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WEST SIDE SUMMERS

1984-1987

WEST SIDE SUMMERS


1984-1987

RICHARD GRAYSON

Superstition Mountain Press Phoenix 2011

Copyright 2011 by Richard Grayson. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Superstition Mountain Press 4303 Cactus Road Phoenix, AZ 85032

First Edition

ISBN #: 978-0-557-87884-0

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Peter Cherches

West Side Summers


1984-1987

Monday, May 21, 1984


6 PM. Im supposed to meet Pete Cherches and Mark Leyner in the Village tonight. Last evening I stopped off to bring Mikey some calamine lotion and Aveeno soap for his chicken pox; hed told me that hed been unable to get the stuff. I woke him up when I rang the bell and didnt stay too long; he did look pretty sick and spotty. Taking the B train over the Manhattan Bridge, I saw I was about an hour early for Susan Mernits party, so instead of transferring for the D at DeKalb, I continued on with the B down Fourth Avenue and when it goes above ground on New Utrecht Avenue. There was something touching about seeing old Brooklyn in the rain like that. Watching two boys about seventeen or eighteen and their easy, carefree manner, I thought about myself at that age and that fifteen years ago, in 1969, I rode subways in order to cure myself of

agoraphobia. A couple of tears came to my eyes. I got off at 62nd Street and transferred to the N the Sea Beach Line enjoying the wait outside in the warm rain. Yes, even Brooklyn can be beautiful. The rain had let up when I got off the D at Seventh Avenue. Ringing the bell at Sterling Place, I noticed another apartment like the Mernit/Jarrett one, with two names, Markowitz/Federman. I later discovered, as Id assumed, that this was Joshs old roommate Robbie, who now works for the Board of Ed, and Rona, his pianist girlfriend, who now has quite a career as a musician according to Susan. Spencer and Susan both greeted me effusively even though I was the first guest and probably a trifle early (a bad habit). Sheila, who waitressed with Susan last year at Bread Loaf and a former Baltimore special ed teacher now in TAing at NYU, soon arrived with a guy who does comedy videos. Sheila still hasnt had her first fiction published, so I gave her some tips for submitting and also told her to tell her teacher/adviser E.L. Doctorow that I hoped hed forgiven me for the Weird Sex Lives of Jewish-American Novelists prank. I especially wanted to meet Barbara Baracks and her lover Robin Epstein and I wish Id had

more of a chance to talk with them at greater length. Barbara, who used to publish the little magazine Big Deal, teaches all over for Teachers and Writers Collaborative and for ripoff Empire State College. Barbara got drunk almost immediately and was pretty funny, but her state precluded serious conversation. Robin, whose Art Failures was produced off-off-Broadway, seems extremely funny; she has the same sense of the absurd that I do and wants to get her name onto Page Six of the Post as I used to. Susans film Bella came on the TV just like a regular show with commercials and we toasted it with champagne and knishes from Mrs. Stahls in Brighton Beach. Bella is a heart-warming little film, very good for a first effort by Susan and her director brother-in-law Mark. There was a still from it in yesterdays Times Arts and Leisure section and it was listed as a highlight in the Times TV guide. After the show ended, we all talked. Susan was flying to Lynchburg today and shes probably eating dinner at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts right at this moment. This stay she plans to work less and have more fun. It will be her first stay at VCCA without me, Susan said. I got a lift uptown with Susans friend Hardy, a blonde Amazon of a sportswriter and her

stockbroker/preppie/yacht-racer husband. It made me feel nostalgic to go up Flatbush Avenue, turn on Tillary for the Brooklyn Bridge, and ride up the FDR Drive to 61st Street and then up York Avenue past New York Hospital. I must have made that drive a thousand times. The DuPonts let me off at Madison and 79th before going into their buildings garage, and I took a cab home, only to find that I was once again unable to get to sleep until 4 AM. Up at 11 AM, I called Brad, whod left a message on the machine last evening. His phone had lately been knocked out in the big storm last night and had just started working when I got through. Brad said he felt a bit guilty because he was in Miami Beach most of January, when his grandmother suffered a severe heart attack. He said he had thought of me often. When Mrs. Miller suffered another, presumably life-threatening heart attack in April, he and his sisters came down for nine days and stayed in West Broward while his grandmother was in Pembroke Pines Hospital right on University Drive! I could have gone to see them so easily had he called me. Brads grandmother managed to survive but now shes a cardiac cripple in Miami Beach. Right after I hung up with Brad, who says hes working as a driving instructor these days but is looking for work in health care again, I got a

call from my former BCC student Larry Gilbert. Hes staying in the Village and I agreed to meet him at Sheridan Square for a long walk. We ended up going all over the West Village and Soho, up the East Village to Union Square and finally stopping for lunch at Brownies, where Dads factory used to be. Larrys about 27, divorced, a product of Long Beach and a Jewish garment-center upbringing; of course, he was easy for me to spot in Florida because he stuck out so much among my BCC students. He was married to a St. Marks poet and worked as a carpenter in a frame store. Larry knows the usual number of painters, stand-up comics (he knew who Bob Wachs, Justins boss, was, from their Comic Strip club days) and politicos (hes staying with the head of Friends of Mario Cuomo, Pat, who certainly knows Teresa). Larry likes Broward Community College because its easy and there are a lot of blondes he can try to pick up, but once he graduates this December, hed definitely returning to Manhattan. In Washington Square, he said, Its the only place to live. I enjoyed spending three hours with Larry hes going back for the second summer session term but Ill probably see him again. Back home, I exercised with some fifteenpound dumbbells I bought and looked at the

mail Mom forwarded: a nice note from Mike Winerip of the Times, but not much else of consequence. I called Grandma Ethel, who said she was too ill to go to her grandnephews bar mitzvah services on Saturday but who did go to the affair at the temple yesterday. Because the bar mitzvah boys grandparents, Aunt Claire and Uncle Sidney, were not there, Grandma Ethel was asked to light a candle and that depressed her because her sister is so ill Aunt Claire no weighs only 115 pounds and because Grandpa Herb is dead. (Larry said hes got a dying grandfather in Forest Hills.) Grandma said that Randys wife Karen had asked about me and my writing career and that Aunt Rose, overhearing this, said, In Florida you cant read a paper without seeing Richards picture in it. Todays been an utterly gorgeous day; its been in the mid-70s and sunny. Things are great.

Tuesday, May 22, 1984


7 PM in Rockaway. Last night I got to the Cottonwood Caf at 8:30 PM and I waited for the others to arrive.

Pete soon showed up with Donna, his friend whom I met last year, a pretty woman whos been working for the City Planning Commission and attending the MFA program at Brooklyn, where Jonathan Baumbach says shes his best student. Mark Leyner and his wife of a week, Arleen Portada, came from Hoboken, and we were seated at about 9:30 PM. The restaurant served good food; I had fine chicken-fried steak with pinto beans, mashed potatoes and cornbread and the company was terrific. Pete presented Mark and Arleen an album of their wedding: cute crayon drawings in his inimitable style. Everyone seemed in a good mood; obviously, theyre all close friends, but they made me feel comfortable among them. There was much talk about writing it seems all of us have pretty good writers blocks going and the Fiction Collective. Mark and Donna told me that the Collectives offices are now back on the BC campus, and I heard some gossip. Marks kind of fed up with Baumbach for pushing his fifth book through, and we agreed that the charges leveled against the Collective mainly that theyre precious academics out of touch with the real world are basically sound. Donna said that Baumbach once referred to me as one of the MFA programs successes and he didnt seem unduly upset with me. Mark

invited all of us to submit manuscripts to the new Fiction Collective anthology on the order of Statements (but with a different title). We talked about other stuff, of course, and it was great fun to be out with friends and so different from the monkish life I live in Florida. I took the subway uptown Im a real pro by now and got home at midnight. Unable to sleep again, I read Tuesdays Times, which Id picked up at the 86th and Broadway newsstand, and finally drifted off after 4 AM. Up at 9 AM, I went uptown on the Broadway local to 191st Street; I had never taken the train beyond Columbia/116th Street before. In a strange part of town, in a very hilly section east of the Cloisters, I went to the Fort George post office and filled out an application for a post office box. I figure it will come in handy to have a Manhattan mailing address, and maybe its more than that: I want to keep a vestige of my identity as a New Yorker. I figured I would have a better chance of getting a postal box in a distant neighborhood where there would not be such a waiting list. Walking up Nagle Street to the Dyckman Street elevated subway stop, I enjoyed the warm, sunny morning. The trees were so green, it really made me happy. Then, back at Teresas, I packed up for Rockaway, stopping off at

Zabars to bring Grandma Ethel some knishes and croissants. The ride to the Junction was okay the car was air-conditioned and the bus ride down Flatbush Avenue and Avenue N brought back many memories. After getting my Triavil refilled at Deutsch Pharmacy, I walked up East 56th Street and realized that the old neighborhood is still beautiful. In front of one old house, some Asian men were washing a car, and since the Wagners door next door was open, I rang the bell. Evie was glad to see me and I sat in her kitchen and chatted for half an hour with her and Steven, whos just home from his sophomore year at Lehigh. Evie wanted to know all about my family and said shed read about me in the papers. After a quick pizza slice at Kings Plaza, I took the bus to Rockaway, getting here at 3:30 PM. Grandma Ethel asked me if, when passing the house on East 56th Street, I still felt as if it was mine; I said not really. Its been nearly five years since I lived there and Ive been in so many places since. Grandma Ethel seemed more cheerful than usual; she looked a little better too, probably a result of getting out to see people at the bar mitzvah on Sunday. I reminded Grandma that my own bar mitzvah was exactly twenty years ago at the end of May. Shes out playing cards now.

My plans are firming up; Im definitely going back to Florida in early August and see if I can get a full-time teaching job at BCC or elsewhere. If not, Ill move back to New York. Because the terms up here dont begin until September, I have the luxury of trying for adjunct courses here after I try Florida.

