniality, an okay Sandra Bullock comedy they’d already seen this weekend when they first rented it.
Wyatt’s now 10 and in fourth grade and Lindsay’s 13 and in seventh grade. On Wednesday Grant and Libby have an IEP (Individualized Education Plan) meeting to discuss where Lindsay is heading academically.
Lindsay has trouble reading and can’t distinguish between certain sounds, and Wyatt (obviously) has ADD, but both are in advanced classes and doing fine in school, thanks to Libby’s all-consuming interest and the time she takes with them.
Outside in the front yard, I watched Wyatt do stuff on the trampoline with his board, and then, after we had veggie burgers, I walked up the hill with him and Libby as he skateboarded down the newly-paved street.
Later, I pushed Wyatt while he was on the swing even though, as Grant said, he’s getting too big for that.
Happily for me, there was no Boy Scout meeting this evening, so Wyatt and I made herb tea in the kitchen while Libby went out to collect Lindsay at gymnastics.
I never had time to finish reading the New York Times or to listen to NPR news today – or to feel anxious or nervous. This is probably good therapy for me.
Libby said California is in a recession. Grant’s business is as bad as it’s ever been, and that started even before the electricity crisis and the rolling blackouts (which of course affect Los Angeles because the city owns the power and water company).
One day this week, Libby says, Wyatt will take off from school and we’ll go to the beach. Of course, I’ll be gone most of Saturday for my reading.
I’m still not tired, but I’m going to try to rest on the mattress from Wyatt’s room that Libby’s put on the floor of the den.
Tuesday, June 5, 2001
9 PM. Last night I was still awake at 11:15 PM, so I took an Ambien and managed to doze off within the hour, getting up, as usual, during the night to go to the bathroom. I finally woke up before 6 AM. It was cool, but I felt comfortable under a quilt.
I had oatmeal and grits as Libby was going out to vote for Jim Hahn in the Los Angeles mayor’s race at their polling place, the Platt Branch Library.
After spending an hour lying on my mattress under the covers listening to KPCC, the Pasadena NPR station, I exercised to my Body Electric tape at 8 AM.
Libby was baking a dozen loaves of zucchini bread when she returned from voting. She told me I could shower in her and Grant’s bathroom, but it’s actually easier for me to do in the kids’ bathroom from now on.
I went to the Starbucks at the Fallbrook Center, whose store wasn’t quite ready when I came here a year ago. I read the New York Times as I sipped my grande iced tea.
The day started out cloudy – June gloom – but the sun eventually came up. The weather here is perfect for me, and it’s a delight not only to see so much greenery, especially the now-blooming jacaranda trees with their vibrant purple flowers.
In some ways, I feel more at home here in Los Angeles than I do in the Sonoran Desert. The mountains surrounding the San Fernando Valley are green, not brown like in Arizona.
Of course, I could only be in L.A. when next to me at Starbucks sat a screenwriter who seemed to be working on a TV show pilot or a movie script.
Every once in a while he got so pleased and excited about what he was writing that he had to call someone (a producer? an agent?) and read back the incredibly bad sitcom dialogue he’d just produced involving a character who seemed to be named Webb Power.
On the other side of me, a Latino couple talked about moving to Phoenix, where it’s so cheap to live. The woman said all her family from New York and New Jersey had already moved there.
Before returning home, I walked over to the nearby Ralphs supermarket and got some foods I like and got a Ralphs Club card for the discounts.
Early this morning, I’d called Florida Unemployment to claim benefits, and when I checked back, the automated voice said a check for $550 was issued today.
Libby went off to the church, where she’ll be working in a part-time position assisting the new person in charge of the youth ministry; she already teaches the three- and four-year-olds in Sunday school.
In late morning, I went out to Wendy’s and then Baskin-Robbins, where I finished reading yesterday’s and today’s Times, and then got some more frozen vegetables at Pavilions.
Although I don’t really know most of Los Angeles, I know this part of the West Valley really well.
Kevin called when he went home for lunch. He so busy that he can fit me in only on Friday evening, when he told me to come meet him at Warner Bros. Records.
His bosses are the vice presidents for the international division, and the man he works for 80% of the time finally convinced Kevin to stop temping and join the company as a full-time employee, agreeing to adapt to Kevin’s acting schedule.
But when he doesn’t have any auditions, rehearsals or performances, Kevin is still very busy and working many evenings.
He sounds great, though, and he told me that this weekend he’s going to have a date (read: sex) with a nice guy who’s driving up from Long Beach.
Kevin now makes $36,000 a year and he’s finally got full benefits and enough money to travel outside of L.A. for the first time in four years.