Thursday, May 23, 1985


9 PM. Life can be so sweet, even (especially?) when youre feeling foolish. This evening I went to the PEN annual meeting at their new offices in Soho, and I felt a strong attraction to this guy who sat next to me. He was so cute that I became incredibly shy and couldnt talk to him, and now I feel stupid for not talking to him. Making it worse was that I think hes David Leavitt, and a few days ago I sent him a copy of With Hitler in New York with a stupid letter. I didnt know if hed gotten it I asked his publisher, Knopf, to forward it but I felt very embarrassed. The guy next to me reminded me a little of Sean: tall and lanky with short blond hair, glasses that make him look scholarly, and a

baby face. Probably it wasnt Leavitt after all, but it doesnt matter much since Ill never see him again. Anyway, to him, I probably looked like a fat throwback to the Sixties; that kind of young guy would only have disdain for me. He actually seemed more shy than I, as he talked to no one the entire time he was there. At least I had the nerve to walk up to Jerome Charyn to introduce myself and tell him how much I liked The Catfish Man. I didnt mind making a fool of myself in front of him, and I can easily speak with older writers, though not with some famous ones like Harvey Shapiro and Walter Abish and certainly not with Allen Ginsberg, Gay Talese or Norman Mailer. Mailer impresses me more each time I see him. He seems entirely professional, and apparently PEN has prospered greatly with him as president; the treasury is big, and lots of activities are always going on. The International PEN Congress next January should be wonderful, but I probably wont be around for it. Following all the committee reports, Mailer gave a long list of kudos to the members of the executive board and to the staff. Allen Ginsberg, looking dapper in a tie and business suit (like me, Mailer wore a blue blazer, sport shirt and sneakers), kept trying to interrupt to praise Mailer himself it was a

comic scene only to be shooed away by Im not finished yet, Allen! Theres something very hamishe about being in a club with super-famous writers acting like regular people. I took the train home with Barbara Robinson, a childrens book author who lives on the next block. Shes been a PEN member for a decade and wishes there were more companionship at the gatherings. Mostly my friends come and get drunk, she said. Last evening I was downtown early, as I wanted to go to Brownies for dinner. But the restaurant has closed. There were letters from Sam Brown posted up that thanked his patrons for forty years of coming there. So I ended up going to Dennis, his sons fastfood health restaurant at 91 Fifth Avenue, three doors down from Dads old place, and I saw Sam Brown afterwards at the store. Our New School Artificial Intelligence class was the most interesting so far, as we learned about rule-based and frame-based expert systems and got to look at Clout, a program that understands at least to some extent natural language. For example, it has a database in memory and can answer questions like Who is the oldest employee? or Where did Bob Smith go to

college? Next week we learn more about natural language systems to me, the most interesting part of AI. Teresa came home last night, so I was relegated to the living room. Today we waited until 1:30 PM for the new couch mattress to be delivered; it should be an improvement, but Ill know tonight. Because Teresa left her bag at her sisters, we went out there, taking Frans car. I wasnt crazy about traveling to Douglaston, but I know how Teresa hates to be alone and I did want to see her nephew. Besides, I dont get a chance to be in a car much. Joseph is truly adorable and he looks as if hes got a real placid nature. I liked holding him. Laura herself has lost a ton of weight since she gave birth. Moms envelope contained four credit card bills, other goodies, and the FAU approval of my loan for next springs semester, which I mailed to Landmark Bank. There was also this letter, which she forwarded. It had a Santa Ana, CA, postmark. Here it is: Dear Mr. Grayson I was visiting my daughter in Laguna Niguel, Calif., and she borrowed your book Eating at Arbys from the library. I was absolutely hysterical with laughter as we spent an evening read it aloud.

I enjoyed it more than anything Ive read in ages, as it is extremely interesting, entertaining and completely delightful. I live in Ft. Lauderdale, so we might even be neighbors. Keep up your great work. Its so very wonderful. I lost a 41-year-od daughter in Jan. of this year and have been very down but I must admit your book did wonders for me. It was the first time I had real belly laughs since her death. God bless you and keep you well. Keep on writing! Sincerely, Mrs. Wayne B. Dorland P.S. I am 70 years old and have been an avid reader since I was a small child, so I really appreciate good writing Grace Dorland What can I say? That letter makes it all worthwhile. God bless Grace Dorland.

Sunday, May 24, 1987


5 PM. Getting off the R train at Broadway and Eighth Street last evening, I discovered that Pete had been right when he said the East Village and even this western edge of it had become a weekend magnet for young people

from the outer boroughs and suburbs the way the West Village had been in my adolescence. At the Unique Clothing Warehouse, crowds stood looking through the window to watch people paint and decorate T-shirts. Josh wanted me to meet him at Tower Records, which was crowded and hot. Id suggested we have dinner across the street at Bitable on Broadway, a hip place which nevertheless has good food (I had a terrific hamburger). After another day spent with his parents, Josh was frazzled. They drive him crazy and then he gets angry at them at later he feels guilty because, after all, his parents are so old. We had time to kill before 9 PM, so we made like tourists and walked around the area, admiring the architecture of the Puck Building, looking at novelty items like water-pistol sunglasses and fake handcuffs, and generally amusing ourselves. (When I walk with Josh, I keep having to tell him to slow down. At first I thought I was particularly slow, but last night he told me all his friends have to slow him down.) The Knitting Factory is a pleasant coffee house/ performance space above an Argentine restaurant on Houston, and Josh was wrong when he said everyone would be wearing black.

I had my Soho Soda, Josh his white wine, and Pete, in his usual performance suit, came out at 9 PM. His routines about his vain, selfish, unsupportive and greedy mother were funny and kind of poignant. Mrs. Fish has always seemed to me the kind of woman my own mother might have turned out to be if Moms life had been easier: a person who values Cadillacs and face lifts and above all, money, over everything else. Josh, always being negative, said that he was bored, and although the routine probably needs a little cutting, I found it as funny as anything Ive seen thats passed itself off as pure standup comedy. The other performance artist, who blindly stumbled to the stage wearing a garish checkered suit and a mattress over his head, was a young guy with a great voice who worked next to a video screen that had a picture of his mouth on it. He had some hilarious schticks, and I was impressed with his telling a story and illustrating it by drawing pictures with shaving cream on his bare chest. After congratulating Pete on his work it must have been very hard to memorize all those stories Josh and I left the caf and walked to the Seventh Avenue IRT. Back here at 11:30 PM, I read the Sunday Times.

Today I didnt do much other than exercise briefly and read the papers, watch the Sunday TV news shows, and do a little shopping. (A small blond boy in a stroller guided by a black woman called out to me, Daddy! in one store. I figure his Yuppie parents give him everything but time.) Last night, before I left for the Village, I called Florida, but Dad said he hadnt gotten the days Sun-Tattler so I dont know if my column appeared. He said his sisters wedding was surprisingly nice: first Aunt Sydelle and Will were wed in a ceremony at a storefront synagogue in Aventura and then had a reception at Turnberry. Dad was happy to see Cousin Scott and his own first cousins again. Today was a cool, cloudy day, and I felt cold when I went out in a T-shirt and shorts. Last night I didnt get enough sleep, so right now I feel kind of antsy. But Ill be going out again tonight, to a play with Ronna and her friend.

Sunday, May 25, 1986


8 PM. I just spoke to Grandma Ethel, who said she feels better today, although last night she felt very ill. I worry about her a great deal. Last evening I made myself dinner and got the Sunday Times at 8:30 PM. Up at 8 AM today, I

went out to buy the other newspapers and Id finished them by 11 AM. This morning was our scheduled brunch for Alice, Jami Bernard and me. I suggested Caf Macondo, where we met at noon. Jami arrived first and we got a table. I dont know if she seems me as boyfriend material, but I definitely feel different with Jami than I would with just another of Alices friends. Perhaps the biggest news to come out of today is that Alice and Peter are engaged to be engaged. Yes, hes going to give her a ring, although not the traditional diamond. Peter has come a long way for someone who totally dismissed marriage a few years ago. Now he wants two weddings: one in New York and one in Boston. Alice says she now accepts the fact that Peter will always want to write a hit Broadway show, and she thinks she can live with whatever it will mean in terms of lack of income. This being New York, the prime concern, naturally, is real estate. Alice feels her apartment is much too small for both of them, so she and Peter will give up their apartments for a two-bedroom. Peter is willing to spend $700 a month on rent, but getting a larger apartment for $1400 wont be easy. And of course Alice refuses to leave the island of Manhattan because that would make me feel bad psychologically (only now, as I write

it, do I realize what a disgusting, snotty attitude that is) not even to go to Brooklyn Heights, which they couldnt afford anyway. Jami lives in a twelve- by fourteen-foot apartment on West 90th Street. Naturally, we had to talk about real estate for the required half-hour before we could move on to other topics, like Jamis job. Shes been promoted to assistant entertainment editor at the Post, but they took away her column and she misses writing now that shes doing editing and layout. Alice admitted one reason shes decided to marry Peter is that she had so many dates with losers during the period after they broke up, and Jami and Alice then proceeded to swap horror stories about all the assholes out in New York singles scene. Jami ended a relationship about a year ago, and she hasnt been able to meet anyone since. I suggested we walk over to the West Side Highway to see Hands Across America. The crowds were already heavy by 2 PM, an hour before the scheduled coast-to-coast human chain, and everyone was in a festive mood. The three of us walked down to 72nd Street, where Alice got the subway and where I convinced Jami to walk back to the highway with me and watch the event. We got there after everyone had lined up, but we didnt join up.

Probably if either of us were there alone, we would have, but we both a felt a little embarrassed. Jami said, The story of my life: a once-in-a-lifetime event and Im on the sidelines. We met neighbors of Jamis and stood near a radio. First everyone sang We Are the World, then Hands Across America, and after a few words from the organizer, we sang America the Beautiful. It was kind of touching to see people of every race and age holding hands, but I wonder if it will do any good other than to make people think about hunger and poverty and homelessness and to make the participants feel better about themselves. The most political sign I saw read: Hands Across America Today: Responsible Government Action Tomorrow. Its a sad state of affairs when calling for responsible government action is the strongest political protest you can get. Still, I felt good that people got involved on such a large scale; maybe it portends good things for the future. Jami and I walked through Riverside Park with hundreds of others, and I invited her back here for Diet Pepsi. She was tremendously impressed with the apartment; sometimes I forget how comfortably and luxuriously I live.

We chatted for a while, and then she felt tired and left, kissing me goodbye. I said Id call her for a movie or dinner. Shes a good person to hang out with; Im not sure if our relationship can go any further than that.

Sunday, May 26, 1985


5 PM. Last evening I met Josh at the Metro on Broadway and 99th to see a showing in their Buster Keaton film festival. First there were three shorts and then Sherlock Jr. and all were very funny surprisingly so for me. Id always thought Keaton was overrated, but his humor, though mostly physical by necessity in the days of silent films is brilliant, his timing perfect; Id never seen anyone do physical comedy with more grace or imagination. After the show, we went to meet up with Jay, whod been tending bar at Hugh Clarks in Hells Kitchen all day. Over food and drinks at the Saratoga a former Irish pub that went upscale last week or the week before (the Times Real Estate section today had a piece on the transformation of Broadway between 79th and 99th, giving more examples of creeping condoism on the Yupper West Side) we talked for a long time.