He got callbacks for three plays from the Culver City Public Theater for their summer program, and he wants and expects to work in Woodland Hills again; being in the cast of Room Service last year was a great experience.
When I called home, Mom said the stuff from dairy hollow came, and that Ronna had called yesterday to wish me a happy birthday. I also got a card from Alice.
Mom read me a letter that had come from Leora Zeitlin, very effusive, telling me that I Brake for Delmore Schwartz is basically out of print, though they have about 50 copies she’d like to sell.
Leora told me that at the AWP convention, she traded copies of my books with Red Hen Press and said she looks forward to reading my new book.
Zephyr Press will release the rights to I Brake so I can get it published as a print-on-demand paperback from the Authors Guild Backinprint.com program.
Mom said that everyone is fine at home, though I’m sure she’d spare me any bad news.
I’ve been on.25 milligrams of Klonopin mornings and nights and I really haven’t had any anxiety symptoms except sleeplessness.
Even though Libby said the past two days for her were mellower than usual, my days here in Los Angeles seem very full.
I know Libby is worried about money. She told me that because business is bad, Grant and his partner, have borrowed $30,000, using her and Grant’s home equity line of credit, and she again expressed the fear that if Grant were to die suddenly, she’d be up shit’s creek.
Wyatt had brought some kind of educational CD-ROM home from school. Grant and I tried to load it, but it seemed defective.
In the late afternoon, I spent a lot of time with Wyatt. We played a baseball simulation on the computer and a skateboarding videogame on Nintendo, after which I watched him jump around with the board on the trampoline.
After dinner, Libby and I took Wyatt to the Val Surf store on Ventura Boulevard, where he got a skim board. I never heard of a skim board, but I guess you wax it up and place it on the sand and ride the outgoing surf like you do with a skateboard or snowboard.
This evening was an education in Valley kid culture for me, at the surf shop and then at Lindsay’s gymnastics place, where I watched her and other adolescent girls (and a few cute boys) work on their routines.
Lindsay’s teacher is Leon, who’s competed in the Olympics for China. He’s currently a college student and showed me lists of the (fairly advanced) English words he’s learning to improve his vocabulary.
Libby said that she thinks Lindsay is “plateauing” as gymnast; she did badly at her last aerial gymnastics state meet.
She did seem to whine a little Leon put her on the high beam and asked her to do an extremely complicated and difficult routine.
It seemed amazing, but doing it, Lindsay got a “rip,” a tear and blister on her seemingly well-protected wrapped and bandaged hand.
Afterwards, at Wyatt’s urging, we all went out to Baskin-Robbins. Since I had my nonfat frozen yogurt earlier in the day, while the others ordered, I stood in front of the karate center next door and watched Valley adolescents of every ethnicity do their moves.
This group of mixed-color belts actually seemed to be playing some kind of volleyball-like game, only they used their feet, knees, chests and heads rather than their hands to get this woven rattan ball over the net.
As the sun set in the west, I felt the beauty of the moment as we all sat at the table outside while the kids ate their ice cream.
Because of his hyperactivity, I sometimes find Wyatt wearying, but as we drove across Vanowen Street and he began singing a song he learned in school today – “Puff the Magic Dragon” – and Libby sang along and then Lindsay joined in, the moment felt magical.
Wednesday, June 6, 2001
9 PM. I feel exhausted after a long day. Last night I didn’t sleep very much again, and I guess all that accumulated sleep deficit is starting to get to me.
Neither Ambien nor my relaxation tape seemed to help me stay asleep or to get back to sleep once I do get up, so tonight I’m not going to bother with either.
This morning at 8 AM, Grant and Libby went to Lindsay’s school for the IEP meeting, and once I showered and dressed, I took Wyatt to Starbucks, where he had apple cider and a chocolate croissant and I got iced tea and the New York Times, which I barely looked at, as well as hot chocolate to take home for Libby.
Grant and Libby came home shortly after we did, and tonight Libby typed up a letter documenting what accommodations the school must make call Lindsay.
Because Lindsay is a great kid, gets decent grades, and doesn’t cause problems, if she didn’t have parents who acted as advocates for her, she would probably be denied her special needs accommodations.
At about 9:30 AM, we loaded up the car and drove out to Las Virgenes Canyon, taking that route through the Santa Monica Mountains. It ends at Pacific Coast Highway where Pepperdine University is. We turned left and drove down the coast into downtown Santa Monica.
I didn’t get to see the Third Street Promenade, where my reading is at Midnight Special on Saturday. Instead, we took this inclined road into Main Street, parking in a lot nearby. It was a little chilly, but the place was empty, though Libby said it would be jammed on weekends, especially starting in a few weeks.
Because Wyatt didn’t go to school today, Libby didn’t give him his Ritalin, and he was hyper much of the time. I’m proud that I could just relax about it although of course I realize he can’t control his behavior any better than I could control my anxiety.
The Boulangerie, where Libby took me a decade ago, has closed, and so we had various places where we could eat. We walked past what used to be called head shops and stores selling scented candles, antique postcards and vintage clothing – but also AIX (Armani Exchange), and of course, Starbucks.
Like everywhere else, Santa Monica’s old mom-and-pop used clothing, record, surf, and skate stores and their little art galleries and funky cafés are being threatened by expanding chains and upscale boutiques. The casual, beachy, creative vibe is still there, but probably not for long.
We had a great time window-shopping and checking out some stores before we ended up at Wildflouer Pizza (“best pizza in L.A.,” according to some papers – 
though it seemed mediocre to me), where we had lunch in their tiny dining room overlooking Main Street.
Libby doesn’t like urban environments, but I know I would love living near the ocean in Santa Monica in one of those buildings where elderly Jewish people used to reside, kind of a West Coast version of Miami Beach, Rockaway, or Coney Island.
It took us from about 12:30 PM to 1:20 PM to backtrack on Pacific Coast Highway as we drove through Malibu again. This time we drove past Pepperdine north to Zuma Beach.
It had been a long time since I’d spent a day at the beach. Last night my relaxation tape had guided imagery of being at the beach, but today I experienced the real thing.
Libby gave me a pair of sandals, and I unzipped the bottom of my utility pants and, voilà, I now had on baggy shorts. She and I sat on chairs under an umbrella.
At first Wyatt had a hard time with the skim board, but eventually he got the hang 
of it, and by 3:15 PM, he was doing great. I didn’t get wet, but I did walk barefoot in the sand a lot, close to the water, and then to go to the bathroom twice.
The few people around us were mostly cute boys and girls in their late teens, including one girl who was sunbathing topless. Libby and I were definitely the oldest people on the beach; she kept on her long pants and even put on a sweater.
Later, when Wyatt was cold, he wore the Guess nylon long-sleeve shirt I’d gotten him, thanks to Mom, who picked it out from Dad’s old samples.
Only a little while ago did I realize how my feet (not my legs) got badly sunburned; Libby had forgotten the sunscreen. Anyway, the scenery was spectacular.
Driving home, along the deep winding hills of Las Virgenes, I started to get carsick and had a moment of near-panic from nausea – Libby says Topanga Canyon is scarier – but I stayed grounded.
At 4 PM, we got discounted tickets for Shrek at the AMC Promenade 16 in the mall. I had another slice of pizza just before we went into the theater, and I’m glad I could relax my strict diet, though not without trepidation about getting fat.
Still, better a full stomach than the anxiety that hunger brings.
Not unexpectedly, Wyatt loved the movie; last night at Baskin-Robbins, I noticed he ordered a Shrek sundae.
And even though it was the second viewing for me, I wasn’t bored. At least this time, I got all of Katzenberg’s jabs at his ex-boss at Disney, Michael Eisner, and at Disney’s empire in general.
We got out of the movies after 6 PM and discovered that Store of Knowledge, the 
store run by KCET, the Los Angeles PBS station, was going out of business tomorrow. Everything was 70% off, so Wyatt got a bunch of stuff dirt-cheap.
It had been a long day, and after eating my nuked frozen veggies at home, I could barely hold my head up.
I read a little of the Times and saw a half-page ad from the Nassau Community College adjuncts union denouncing academic “apartheid” and giving the example of a full-time English teacher who gets $108,000 for teaching 24 credits a year and an adjunct who gets paid $18,000 a year for teaching 18 credits. So it seems that NCC pays even worse than ASU.
Today was a great day. I’m pretty good with Wyatt, and I loved hanging out with Libby.
Friday, June 8, 2001
1 PM. Libby and I just came from the Westfield Mall, where I had a veggie burger at Ruby’s, a faux 1950s-style diner.
Afterwards, we went to look at bathtubs at Restoration Hardware, the store David Brooks skewers in Bobos in Paradise as exemplifying the way yuppies express their shallow values through consumption.
I’m feeling both sleepy and slightly anxious right now, and I guess it’s because I have to my reading tomorrow at Midnight Special and this evening I’m meeting Kevin at Warner Bros. Records in Burbank.
I’m feeling anxious not only about getting to Burbank tonight and Santa Monica tomorrow, but also about going to Ragdale next week.