Jay seemed a bit incoherent. You could mistake him for drunk (slightly) or just exuberant, but now I see that he gets moments when he verges on being irrational. Unfortunately, despite his story in The New Yorker and all his talent, I think Jay will be unable to stop himself from burning out. I hope Im wrong, but I keep thinking about other brilliant and artistic people who became mad. Maybe he can pull himself together, but he needs a doctors help. Josh is good to him. Tonight Josh is going to another Keaton film and Ill see him later. Ive been out just about every night this week, living the exciting life of Manhattan. Today I rested, read Ive just about completed Mayers The Money Bazaars, a great book about banking that makes me want to learn more and I watched two movies I rented, and I lifted weights. It had been years since Id last seen Sunday, Bloody Sunday, but it held up for me; I guess I saw it half a dozen times when I was a college student, usually with Avis. Its an intelligent film and of course by now something of a period piece about life fifteen years ago. Im enough of a teacher to imagine showing it to a class to get their reaction, and I even thought about it as part of a course on the 1960s. (I spent some time dreaming up a

syllabus of novels, nonfiction books, films and TV shows Id assign.) Jeez, I really should be a professor somewhere. I feel Ive got so much to give, to share and to learn. Id probably be a better teacher than most Harvard Ph.D.s with their academic jargon, their theory, their footnotes and their pomposity. In nine days Ill be 35 years old and Im more in love with ideas and knowledge and learning that I ever have been. I can appreciate things so much more than I could have when I was an undergraduate. Before I had experience in the real world, I took learning for granted. I suspect some people think Im just a parasite or a dilettante. Josh once told me fifteen years ago that hed like to take part-time or temporary jobs and live on as little as possible, spending his time reading, writing, listening to music. Now he hasnt lost those values, but he makes $34,000 and works 9-to-5 as a computer programmer in an office. Back then, I was the one who argued for steady employment, but now Im doing just what Josh said he wanted to do. I also remember around the same time Ronna saying shed like to live outside New York and how I said Id never leave the city and look what happened there. Though I love New York, it has much wrong with it in its way, as Florida

does in its way. Ill have to settle down, I guess but not yet.

Sunday, May 27, 1984


6 PM. Its been a quiet Sunday. Last evenings thunderstorms cooled things off. Last night I went out to get the paper at around 8 PM, but the Times hadnt arrived yet, so I walked up to 96th Street and back down to 86th, and then I got on the M104 bus down Broadway. At 72nd I saw the Times truck, so I got off, bought the paper and took the M5 bus, which goes up Riverside and stops right here on the corner of 85th. By 11 PM Id read the whole paper, including the want ads, the real estate section, the TV guide and the wedding announcements, none of which gets in the national edition I read in Florida. I had trouble sleeping, but I figured that to get up at 9 AM, I didnt have to go to sleep before 1 AM. After a couple of nice dreams, I stayed up awhile and listened to music before drifting off again. After a decent interval following breakfast, I bussed crosstown to the 92nd Street Y, where I

used the last of the three guest passes Teresa left me. My workout was pretty good, and later at home, I did my waist exercises. Ill never be Mr. Universe or even have a normal New York drop-dead body, but its important that I exercise and avoid getting any plumper. Judy from next door came by to ask if I wanted to go with her to the Lincoln Center crafts show that was thoughtful but I hadnt showered yet. Finally, at about 1:30 PM, I took the IRT down to Sheridan Square and went to The Bagel for one of their great hamburgers. That place is still a favorite hangout and I was glad to see that the Cuban waiter with the high-pitched voice is still there. I thought Id avoid the Washington Square art show crowds and take a bus up to the Donnell Library, which is open on Sunday, but Sixth Avenue was closed to traffic on 42nd Street on account of the Puerto Rican Day parade. So the bus plodded across Times Square; it must have taken us twenty minutes to get to Eighth Avenue. At least I had a good seat to watch the seedy 42nd Street crowds: the drug money changing hands, the three-card monte operators, the Asian men coming out of porn theaters, the boy prostitutes looking sullen and hungry by the Port Authority. By the time we got to Columbus Circle, I was a bit carsick from the stop-and-go traffic, so I just walked home and watched Diner again. I

called Alice and Gary, leaving messages on their machines. Laura said Ronna was spending the day with Carole and Sam. (I remember Ronna once crying because all her friends from college would never be close again, and she said cynically, Do you think me and my husband are going to spend time with Sam and his wife? Ha.) Grandma Ethel said she enjoyed yesterdays bar mitzvah at the posh Swan Club; she said it had been one of the most luxurious affairs she had been to. Tomorrow Mira arrives, so this is my last night alone in the apartment for a while. Ive got a sore throat and may be catching cold. Im planning to watch the videotape of Women in Love and finish reading Paul Hawkens The Next Economy.

Thursday, May 28, 1987


3 PM. As opposed to the night before, last night I managed only three or four hours of sleep. At least I dont follow Crads precepts, which he outlines in his latest letter. Every night, in order to sleep, Crad drinks eight or nine ounces of sherry and takes a tranquilizer. I dont care how talented Crad is or how

successful he becomes, I wouldnt want to be him. His landlady got the Centre for the Advocacy of the Elderly to post an eviction notice with a July 1 date on his door. Then Crad got a letter from them asking him to comply voluntarily with the eviction notice and to sign a letter of intent to do so. Failing that, Crad was told, he would be subject to court action. See you in court! Crad wrote back on the form. He says that he cant afford another apartment in Toronto, but hes also not looking. God, the man is stubborn. And he walked out on poor Gwen MacEwen after she started harping on him again and he unplugged his phone for three days so she couldnt get in touch. Crad is so self-absorbed that hes becoming obnoxious. He rails against book critics, libraries and the general public for not seeing the merits of his work. I dont know; that stuff is really getting tired. When I called my parents to wish them a happy anniversary, I got some bad news: Grandpa Nat is back in the hospital, again feverish with pneumonia. Dad said he and Sydelle saw Grandpa and he looks very bad. I had a premonition the last time I went to the nursing home in late April that I wasnt going to see Grandpa Nat again and that he wouldnt live to be ninety. I expect hell die within the next few weeks. I see no reason to return to

Florida for the funeral, which is bound to be a very small gravesite affair. As I do with Grandma Ethel and my long trips to Rockaway, I saw Grandpa Nat when he was alive and Id drive to North Miami to the nursing home, even if he didnt know me for the last decade. Before that, we were pretty close. I really did my mourning for him in the summer of 1977. I was very depressed, caught cold, felt awful. Teresa and I stayed up to watch the holy war of the TV evangelists as Jim Bakker and Jerry Falwell traded accusations. Its all fun for the rest of us, I think. Justin called, and so did Alice; all of us have been pretty busy lately. Today I exercised a bit but soon became fatigued. If I had slept better last night, I would think I was ill. Mom sent a big batch of mail: nine credit card bills and some other stuff. FAUs Howard Pearce wrote that they hired another person for the fiction writing job; naturally, I didnt even rate an interview. American Express didnt send me an Optima from but did send me a form that said I was pre-approved for a Gold AmEx card. That comes with a $2,000 line of credit, I think, so its better than nothing. And my Ibsen parody column looks good in the Sun-Tattler; its always exhilarating to see myself in print. Also, two issues of the Postcard edition of the Fort Lauderdale News/Sun-Sentinel arrived, so I

can follow whats going on in South Florida along with the other snowbirds. It took me nearly an hour to get through my mail, which included agreement forms from American National Bank to fill out relating to my $10,000 deposit for another Prime+2 Visa.

Wednesday, May 29, 1985


6 PM. I slept fitfully but good enough so that the world looked different this morning. Teresas lifestyle no longer seems so bad, and I dont feel the self-hatred I did yesterday. Is this just an example of rationalizing? I hope not. Probably it is, at least partially, but Im not deluding myself; Im making the choice by staying here. Tomorrow I hope to go to Rockaway for a few days; Ill catch up on reading and maybe even writing. At least I dont have a cold; I feel pretty good. I just worked out for half an hour, and I dont feel as fat as I did yesterday. (More selfdelusion?) Up early, I was out of the house at 10 AM, just after Teresa arrived. She said shed take the paper I need notarized to her sister this evening. Getting certified as a teacher is pretty difficult. Its interesting that teachers are not treated as professionals even though

theyre subject to the same kind of licensing as doctors and lawyers are. What people really want from their jobs is autonomy, and wall the recent reforms like Floridas Gordon Rule decrease autonomy. Even more than salary, people want to feel that they have control of their work. Ive been busy juggling my credit chassis, so I did some banking today. Mom sent me a new PIN code for the Goldome Visa, and since theres a Goldome on 86th and Broadway, Ill have easy access to cash while Im here. Mom also sent my Southeast Bank Preferred MasterCard checks, and I also got my last unemployment check from Florida. Anyway, I now have $6,600 in my First Nationwide savings account. This morning I took the bus to the 42nd Street library (using a free transfer), and I stayed there for several hours, reading. Then I walked up to the Bun n Burger at Rockefeller Center, had lunch, and spent about 45 minutes in the little magazine room of the Gotham Book Mart. Back here at 4 PM, I found Teresa had already gone, leaving a note for me to calls Susan, who had good news: American Film wants her to do a cover story on the writers of today working for the movies.

Susans been sending out a slew of proposals to magazines, and so many are working out that she cant handle all this freelance work but shes also very excited. If youre smart like Susan, you can have an easy time getting freelance work provided youre willing to forgo good money to get some early clips. Shes already called up some people she wants to interview, including Susan Fromberg Schaeffer, who to my surprise, is still in Brooklyn. Ive got to get to the New School now for my next-to-last class. * 11 PM. Teresa left a message that she didnt go to her sisters, so I wont have the place to myself tonight, but I intend to go to Rockaway tomorrow. Class tonight was fascinating, as we looked at Prolog and LISP, the two AI languages in greatest use. I was thrilled to realize that because of my Logo experience in list processing, a lot of the difficult concepts like recursion came as easily to me as it did to the techies in the class. LISP is all lists, of course, but Prolog is based on first-order predicate calculus, which reminds me of Logo property lists, and it all seems very interesting. Susan Perricone is writing a Prolog

text for Harper and Row, so she knows the language well. Next week weve got computer time to play with LISP and Prolog programs. Im going to be sad when this AI course ends, for Ive learned more than I originally thought I would. Compared to the majority of the people who are still computer-illiterate, I do know a great deal.

Saturday, May 30, 1987


3 PM. I got up early this morning, intending to exercise with the 10 AM Body Electric show, but it was so hot and humid, I decided I wouldnt be able to stand a workout. Not only is the air conditioner not yet installed in Teresas bedroom, but the overhead fan conked out. So I called Alice and canceled out of tonights dinner, packed a bag, and headed for Rockaway. It wasnt so much the cool beach breezes I wanted as it was Grandma Ethels air conditioner. I knew a lot of other people would be headed for the beach on a triple-H (hot, humid, hazy) weekend, so I figured my best bet was to avoid the roads and buses and take the subway.

Even with the cool and comfortable JFK Express, the trip involved five different trains and nearly two hours, though the last part of the trip was enjoyable because I got to look at a lot of hunky teenagers coming to fry their bodies on the beach. At 36 well, I will be 36 in a few days I was the oldest person to get off at the Surfside subway stop. Since Id told Grandma Ethel to expect me on Monday, my visit was a surprise for her, but Im sure she doesnt mind. Right now its about 97 in Central Park, so I feel I was wise to escape. Staying her means giving up my solitude in Manhattan, dinner with Alice, and a look at my mail, but I wouldnt have been able to stand the heat and humidity. This powerful heat wave came right on the heels of record chilly temperatures a few days ago, and right now Im fed up with New York Citys weather, which has gone from raw and chilly to unbearably hot without passing through pleasant warmth. In Florida, at least, we dont have these extremes of temperature. And everything there is air-conditioned, as opposed to New York City, where subway stations, classes and even the computer room at Teachers College, and most stores and apartments are not. Part of me is hoping I dont get into MacDowell so I can return to Florida in twelve weeks. Well, I should find out whats what pretty soon.

At Shakespeare & Company I spent twenty dollars on a hardcover book, but I figure that once isnt so bad. The book is The Great Depression of 1990 by Dr. Ravi Batra, an SMU economist. I intend to begin the book soon, after I finish this entry. Grandma and I looked at the photo album of my bar mitzvah reception at the Deauville Beach Club on Saturday, May 30, 1964 exactly 23 years ago today. My parents were then 33 and 38 roughly my age now and Grandma Ethel and Grandpa Herb were Mom and Dads age now.

Thursday, May 31, 1984


6 PM. Today was our fourth dark and chilly day in a row, although it hasnt yet rained. Last night Miras friend Eddie arrived close to 1 AM, but I was in the bedroom and they were whispering so I couldnt hear them. In addition, I put the radio on so they wouldnt feel someone was listening in. Mira said later they were worried they made too much noise, but once I got to sleep, I didnt hear a thing. Eddie had to be out of here at 6 AM, and by the time I got up, Mira was ready to go out to work. She called later from the Y and said shed be out until about 8 PM or 9 PM, as she planned to

put things away in her apartment; tomorrow night shes going over to Fire Island. Gary called and said hed gotten my message from the weekend; he was at Fire Island most of the time and had been relaxing. Hes been promoted to assistant vice president at Citicorp, but with that comes the stress that has led him to have a spastic colon over the past four months. He suffers from chronic diarrhea, saying, Its a real pain in the butt. Alice also phoned after she and Peter got back from an eight-day business trip to London. Peter said it was the best trip hed taken, because London was so much like New York, and Alice had a terrific time, too. The reporter for the Morristown Record phoned again to ask me more questions; evidently this story is definitely going to run. As I told Mira, I have good allies in reporters because we have a lot in common: like me, they are usually bright, good writers, well-informed and cynical, low-paid and highly verbal. I picked up Sundays Fort Lauderdale paper at Times Square and read it at the Mid-Manhattan Library, then grabbed lunch a few blocks uptown at Rockefeller Center. Back on the West Side, I bought Bacitracin for the knee infection I got from that cut on the Ys leg machine and I did other errands at the grocers, cleaners, and video store.

At home, I lifted weights while watching Bernard Bliess film Going Places, which I saw about ten years ago in the movies. Mom sent me the usual mail: a Visa bill, a job opening notice (Maricopa Community Colleges in Phoenix), and an envelope with funny cartoons by Jonathan. Ill probably go out in a little while, but there are plenty of cold cuts in the refrigerator, as Eddie worked security at some function at Bnai Brith and brought over all the leftover food. May has been a chilly rainy, month, but Ive enjoyed my freedom in New York immensely. Never have I felt so relaxed and stimulated at the same time. Being here has really been a great way to forget the petty tension of everyday life at Broward Community College. I feel very much the New Yorker again, and I again feel I can cope with anything, from subways at rush hour to dark and dangerous streets. I probably could even live here again, but I dont think I could have as good a life as I do in Florida. I realize there are a lot of tradeoffs people have to make for their big salaries. Last night I asked Mira to come up with five adjectives to describe me, and she said cute, sweet, sensitive, caring and funny, in that order. I had just wanted to see how a relative stranger whod been with me for two straight days perceived me. At least she didnt say fat,

boring, ugly, dumb and mean, though I might feel more comfortable if she had.

Monday, June 1, 1987


6 PM. It hit 93 today, and its expected to cool off tomorrow when I return to Manhattan. The past three days in Rockaway have been pleasant and quiet. Ive had lots of time to think. Life seems so sad sometimes, but it also seems clear that the best way to get through it is to avoid unnecessary complications. In Manhattan, everybodys life seems so complex, but here, among my grandmothers elderly friends, things are reduced to the basics. Good health is the most important thing. As these old people die off, Grandmas card games find it harder to recruit new hands. The generation of Russian-Jewish immigrants will be gone by the turn of the century. Thats both sad and natural. So much, though, seems sad an unnatural like AIDS. Ive had second thoughts about the column I wrote a week ago, and though I still believe its very well-written and funny, I worry that it might hurt the cause of those who fight AIDS and discrimination against gay people even though ostensibly it has nothing to do with either.

I feel guilty that Ive done little but contribute money to AIDS groups. When I get back to Florida, Ive got to do some volunteer work. President Reagan made his first speech on AIDS and was booed when he called for mandating testing for immigrants and others. It angers me how society has turned its back on people with AIDS because of homophobia, the last truly acceptable form of bigotry. I felt proud that Massachusetts Rep. Barney Frank, whom Id always admired, said he was gay and then said, So what? I guess its similar to the way blacks feel; they can have a Presidential candidate like Jesse Jackson, but overall, things are much worse for them than they were twenty years ago. Remember 67 to 69 and all that was happening: Sgt. Pepper and the Summer of Love and antiwar demonstrations and antimaterialism, but also race riot in Newark and other cities; the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy; the McCarthy campaign and the Chicago Democratic Convention riots; Stonewall, the start of gay liberation; Woodstock and the feeling of young people that we were a movement, a nation. By the end of 1969, all the guys I knew had hair at least as long as the Beatles did in 1965. It would be wonderful if we could have a little bit of a return to that spirit, as simple and naive and arrogant as it may have been.

The beach here is so gorgeous, especially this time of evening until it gets dark. My grandparents first moved here about twenty years ago, too. I remember being here for Rosh Hashona 1968 the year I didnt go to college because of my agoraphobia. Aunt Tillie and Uncle Morris were here for a couple of hours today, and it was good to see them. Morris is more quiet and frail, and Tillie has many physical problems that are getting worse. Aunt Tillie mentioned remembering a day when I was about a year old and in my high chair. I kept saying, Hot! Hot! Hot! and Mom didnt know what I meant because it wasnt particularly hot. Then she realized I meant hat and brought out a cap, which I happily placed on my head. Was that really me? Sometimes I wish I were a baby again. This afternoon I went across the street to the movie theater and saw Matthew Broderick in Jonathan Kaplans Project X, which had terrible acting by chimpanzees who were so cute they made me laugh and cry. Now doesnt that sound like a childs reaction? Grandma Ethel gave me $35 for my birthday, so maybe I am still a child here. Rockaway and my grandparents are very tied up with my memories of childhood. Its June already.

Monday, June 2, 1986


11 PM. Last night at this time I went out to get the next days Times, and after I read it, I watched some TV and still didnt feel sleepy, so it was very late before I fell asleep. This morning the heat and humidity of the weekend were replaced by temperatures so cool, I needed a jacket; right now it must be only 60 or so, nearly chilly. The EPIE software evaluation training session began at 11 AM and took nearly three hours. I was pretty bored during most of it, but I think I can learn a good deal about computer-assisted instruction. EPIE is so thorough that their evaluative process is very tedious; it can take eight to twelve hours for someone to go through a software program and the EPIE form. The two women who were being debriefed by the trainer, Jay, seemed to have a lot more trouble with the questions on the form than I would have. Its comforting to know that when Im in a group doing something that seems way beyond me, usually the others in the group are also having trouble. Its that way with my Software Evaluation class, too. I suspect Anne is not the most organized teacher, and though she has all the

material, she sort of throws it at students without clear, step-by-step instruction. I did enjoy tonights class, however, probably because it was a review of the material I studied in the training session. When I got home from Rockaway today at 2 PM, I turned on the first live TV coverage of the Senate and had lunch. Then I got a call from Rick Peabody, who said he was on his way to the Gotham Book Mart. He came in earlier this afternoon and was at Simon and Schuster, where the friend hes staying with works. I immediately left the house and went to the Gotham to meet Rick. It was great to see him again after nearly four years. I took him back here because I couldnt figure out a place to hang out in midtown; also he seemed kind of disoriented, the way I always feel in a strange city. We talked about everything from books and politics to the style of todays teenagers. Rick is someone I share information and insights with; if I didnt like him so much, Id say we networked together, to use that horrible new term. Some tidbits from todays debriefing: The people at Simon and Schuster came back from the ABA in New Orleans with word that there are no big literary books coming out this year. Even the people in New York publishing dont believe in what theyre doing, said Rick.

But theyre trying anything, and since David Leavitt and Bret Ellis, it seems anybody in his or her early twenties can get fiction published by the big New York houses. Its like everything Ive been saying for a decade about them ignoring younger writers is no longer valid. (Not to mention Kostelanetzs thesis in The End of Intelligent Writing.) At the ABA, George Myers had dinner with Andrei Codrescu, who also invited Russell Banks, Ron Sukenick and Clarence Major, who were surprised that George You mean youre the guy whos been writing about us? was so young. Rick related his humiliation at GWU, where he said a class of Yuppies-in-training laughed him out of a classroom, thinking he was an idiot to be losing money by publishing the kinds of writing he does. Fuck them, I said, but I understand how devastated Rick must have felt; he unloaded on Gretchen, who finally said, correctly, that it isnt important what asshole kids think. (But theyll be running the country in a few years, Rick said.) Upstairs at the Harrimans, Rick says they cant figure out whom the Democrats can run in 88 maybe Cuomo or Hart again or theyre trying to draft Iacocca. Rick figures the Republicans will run Dole and Kemp; I agreed that Bush will

fade, but I dont know if Dole is too much the Washington insider. I hope to see Rick again before he leaves, and maybe we can get together with Tom, who sent me a letter today. He may get his sabbatical next year.

Monday, June 3, 1985


9 PM. On the eve of my 34th birthday, I feel I have a whole lot to be grateful for. I have everything I need and want. Yes, tomorrow Ill get pissed off when I miss a train, and the next day Ill stew about being an unknown writer and an unemployed college teacher, and when my front cap finally wriggles loose, Im going to be unbearable to be around. But tonight, and in most of my saner moments, I have no complaints, no regrets, and few worries. Birthdays make me inclined to pomposity (look at the construction I just wrote), so lets go to straight reportage. Teresa didnt come home last night, but I slept in the living room anyway. Though the days have been hot and humid, the nights are breezy and cool, and I was quite comfortable; the noise from the outside didnt bother me. I dreamed I was on a bus trip to Atlanta.