I feel as if there’s so much to do. Maybe I took on too much with all this traveling.
Yesterday at 7 PM, Libby, Wyatt and I went to the Platt Branch Library, where I picked up a copy of LA Weekly, whose listings included the reading Kate and I will be doing tomorrow.
In the stacks, when I showed Libby and Wyatt my bearded 1984 photo from Contemporary Literary Criticism, Wyatt couldn’t believe that it was me.
In some ways, neither could I; even though I had a full beard, my skin was really smooth, and I looked as if I were in my mid-twenties rather than 33 or 34.
I took an Ambien early last evening, and while I did sleep well, I again got less sleep than I wanted: maybe six hours. Perhaps I need to up my Klonopin from the current .5 mg a day.
Everyone in this house goes to bed early, but since I’ve been staying here, I seem to have trouble falling asleep. My dreams were quite vibrant and the quality of my sleep was good, but I feel crummy today.
Maybe I’m coming down with the cold that Grant still has, but it’s just as likely that I’m nervous about the reading. I feel chilled, though I haven’t begun trembling – and I only just realized that my sweaty palms have disappeared in the past week or so.
Today I got up at 5 AM, the time Wyatt had to get up to be at school at 6:30 AM for his class trip to Long Beach.
After having breakfast with Grant and Lindsay at 7 AM, I got back into bed for a while and then exercised lightly at 8 AM. An hour later, I went to Starbucks, where I read most of today’s New York Times.
Soon after I returned to the house, Libby took me out to the mall for lunch at Ruby’s. She’s lying down now, and I will do the same. I think I’ll put on a relaxation tape.
I feel a sense of dread almost – but it’s a feeling I’ve had in the past. I can remember feeling like this when I was about to start leading a new Teacher Education Center computer workshop in a Miami school or teaching a new Nova B.P.M. program cluster class when I hadn’t worked in a while.
For now, I need to get through tonight and tomorrow. Libby and Grant – and definitely the kids – probably wonder why I’m not up for doing more touristy stuff, the way they do when they travel.
But hey, Grayson, you’re doing fine. Relax.
*
9:30 PM. I got home half an hour ago, just as Libby arrived with Lindsay from gymnastics.
After my last entry, I spent 80 minutes listening to the four relaxation exercises in the best of my guided visualization tapes, and after doing the imagery progression relaxation and breathing exercises, I felt refreshed and calm.
I don’t know if I’ll sleep tonight – I’m not tired now – but I know I’ll be relieved when tomorrow’s reading is over, though I’m not a nervous wreck about it.
I left here at 4:30 PM, and instead of taking the freeway, I drove through the Valley via Victory Boulevard till I got into Burbank.
I got a bit lost around Toluca Lake, but eventually I found the Warner Bros. Records buildings on the Warner Bros. Studios lot.
Kevin had the security guard send me downstairs to his office, and immediately he took me down another flight, as he had to send an electronic fax to his bosses, who were on a plane to Europe.
They’re first going to Barcelona for a Madonna concert, and to Paris, Rome, Hamburg, and London for conferences and other Madonna and Alanis Morissette concerts.
Kevin introduced me to his friend, a young woman from Golden Beach in South Florida, and we hung out at his office until he finished manually faxing the same stuff – including sales figures and entertainment news – to the Barcelona hotel just to be sure that it gets to his big boss, Steven Margo, the head of 
international marketing.
I have to admit being impressed seeing Kevin in action at his job. He’s now he’s a full-time employee after weeks of negotiations to make sure he can go out for casting calls or play rehearsals and such.
When we went to his car in the parking lot, he pointed out the mountain from the opening of the TV show MASH and the spot behind the lot where Little House on the Prairie and The Dukes of Hazzard were filmed.
Kevin and I sat at an outside table at a Starbucks, chatting as it grew darker and chillier. I remember that we’d closed this place before, but tonight I wanted to get home early.
Kevin seems to be doing fine. As it often happens with close friends, it seems like I’d only just seen him recently when actually it was a whole year since our last meeting.
He talked more about his job, about having ADD, and about getting back his erections after taking Viagra just once.
A doctor told him the cracked edge of his lip is probably a B-vitamin deficiency. Kevin, so skinny, says he lives mostly on Coke, coffee, cigarettes and pot: “My nutrition is terrible.”
I told him about getting mugged (I’d forgotten to mention it in our emails) and my having generalized anxiety disorder.
Kevin says he likes this tall, broad-shouldered security guard at the office who’s teaching him how to play the guitar: “Of course, he’s straight, but he definitely seems interested.”