In the morning I got the Times from the machine on the corner and came back to read it in bed as I listened to Morning Edition on National Public Radio. I thought of the millions of people facing Monday at jobs they hate, and I felt damned lucky. Up and out by 10:30 AM, I xeroxed my new computer-oriented rsum and sent it out to three colleges that had ads in yesterdays Times. LaGuardia Community Colleges secretarial science department called, and when I found out they had Multiplan a spreadsheet program we used in Mary Alices Saturday FIU class I decided to do that as a demonstration in my job interview. At 12:30 PM, I met Ronna at the Hebrew Arts School. God, did she look pretty. Just sitting across from her in the restaurant, I couldnt help getting excited. On the way to Dianes on Columbus, we ran into James, who was showing around his mothers friend from Mississippi. Ronna and I talked about our relationship. I mentioned that I was considering having an affair, and while Ronna said I certainly didnt have to ask her permission, she said shed be grateful for advance warning. We agreed that it will be easier when one of us starts seeing someone else. Ronna said that last Thursday night Laura told her, Its so sad to see the two of you trying to pick fights with one another.

Whos trying? Ronna said. It comes naturally. As I walked her back to the office, I mentioned people like Muriel Humphrey Brown and Jackie Onassiss mother who had married their old sweethearts when both were past sixty. Even if it doesnt happen, Ronna said, we have an important bond. Its like brother and sister, only sexual oh, I dont know. . . Nor do I but as I kissed her, thanking her for lunch and for everything, I felt it, too and once again I felt lucky. Back home Teresa and I put up the air conditioner while we watched our soaps and gossips, and it was good, just like old times, without the tension both of us sometimes feel. Theres a lot a whole lot of good in Teresa, and I owe her these wonderful days and weeks and months Ive spent in this apartment. She went to her sisters tonight to help her cope with Jills chicken pox. In the mail, Mom sent me a new Diners Club card (yay! I used it to buy a Multiplan book to bone up for Fridays interview at LaGuardia), a rejection for a fellowship at the Wesleyan Writers Conference (not even a scholarship, but thats that), and I got letters from Tom, Rick and Miriam from New Orleans, Washington and Santa Fe.

Its always good to get news from my friends; I treasure their support and try to return it. Tom will be here in July when I get back to New York City. Mom and Dads birthday card and a check for $35 arrived, so I called to thank them. Both were home; its unbearably hot, they reported, and Moms wallet was stolen at the flea market yesterday. Soon well have to send you $70 on your birthday. Their card read: Happy Birthday, Son! A little bit of genius / A little bit of dash / A little long on knowhow / A little short on cash / A little bit boy wonder / With a wise and worldly air / All add up to just one thing / A son beyond compare! Awww. At 5:45 PM I was at the Weight Watchers office to meet Alice, who looked truly stunning tonight. She was so well-dressed and her hair was so chic-looking, I felt proud of my old friend from second grade. Over Chinese food we talked for hours. She told me about her newly-rekindled romance with Peter (theyll probably move in together again or maybe even get married), her desire to leave therapy, her sweetie in Milwaukee who treated her to a weekend fit for a queen (or Leona Helmsley), about Richard Rothbard admitting he was gay (I always thought he was cute) and how hes practically married to this interior decorator.

I spoke about Ronna and my job prospects and tried to give Alice advice on therapy (mostly I told funny stories about my own therapists). It was a wonderful dinner. While Alice took a cab downtown, I walked along 42nd Street, got the Miami and Fort Lauderdale papers at the out-of-town newsstand (not only did teachers get raises, but FAU and FIU got big funding boosts), and then came home, stopping at Mrs. Fields for a brownie. Pete called, and Im to meet him at 11 AM tomorrow, and Justin left a message that hes back, jet-lagged from L.A. Me? At 34, I feel like a kid. My face is lined, and I cant pass for 24 anymore, but Ive got bigger muscles than I ever did. Unfortunately, Ive also got a bigger waistline. But things are okay.

Monday, June 4, 1984


Its just after midnight, and Im just getting in after walking Ronna up to her apartment. This was the sweetest birthday Ive ever had; the day was totally perfect, and I feel, at 33, very lucky to have lived my life. I was so excited last night, I couldnt really sleep. I just couldnt wait to start the day, and

with the 5 AM morning light, I got out of bed and went out on the street. Because Id never been out that early since I got here, I forgot how exciting Manhattan can feel at that hour. It was as though the whole city couldnt wait to start its week. Buying a Times on Broadway, I returned home and woke up a sleepy Mira at 7 AM. Obviously I was still tired, for I dont remember Mira leaving for work, and the next thing I knew it was 10 AM and I was awakening from a pleasant dream as Raiders of the Lost Ark was ending on the TV. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and 85, a perfect antidote to the recent foul weather. In short order, I did some errands: going to the video store, the cleaners and getting my birthday present to myself: a three-month CD at 10% interest from Chase Manhattan. The Posts horoscope by Jeane Dixon said for us birthday boys: The outlook is bright for both your career and finances. You are able to pay off a long-time debt. An employment problem sorts itself out. Could I ask for more? I spoke with Alice, who sent a birthday card, as did Justin, whom I met for lunch at his office at Eddie Murphy Productions. I think I really took advantage of him because I got him to use his Xerox electronic typewriter to write me up a gorgeous rsum, and he even ran off twenty copies.

Justin is incredibly sweet and so generous of himself. We went to a Hunan restaurant, where we dissected the Tonys and Justin told me about his and Nates newest roommate in Park Slope and other stuff. It was 3:30 PM when I left the Eddie Murphy carriage house and walked over to Hunter Colleges new library, where I was delighted to use their new touch-screen catalog; it felt as if I already was in the future. Hopping a crosstown bus, I got to the post office just a minute before 5 PM (birthday luck) to buy stamps. Back home, I read a great letter from Rick all about the ABA convention. Dutton may reprint Mavericks; and Rick said the Grove Press people were amazed at his youth. I phoned Grandma Ethel, whod gone to the doctor to see about her foot (he gave her medicine), and then I tried Mom but got a busy signal. So I tried the other line; it turned out that she had been trying to call me and getting a busy signal! She and Dad said that I was born just at that time, 5:15 PM, on a warm, sunny day like today. I love you, Mom said, and I said, I love you both, too and got off. Ronna came over half an hour later, and as usual, she looked gorgeous. We talked about this and that, and then she took me out for a

fine dinner at Marvin Gardens. I feel so easy with her. Back in the bedroom, I put on the TV set, but we didnt pay much attention to it. We hugged and kissed and fondled and tickled and wrestled and did everything but intercourse, and we stopped only because we both decided we didnt want to go that far. Still, sex isnt just intercourse, its intimacy, and I have no complaints at all about tonight. Last night I said that massaging Mira was a fine experience because I got to touch someone in a sensuous way, but of course the experience is so much better when theres love yes, its love, if not the usual kind involved. And I need to be held, too; I need to have my back rubbed, my chest touched, my nose kissed. I needed to feel a womans breasts and thighs and long hair. I can smell Ronna on me, and I am still feeling really good right now. You cant imagine how great it feels to be so free and open, to hear myself being called sexy and hot by an attractive, warm, intelligent woman. Ronna said she was floating on air for a few days after our last time together; then she felt bad about it, but only for a little while. If I wasnt gay, Id marry Ronna, or at least Id pursue a serious relationship but nothing is worth hurting someone I care so much about, and if our seeing each other like this hurts

Ronna, I can go back to just being friends. As Ronna said, First and last, were friends. It was it is a gorgeous night. The twentyblock walk up and back on West End Avenue did me good, and somewhere between 85th and 95th Streets, my birthday ended. For a moment, at least, all is perfect.

Thursday, June 5, 1984


9: 30 PM. Its still perfect. I just walked into Grandma Ethels apartment in Rockaway. Shes in the bathroom; she said her friend Mrs. Port just left. I was across the street at the Surfside Twin seeing Mazurskys Moscow on the Hudson, which was just what I needed. It was a sentimental film, a valentine to New York and America. Living here and living in Miami as well you cant help realizing how many people come here from all over the world. The film may have presented too rosy a view of the immigrants life in the Big Apple, but I found it touching and I cried at the hokey patriotism like at the citizenship swearing-in, which could have come right out of Capra. Mazurskys humanism impresses me, as it always has; I would like to be able to work in the way he does and say similar things, only in my own way.

Coming out of the small mom-and-pop movie house, the theater owner said good night to me; I came face to face with a cute Puerto Rican kid, who smiled at me; crossed Rockaway Beach Boulevard with a blonde woman and her black toddler, to whom she said, Stay with Mommy!; found a pair of keys lying on the ground by the back gate and gave them to the security guard, a black woman, when I got in the building. I love life, and New York is filled with more life than any other place, and that means more beauty and sadness, more pain and joy. But sometimes even the pain and sorrow are beautiful, because, as Robin Williams character said in the film, Its your pain and you can hold it in your hand. Last night I contentedly fell asleep, feeling Ronnas arms still around me, smelling her on my body. Up at 9 AM, I got my shit together as quickly as I could, and I was out of the apartment an hour later. I made fabulous connection, from the IRT local at 86th to the D at 59th (where an ABC cameraman shot footage of me and others getting on the train) to the E at Seventh Avenue; and when I got out in Jackson Heights (where everything is in Spanish), a truly saintly bus driver whod already pulled out stopped in the middle of the block as I ran to get the bus. Youre wonderful! I puffed, putting in my quarters.

Aunt Tillie and Uncle Morris where here when I arrived at 11:30 AM record time and it was good to see them looking well. I talked with them for a bit; Grandma Ethel was in pain, and still is, from where she hurt her leg. Clearly, shes getting a bit senile, for she repeated five times that shed thought my birthday was on Sunday, not yesterday, and she mislaid the hydrogen peroxide Jean brought her yesterday only minutes after putting it away. It got up to 89today, but here in Rockaway, with low humidity and the cool ocean breezes, it was perfectly pleasant. After an hour and a half on the beach, Ive got just the slightest sunburn, a nice touch of color. We had franks and beans for dinner, and incredibly sweet cantaloupe, and after the start of the 7 PM news Mondale clinched the nomination with a New Jersey win on this final Tuesday primary day I went out to the movies. I feel blessed.

Monday, June 6, 1985


5 PM. Always live life to the fullest, suggested the fortune cookie I got last night at Szechuan Broadway. I intend to. Though Ive

had a number of disappointments, mostly in regard to my career success (or lack thereof), Im probably better off for not being a Whiz Kid. Im too old to be a Boy Wonder now, so maybe I can become a Middle-Aged Moderate Success. Well see. If I had any doubts that my instincts about Justin were wrong, last night dispelled them. Previously wed talked on the phone for an hour about his trip to L.A. He enjoyed it very much, spending time with his friends in the industry (Theres only one industry in L.A., Justin said), and he was impressed with a theater company he visited, a kind of California off-off-Broadway group; they may do his Todays Special in the fall. I loved hearing about Paramount and Disney and ICM and I was impressed with the video Justin brought over, the film he edited for the Lawd Have Murphy! concert introduction. I value Justins friendship, and he was so sweet when he took me out to dinner. I just wish he werent so crazy about me that oh, well. Several times he hugged me or started making moves (like talking about giving me a back rub) and I froze up. Im torn because I desperately want to have a physical relationship with someone, but Im not desperate enough to have one with Justin. Not that I think hes so bad and this makes me

sound like a creep but Im just not attracted to him. What makes it so hard is that I know how Justin feels, and I know it cant be easy for him to make moves on me. I purposely walked him to the station so that we wouldnt have to say goodbye in private. Maybe, I sometimes think, Im just being a jerk. What would it matter if I slept with someone who I wasnt crazy about? Maybe, I reason, I could learn to be attracted to Justin. But I cant imagine feeling about him the way I did about Sean or Ronna. Ive never had this problem before, which only proves that new experiences can happen at 34. I read the papers last night, got to bed late, and slept till 11:30 AM on a rainy, chilly day. Teresa was here, making her usual million phone calls. Frank gave her a big lecture about how she should get to work; if he knew she was going to Italy, hed have gotten even more angry. The job in the Bronx isnt coming through (Frank says it has nothing to do with Teresa) and he urged her to get other work as soon as possible. Of course Teresa doesnt want to work; she wants to have fun like Cyndi Lauper says girls should. Im not in a position to criticize her, but I do think Teresa has been very lucky and doesnt

realize how some people have to struggle to have money. At 1 PM I went to the New York Public Library on 42nd Street, where I read for three hours. I do wish I could find an outlet for my talents. I got a message from the American Business Institute in Brooklyn; they want me to come down for an interview. I guess Im a little like Teresa and dont want to be a drudge, either but the way things are, I may have to be.

Saturday, June 7, 1986


7 PM. The topic for todays sermon, boys and girls, is greed. The New York Times reports on the guilty plea of Dennis B. Levine, milliondollar-a-year securities analyst whose insider trading schemes may be just the tip of the iceberg on Wall Street. In an unrelated case, five hotshot Jewish lawyers and brokers, ranging in age from 23 to 27, pled guilty to insider trading and fraud. The New York City political corruption scandals; the lack of affordable housing because of Kochs kowtowing to real estate interests; Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous; Dynasty; Judith Krantz and Jackie Collins novels that in a kind of literary Grishams Law drive out worthy books from publication I dont know, but it

just seems to me that people have never been greedier or prouder of their greed. Many of my own friends seem almost twisted by greed like Alice, for example, who almost appears to salivate when Big Money is mentioned. Its so refreshing to see a Rick Peabody or a Tom Whalen in these times. Maybe theres something wrong with me when I see it so clearly that money and luxury beyond a certain point are nothing but shit and selfishness and so many others dont. Well, I told you Id be preaching, didnt I? Sorry. Ive got my strength back, I guess. Last night I slept well for a change, having one nice dream about Mark Feinstein (not to be obsessive, but his ambition was only to get very, very rich). Yesterday I had a hard workout from 5 PM to 6 PM which felt very good. Exercise is such a drag, but it leaves me feeling terrific. Justin came over at 6:30 PM, and he was hungry, so went out to Szechuan Broadway right away. Justin graciously paid as a birthday treat for me; Ill reciprocate in August. He obviously had a great vacation with Bobby, and he seems fine. Justin will probably succeed in the theater, not so much because of his talent but because hes got the character to persevere. He gave me his play, The Resurrection of Marvin, and I was impressed with his growth as a playwright.

While the play has flaws, its the best thing of Justins Ive seen. Marvin is a 14-year-old boy kidnapped by a child molester, who didnt treat him all that badly; by comparison, Marvins parents, when he returns home, are shown to be emotionally oafish and less sympathetic than the kidnapper, whos a kind of perverted Peter Pan. The play definitely has power and potential. After dinner last night, Justin and I went to see Short Circuit, an embarrassingly cloying comedy about a robot who comes to life. It wasnt badly made, but it was very predictable and silly. Justin left here at 11 PM or so; it had turned cool and rainy by then, and today was delightfully cool but dreary. Josh called me to say that Todd left a message saying that he was thinking of coming over. Josh wanted to see Tom with me, but he said Todd needed to see him because he was so depressed about his dogs death. Luckily, Tom, when I called him, was gracious enough to tell Josh to bring Todd along. In the time till our 2 PM appointment, I worked out a little, showered, and then went to buy a Fathers Day card for Dad, some groceries (I met a lovely old lady on line at the Red Apple), and two H&H bagels that I had for lunch. Mom sent me some more mail. Bill Smart thanked me for my contributions to VCCA in

response to his recent letter and said my People story was very funny. I also got some bills my Dollar Dry Dock credit line among them and the Bankcard Holders of America newsletter. It looks as though credit card rates may be coming down a little; in Connecticut, theres sort of a rate war right now. Josh told Tom he thinks my credit card ideas are crazy, and today Josh attacked my idea for means-based testing for social security even though I read him an article from todays paper quoting the Presidents Council of Economic Advisers about the transfer of income from young to old. Josh buys all the old myths: Jews are hated by Gentiles (Ive never known anyone else our age who has such a ghetto mentality); the Israelis are the good guys and Arabs are vermin; old people are usually poor and feeble; Southerners are racist. (Tom told me that when he was in New Orleans, Josh kept looking for signs of blacks being mistreated and kept asking Tom about it until Tom said, Hey, theyre the majority. We better be nice to them if only for own good.) Tom agreed with me that Josh should get out of Blue Cross, and today Josh wrote NYU back, saying hed like to be considered for the job there again. (Hed last written them saying he couldnt leave Blue Cross for six months. The reason? He didnt want to leave Simons sister

working there alone. Except it turned out she left first.) I guess Josh and I are a little annoyed with each other because we have very different viewpoints. Tom branded him a laissez-faire conservative when Josh defended publishers printing trashy best sellers because they give a lot of people pleasure, and publishers are in business to make money so if thats the books people want, theyve got to give it to them. Tom and this brings us back to our sermon said that if publishers werent so greedy as in the 1960s, when Great Society library funds made it possible for them to publish all kinds of books they wouldnt have to bring out only trashy novels. Todd was a little out of his league in the conversation; he such a nice guy, but in many ways hes like a kid. There were some dull spots, but I enjoyed the verbal fireworks when they happened. In Florida I never hear provocative conversations about ideas of any kind. Being with Tom is always stimulating; Ill see him in a couple of months when he and Sarah return from Europe. Tonight I had a burger deluxe at the local diner. Its a rainy, chilly night, just right for staying in and reading.

Im glad I get excited about things and still can feel outraged. And of course, give me an unpopular cause defending pornography, fighting senior discounts, supporting a Florida income tax or Palestinian rights and Im in heaven. Anybody can fight for a popular cause, after all.

Friday, June 8, 1984


11 PM. It hit 99 today and it may stay like this for the next few days. Its hard without airconditioning, but my major problem is that its too hot to exercise. I suppose I could start working out now, when its about 85, but Im tired after another night of getting four hours sleep. Last evening proved to be very pleasant. Before I left the apartment, I called Susan Mernit at VCCA just at the time I knew the fellows would be getting ready to go in for dinner. Yesterday Id gotten another letter from her, and I felt so guilty for not writing that I had to call. Susan sounded good, and as in her letters, she said shed been working steadily for seven or eight hours of total writing time each day. Sterling was there, and shes grown fond of him, and Peter and Jeanne Meinke came up last week.

I told Susan Id see her after she returns on Sunday. After picking Tom up at David Goodkinds, I guided us to the Mei restaurant on Second and 12th Street. Pete soon joined us, and Mark finally made it. The dinner was good if not great I had yakitori but the conversation worked. Pete and Mark have very different literary sensibilities than Toms, and Id been worried they might clash, but everyone got on well. Mark told Fiction Collective stories and spoke about his meeting with Walter Abish, whos too self-impressed to be believed. Tom as I told him today is the most purely literary person I know, and just about the most well-read; certainly he knows ten times as much about European fiction as anyone. As with most people, his great strength is also a weakness, because he reads no nonfiction and often seems removed or at odds with everyday life. Thats probably a virtue, I guess. Anyway, in Florida theres no way I could listen in on and participate in such stimulating conversation. After Pete went home, Mark, Tom and I walked to the West Village, stopping off at the St. Marks Bookshop to browse for a bit. I want to read the new books by Brad Gooch and Dennis Cooper, both published by Gay Presses of New York. Coopers book was hailed in the Voice, though Pete said the reviewer was a buddy of Denniss.

Tom got off the train at 79th; I rode a stop further, to 86th, picking up the next days Times. Again, I stayed up late reading, and it was 5 AM before I dropped off to sleep. At 11 AM, Larry called, asking if I wanted to go to a museum. We chose to meet at the Whitney, where there was a fine Fairfield Porter exhibition, an anemic collection of work by Five New York Painters in their forties, and the usual delights of the Whitneys permanent stuff. Larry is entertaining and funny last night, at the Improv to catch his brothers act, he spoke to Rodney Dangerfield, to whom hes sold jokes in the past and hes pretty knowledgeable about art (those years working in a frame store helped). At Central Park we sat in the shade quenching our thirst on sodas and talking about the usual bullshit. There are only two places in the world, Larry said. New York and everywhere else. Hes going back to Florida in ten days to begin Term IIIB at BCC. Back home, I spoke with Teresas mother to tell her that Teresa will be coming in on KLM on MOnday night. Then Tom dropped by to pick me up for the movie. He had been feverish and nauseated all day, and I was very hot, so we took the Broadway bus to 99th Street (all four buses I was on today were not air conditioned) for the 4:50 PM showing at the Metro.

The film was one that Tom saw after hed read about it in Cult Films: Abel Ferraras Ms. .45, which opened as an exploitation film on 42nd Street but which actually was a brilliant feminist statement, artfully done, about a shy garment center worker who, after being raped twice within one hour, evolves into vigilante killer preying on the men who prey on women. Terrific! We had a bite at Four Brothers Tom paid for both the film and the meal and then we separated; hes got stuff to do and people to see for the next few days. I spent a couple of hours on the phone, first with Marc, who said hes doing well in his FORTRAN course, thats its been seasonably warm in Florida, and that hell probably come up here during the break in August. Next I chatted with Gary, who related all his problems at work. Although hes now an assistant V.P. at Citicorp, the pressure hasnt let up and is, in fact, greater; he now has more weekend work. I also phoned Elihu to thank him for his birthday call. His promotion also came through, so hell be staying with Goldman Sachs. Right now Im going to relax with one of the movies I got at Video Vault: The Road Warrior or O Lucky Man. Theres a breeze coming in, so its not dreadfully hot. Im tired but happy.