It’s been a long time since Kevin took a vacation, but he plans to visit Seattle in the fall and go home to Florida for Christmas.
After he drove me back to my car, we hugged tightly, wished each other good things, and I followed him onto the 134 freeway. Kevin exited at Hollywood Boulevard while I stayed on until the exit for the 101 North came up.
Saturday, June 9, 2001
9 PM. Last night was the first night I didn’t take Ambien since I came to L.A., and the only night I slept eight hours. Go figure.
Today went pretty well, although I didn’t sell any books at the Santa Monica reading, and I felt it was sort of a dud for me.
Luckily, Kate (whom I hugged and kissed when we met and parted – we’re friends now), who teaches nine or more classes per semester, had some of her students for the summer term show up, and there were about 40 or so people of all races and ethnicities in the audience.
They didn’t know what to make of my fiction, but then, neither do I.
This morning I felt good when I woke up at 6 AM. I went out to Starbucks and read the New York Times there and at Jamba Juice next door.
I left Woodland Hills at noon, and because I had so much time, I drove around Beverly Hills and West Hollywood before heading for Santa Monica.
I mistakenly parked at Santa Monica Place, the indoor mall, rather than the parking structure right by Midnight Special on the Third Street Promenade,
The Promenade reminded me a little of the outdoor mall on Lincoln Road in Miami Beach, but much more crowded, lively, and filled with throngs of people.
It was nicely cool and cloudy, and there were lots of tourists amid the street performers. One young guy did an excellent Louis Armstrong imitation and tap-danced, and another group sang R&B standards as I had some frozen yogurt nearby.
Santa Monica is wonderful, but I sense that there’s a struggle between funkier older local stores and the chains at the Third Street Promenade, just as there 
is on Main Street. I’m sure that Midnight Special, for instance, is being squeezed by both Barnes & Noble and Borders.
I’m glad that Kate had me read first so that her students would have to sit through my stuff rather than get up and leave after Kate read.
I read “Spaghetti Language” and parts of “The Silicon Valley Diet,” and I didn’t end well, but I’m not accustomed to reading my stuff aloud.
Anyway, it’s over now. I did get a few laughs, but I’m not an experienced reader like Kate, who also had the advantage of knowing a good part of the crowd there.
Later, I signed all six books that were originally in the window, and the manager was very nice.
Kate introduced me to Mark, who seems very pleasant. He’s quit his day job so he can spend more time at home with their kids while Kate is adjuncting all over the place and working on her Ph.D. Kate has been teaching part-time at more schools than I have, but she hopes to eventually land a tenure-track position.
I met her 13-year-old daughter in Mesa, but they’ve also got a 9-year-old boy, who, like Wyatt, has ADD but is in a gifted fourth-grade class.
Kate said that she hated Phoenix while attending MCC and ASU because it was such a conservative, straight-laced, predominantly white place. She was surprised at the number of gay and lesbian young people who showed up for her reading at Changing Hands.
Kate said she’ll try to get me two or three readings a year if I want. They’ll figure out what they owe me in royalties soon, but Kate said that my book has “done okay” for them.
Anyway, I’m glad I feel closer to them now. They even invited me to their home for dinner tonight, but I begged off, citing earlier plans.
I just wanted to be by myself for a while. It took me nearly half an hour just to get out of the parking structure, and then there was so much traffic to get on the Santa Monica Freeway that I just drove up Santa Monica Boulevard to get the 405 over the hill into the Ventura Freeway.
I got a big baked potato at the Wendy’s on Platt at around 6 PM, and I felt that was dinner, so for an hour I drove up and down Ventura Boulevard, my favorite east-west artery across the Valley.
It’s amazingly Jewish here, and I’m not used to seeing that in Arizona; Woodland Hills even has a Lubavitcher Chabad House.
At the Encino Barnes & Noble, I bought Sunday’s New York Times; I picked it apart and will read it tomorrow – or tonight if I can’t sleep.
It was a pleasure to drive through the Valley as the day was ending. The weather here has been perfect. It’s supposed to get hot and humid back in the Midwest and Northeast by midweek, according to weather reports, and I may be flying to Chicago in a bad storm.
Mark Bernstein told me his daughter Erica has been in Chicago for the last two years, ever since getting out of the Iowa Writers Workshop, and that I should look her up.
After I got home tonight, Wyatt asked me where I live, and I said, “I don’t really know anymore. I guess I live wherever I am.”
Three months ago, I could not imagine myself giving a reading in a Los Angeles bookstore. It seems that I’m almost fully recovered from my bout of anxiety and depression – thanks to time, meds, and two terrific doctors.