Tuesday, June 9, 1987


4 PM. Ive been half-asleep the last hour, as I had a bad night. For the last week my capped front teeth have been wobbling so badly, they click in and out of place, and last night I had the itching and mucus from another infection in my left eye (which has kept me from wearing my lenses today), and then, in the middle of the night, I got up too quickly and had an attack of vertigo. I guess I wasnt used to sleeping in the futon on the living room floor, either. Well, at least I did accomplish something today. Since I had to be out of the house early because of the maids arrival, I went to the Teachers College library and knocked out a column. The column isnt great; its an amalgam of my undergraduate Kingsman letter about giving college buildings funny but appropriate names, like Neanderth Hall for the anthropology department and Monty Hall for the business school, and my idea for the University of Very South Florida. Plus I got to throw in some criticism of Florida higher education as well as some assorted puns. Its the kind of column the Sun-Tattler will definitely use, but even as I was finishing it and I polished it very hard I was aware that

soon Ive got to move on to another kind of writing. My columns are worth more than the twenty dollars the Sun-Tattler pays me, and while seeing them in print regularly is still exciting, its getting to the point similar to when I had over a hundred short stories in little magazines a decade ago: the thrills are becoming routine. When I returned home, I got a big packet from Teachers Colleges financial aid office, and Ive decided not to fill out all the various forms they want. Its not worth another student loan to go to all this trouble; if it had only been a matter of filling out the form they sent me last week, I would have done it. But now I see its too much bother. So in three weeks, my Computers and the Arts class will be over, though I still plan to use the Teachers College micros to do my writing. Anyway, that will give me seven or eight free weeks before I return to Florida, assuming I dont get into MacDowell. Probably I should find some way of making money. I begin jury duty on Thursday, and as it nears, Im beginning to feel stupid for having volunteered. Anyway, the summer is beginning to take shape, and I am looking forward to returning to Florida in a way I havent before. New York City is just so expensive for me; I really cant afford living here.

Sunday, June 10, 1984


3 PM. Until the past few days, Id forgotten how miserably uncomfortable heat and humidity could make me feel. Except for the summer of 80, when I lived in Rockaway, this is the first experience Ive had with 95-plus temperatures and no air conditioning, not even a fan. Ive sweated more in the past three days than I had in the previous seven weeks. With the temperature at 97 and the humidity high, I merely sit or lie in one place and I sweat. Exertion is nearly impossible, although with the aid of two showers, I managed to lift weights for half an hour late last night. But I was unable to get to sleep because it was just too hot. At about 5 AM, I decided to open up the couch because the breeze from the living room windows made it a bit cooler, and I finally fell asleep. What woke me up was the discomfort of the mattress (a year scrunched up had made it feel much less comfortable) and the light shining in my eyes at 8 AM. I went back into the bedroom for a few hours and slept till about 10 AM. I really feel cranky and out of sorts, though I recognize thats the

function of the weather. It seems so unfair to get this heat wave on the heels of all that cold, rainy weather. Anyway, I did have a good time last night. Andreas dropped Alice off on Broadway just as I got there theyd spent the day together and were talking about Andreass newest love and together we walked up to Hunan 94, avoiding other restaurants that werent airconditioned. Our dinner of cold noodles in sesame paste and rainbow chicken was delicious, and our table was right by the air conditioner. Alice was a good dinner companion; the extreme opposite of Tom, her sensibilities about literature and film are practical, if not totally dense. I cant help using other people as a gauge, and it seems to me that Alice and Tom represent the extremes: the no-nonsense pragmatist and the literary romantic. Of course Alice does have a soul, and Tom has a heart, but I guess I exaggerate their qualities because these qualities are at war within myself: the intellectual versus the practical pragmatist. As always, Alice is refreshing. She looked very chic in black Danskin and pants and big sunglasses against her graying hair, but Alice said that I looked fashionable in black T-shirt and white elasticized-waist pants. After dinner, we took the train to Lincoln Center and caught the 8 AM showing of

Hitchcocks Rope at Cinema Studio. I loved the film: a delight for both the realist and the dreamer. Well, Teresa will be home from Europe tomorrow night after six weeks, and Ive got to get things straightened out in the apartment. It will help that Paulette is coming in to clean tomorrow. Tonight Im meeting Ronna, Laura and their Pennsylvania friends Pat and Russ after their Merkin Hall concert for dinner at At Our Place, the terrific Middle Eastern restaurant on Broadway and 95th (the original restaurant had been Cleopatras and the new owner only had to spring for a U on the new sign).

Wednesday, June 11, 1986


10 PM. Last evening I got into bed early and listened to a couple of PBS programs, one on unified field theories of physics, the other about the terrible poverty and unemployment in the north of England. Feeling better at 11 PM, I went out to get the next days Times and a cranberry muffin at the Korean store. There was a big bright light I could see even without my contacts in as soon as I walked out of the house.

Down the block theyre making a movie. Theyre there again tonight, with a fake street corner phone booth set up near The Bridge, the drug rehabilitation center. From the crowd last night, I fathered this was a horror movie with no big stars, though I did recognize a little boy who normally plays precocious brats. Id like to be in a movie now not act in one, but be in one, the way Mia Farrow got into the celluloid in The Purple Rose of Cairo. Today was pretty much a fiasco, and most of it was my own fault. At 5 AM, I awoke with a pounding stuffed head; I took some Tylenol and Drixoral, and a few hours later the headache was gone, but I had bad stomach cramps kind of a gripping pain.

By 10 AM, feeling better, I made a stupid decision. Ive been too wrapped up in my credit card dealings and I wanted to get another Discover card cash advance at Sears. I knew there was a Sears in Hackensack and I knew that the bus that goes to Hackensack leaves ten minutes before every hour. Unfortunately, I didnt know enough. Because the guy at the window where I bought my ticket gave me the wrong platform, I missed the 10:50 AM bus and had to wait an hour.

Then, at noon, finally in New Jersey, I started feeling sick to my stomach. When I got off in Hackensack, I was in the middle of nowhere, and downtown wasnt insight. Several people told me it was pretty far, so I decided, acting wisely for once, to cut my losses and get the next bus back to Port Authority. Well, that wasnt so bad, I figured; at least I got a change of scenery and got to look at parts of Bergen County. I decided that if I got to Columbus Circle in time, Id catch the 2 PM show of the first day of Ferris Buellers Day Off at the Paramount, where Id been unable to get in to the preview on Saturday. I had a quick lunch and then went to the movie. John Hughes supposedly knows teenagers, but this movie was a mess. It made little sense and relied entirely on the considerable charms of Matthew Broderick. Ive got enough of a crush on him to have liked the movie for that alone, but it also depressed me because it made me feel more alone. Now, Im really glad that Ronnas seeing somebody I hope her plane trip went okay but I miss sharing intimacy with someone. And sex is only a part of it; the bigger part is having someone special to share about and having physical and emotional closeness. Anyway, it was very hot and humid out, and everything seemed to go wrong at once. Nothing major has happened: just a lot of little

annoyances. Before class, I had diarrhea and I debated not going. What made me feel good was that two other students before class told me they dreaded coming the way they did no other course; they also shared my feelings about being lost in the material. Still, I got an A on the first project, and tonights class wasnt so bad; I got to pretend to be a four-year-old as I worked the key board on an estimating skills software package.

Friday, June 12, 1987


3 PM. On Monday I start as an alternate juror at a trial. I was very surprised to be accepted since Id voiced concern about my having a bias against drinking alcohol plays a role in the case but apparently the attorneys saw me as someone wrestling with his conscience. The voir dire was pretty interesting. This case involves a man who was shot four times in September 1982. The plaintiff, a white man, was in a Queens bar and left with two black women and they went to Lefrak City, where the shooting occurred. Hes suing the bar and the Lefrak Organization and there are attorneys representing him, the bar, and Lefrak. Its interesting to see the wide

sampling of society represented in the jury pool. Today they had to pick the final member of the six-person jury and two alternates. The first guy questioned was a young Hispanic man who just graduated college; I think he was excused because he had friends whod been shot and felt sympathy for them. The next juror was selected, and she was a Vassar student whose father was a partner at Shearman and Sterling; shed just spent her junior year in Paris. They then questioned me along with another man, a black guy who was public relations director for the Hard Rock Caf; he was excused, presumably because he works for a bar/restaurant, and he got to go home. I suppose I would have preferred that, too, but Im prepared to do my civic duty, which I do take seriously, even though as an alternate, I probably wont get to participate in the deliberations. The others in the jury pool had to come back after lunch to select the second alternate, but they told me I was free to go. I have to come back on Monday at 9:45 AM. I hope the trial its a bifurcated trial, first dealing with the question of liability and then with assessing damages, if any doesnt take too many days, but since it involves a shooting,

it will probably be more interesting than the usual trip-and-fall-type negligence case. It was raining when I left the courthouse, and I took the subway to Seventh Avenue and 57th Street, where I decided to stop for lunch at a diner. At the table next to me there was a young guy about 25 who looked familiar. Finally I realized he was Deannas little brother Michael whom I last saw when he was about fifteen years old. I asked him if he had a sister named Deanna and told him I was Marc Graysons brother; he first thought I was Jonathan, which made me feel good. Michael now works in computers on 62nd Street and was having lunch with a Vietnamese colleague. I said to say hello to his parents and Deanna, who of course is now married and has a kid. Back home, I got my second American Savings Bank of New York Visa card with a credit line of $9,500 95% of my $10,000 money market account. It looks like a quiet, rainy weekend, and I hope to relax.

Thursday, June 13, 1985


7 PM. I havent given into despair in a long time. Ive been optimistic and on a typically American self-improvement kick. But today

made me realize again that life can be terrible for some people. Going back to Manhattan from Rockaway, I decided, somewhat against my better judgment, to take the CC train right by Grandma Ethels. Shes always hocking me about the money I could save by one fare. Well, I waited half an hour in the wind and chilly temperatures for a CC train to arrive. That wasnt so bad, for I had the book Turings Man Ive almost finished it for company. But at the very next stop, Playland, there was a commotion as a load of high school kids got on. I was in the first car and I heard the conductor tell the motorman that the teenagers had broken two windows. We were held up a long time; when we got moving again, I found myself looking at the menacing clouds and the choppy dark water and feeling miserable. Then a guy and his girlfriend were standing in front of me arguing. I thought about how seedy they looked when all of a sudden he erupted in rage. Theres two broken windows on this train! he shouted, then put his fist through the window in front of me. Now theres three! The window shattered and his hand was bleeding in several places, but his friends couldnt get him to calm down. Is there a problem out there? asked the motorman.

No problem! said the guy, angrily. I made sure I didnt look at him because his rage was so great. Finally, another guy I guess they were high school seniors, but they looked older to me gave him a cigarette and took him into another car while his girlfriend sat down, very upset, with another guy in vain trying to console her. I almost started to cry when I thought about the pain all these people must be in to act like that and how lousy some peoples lives must be. But it gets worse. A pathetic guy about 25 came over to me to talk about the window-smashing incident. I have to be careful, he said. And then: Look what I got my Dad for Fathers Day. He opened a bag that contained a stuffed black duck and a coffee mug in the shape of a garbage can. Very nice, I said. He got off at Rockaway Boulevard with a wave, poor sucker. There were police swarming all over that station the motorman had radioed ahead for them and as the teenagers got off, they were questioned. A fat man with a heavy Irish brogue complained that the delay would make him late for work and he said wed have to get off the train. And then he pointed across the platform, telling the rest of us that there was a dead man over there. I went to the window, and sure enough, four cops were standing over the white-sheeted

body of a man; his shoes showed through and there was a Pathmark bag nearby on the ground. How had he died? The police had put up an absurdly-colored bright pink ribbon to section off the area; the ribbon looked festive and celebratory. As we got off the train, I watched as the police uncovered the body the man looked about sixty, and his eyes were still open and put him in this chair, then covered him again with the white sheet and strapped him in at his shoulders and waist. The four cops took him away, and the commuters, whod been stuck on the platform, went over and under the pink ribbon to go home. I felt a little sick to my stomach and got on the next train, another CC local. At Euclid Avenue the express was waiting, so most of us switched, only to be told ten minutes later that this A train would be going out of service. Finally another train, an express, pulled alongside and we transferred to it. A Puerto Rican woman came over and told me she hoped that man was really dead and said that in San Juan, her brother-in-law had been put in the morgue, only to be found still breathing when his family came to identify the body. An hour later, I arrived home to an empty apartment; Teresa and our house guest, Britt

Jerrys daughter were at Frans for dinner. There was a note inviting me over, but I felt too numb, so I just went out to Four Brothers and had a tasteless burger. Last night I spoke to Josh, who sold the story about his dogs death to Newsday. I was impressed, but Josh said he wished it were another publication because hes already had an article in Newsday. Hes working long hours this week and went upstate to work today. Last evening, when Grandma Ethel came home from her card game, we watched TV for several hours. I couldnt fall asleep till late, so I read, but when I finally managed to doze off, I slept soundly and heavily, not waking up till 10:30 AM. I spent the morning with Grandma, who keeps repeating the same stories and obsessing about trivialities. Oddly, she makes the most sense when she discusses the past. I was interested to hear how she used to love to visit her grandparents grocery store on Pitkin Avenue when she was about 11 or 12; her grandfather would pour milk into the pitchers that the neighborhood women would bring with them into the store. And Grandma said that the first time she met her father-in-law, he turned to Grandpa Herb and whispered, Trust me, shell make the best wife you could possibly get.

Around noon I walked over to 113th Street to get pizza at Ciros and to buy Grandma a birthday card for Cousin Joey; I had to remind her that hell be seventeen on Sunday. She made me make out the envelope but I told her to sign the card herself; she asked me how to spell Grandma and I had to write it on a slip of paper so that she could copy it. All of this today made me feel, if not depressed, then sad. Id forgotten how sad life could be, and its important not to forget such a thing.

Thursday, June 14, 1984


11 PM. No, I havent been ill the past fifty or so hours; I just havent had time to write in my diary. Teresa came back at about 9 PM on Tuesday. Earlier I had gone over to West 76th to meet Tom for dinner. He showed me some of the books hed gotten at the Strand and elsewhere, and we had a fine dinner conversation about what else? literature and film. I miss a number of Toms references to books, authors and directors, but the more common occurrence is that Ive only heard of the books while Tom has actually read them. He walked me back here and I was in the apartment when Teresas parents brought her home.

She looked tanned and said that was from Greece; she also gained a little weight from all that food, but Im sure it would have been more if she hadnt walked so much in Europe. Her father installed the air conditioner in the bedroom window, and almost immediately we had blissful relief from the heat and humidity. Teresa fooled around with her new vacuum, and after her parents left, she told me about her trip. All yesterday Wednesday we were together, so by now Ive heard everything, either directly once or again several times as Ive heard her talking on the phone. Despite what she sometimes claims, Teresa has a great many friends, all of whom seemed to call in the past two days. About Europe: She complained terribly about Mira, almost as much as Mira complained about her. Where Mira said Teresa was bossy and like an old lady, Teresa said Mira was uncouth, immature and wanted a vacation by the beach instead of a cultural and dining tour. They just had very different goals for the trip. To Teresa, Mira was boy-crazy and not interested in museums and good restaurants. Of course, Teresa, like Mira, did admit that there were times when the other was a fine traveling companion. It seems they got along best when they visited the relatives in Sicily.

After Mira left, Teresa went to Greece to meet Paul. She was carrying $2,000 from Synthia and Wally, whos Pauls best friend. Paul is a forty-year-old ex-doctor who lives like a hippie. Hes supposedly discovered a new form of yoga and is writing a book which will change the world. The joke, according to Teresa, is that the books premise that its possible for one to do anything one wants while Paul himself kept constantly rationalizing and giving excuses why he couldnt do things. After a visit to a Greek isle, Teresa became disgusted with him and he felt he needed his space; she also began to see that Paul was a paranoid schizophrenic. So she went back to Italy, anxious to come home. But since KLM wouldnt let her trade in her ticket for an earlier flight, she decided to travel to Florence and ended up surprising herself by having the time of her life. She stayed in a fabulous pensione, and once Mira wasnt there, Teresa was able to meet lots of interesting people, mostly older couples who treated her royally. Now that shes bad, Teresa is annoyed by the constant question What are you going to do now? asked by a least a score of her friends. But with the 1170 Ocean Parkway co-op deal and the prospect of the West 104th Street apartment being even more lucrative, she

really doesnt have to worry about money plus she still has that $18,000 in a money market fund. Shed probably do well in real estate or in some entrepreneurial enterprise. Teresa is still the same, but she plans to do less for other people not because she doesnt want to run their lives (she still feels she knows best) but because its not appreciated. After 48 hours with her, Ill be glad to be alone for the weekend. I cant understand why she isnt tired of me; she really wanted me to come with her to Fire Island tomorrow morning. I think most other people would be annoyed to have someone like me anyone still around in their space (I know I would feel that way), but Teresa seems to have a need to have people around her all the time. Yesterday we woke up early I had barely slept and spent most of the day in the airconditioned bedroom, with Teresa talking on the phone and me reading, or us watching TV together. We went out for lunch and grocery shopping, but a heavy thunderstorm kept us from eating dinner out, so we sent in for Chinese food. Mira bicycled over and got caught in the downpour; she was so soaked that she had to get out of her wet clothes and she ended up spending the night. We had a fine evening, actually, with me and Mira fooling around with

each other I am really attracted to her as Teresa realized, Mira is my type, but she likes Hispanic hunks, and Im decidedly not one. Still, Mira and I do relate well, and last night was like an adult slumber party. They brought the couch mattress onto the bedroom floor, and after a week of lousy sleeping, I slept like a baby last night, from 11 PM to 11 AM. I had vivid dreams and slept through Miras leaving and the noise of Judys kids being over. I spoke to Grandma Ethel, who had more complaints than usual; she had problems with a 24-hour heart monitor the doctor gave here to wear. Larry called and said hes going back to Florida on Monday; he left me his phone number. Miriam wrote from Marthas Vineyard, and Crad sent his two new books in the mail. Teresa and I spent today together, too. I do love Teresa: shes generous and funny and sometimes every easy to be with. But shes also headstrong and bossy and convinced that she is always in the right. I guess Teresa has a strong personality and its difficult to be alone with her for such an extended period. We went out of the house at 1 PM today and stopped off at Barbaras office, where I felt funny out of place. Teresa wanted to hang out there longer and talk (Barbaras pregnant and plans to have the baby in the winter); Teresa says she feels at home everywhere.

We took the subway down to 19th Street, so we could get out hair cut at Josephs. Teresa was excited because Eds son Teddy was visiting from Arizona, where he lives with his mother. (Ed was married before he was gay or before he came out, anyway.) Also visiting were Eds mother and stepfather, who live on 441 and Oakland Park Boulevard back in Broward. (There always seem to be people from Fort Lauderdale in New York in summer.) We were the first to arrive for Josephs haircuts and I went before Teresa. Teddy has one of those very short punk cuts, and while Id love to get something like that, with my fat face, Id look like a balloon. So I settled for a nice simple cut. We were invited out to dinner with the family (Ed and Joseph, Teddy, and Eds parents), and while I wasnt crazy about waiting around Chelsea all afternoon, it ended up being a nice time. Teresas parents arrived at 4 PM, and by then all sorts of people had shown up in that fabulous apartment. About an hour late, Teresa, Teddy and I went into the van with Ed to the Village, where he had an appointment with a woman who wanted Ed and Joseph to cater her wedding. (Their business, a model of the new entrepreneurial style, must be very successful, for they obviously live very well.)

I was very taken with Teddy, whos a cute, bright, Italian-looking punky kid; if he were five or six years older, Id have a crush on him, although unlike his father, Teddy seems very much interested in girls. I know how hard it is for his kind of kid in a place like Phoenix or Fort Lauderdale. He loves New York and is crazy about his father and Joseph though Teresa later told me theyve never told Teddy that theyre lovers; of course Im sure the kid can figure it out. Teddy hates Phoenix. I want to move back here, he said, as if he were an adult; he actually left New York when he was five years old. Anyway, we hung out until Ed was finished with his business, and I took Teddy to the Strand while Teresa watched the van. Back at the apartment, there were still a lot of heads waiting to be cut. Teresas parents and I talked with Eds parents, and we spoke with this woman and her mother, whos visiting from Dusseldorf and just learned English a little in the six months shes been here. She plans to move to New York, but Teresa said all Europeans want to move here. The two of them also joined us for dinner when Teresas haircut the last of the day was done. All eleven of us traipsed over to the Cortina, a Mexican restaurant on Ninth and 18th, where we were joined by John, a friend of Ed and Josephs who Teresa later said was cruising me all night although I hadnt noticed.

We had a nice gay Puerto Rican waiter, Michael, who used to be a haircutter at Lord and Taylor with Joseph, and who had a son Teddys age. (I just now remembered that I met Joseph in Fire Island in 1980 on the weekend of Aviss wedding.) The food was slow in coming and lousy when it came, but I was faint from hunger and even a soggy taco was better than nothing. The conversation was lively; I find Italian-Americans are about the most social people around, gregarious and funny. And loud we startled people at other tables by singing. While Joseph wouldnt do an aria hes a fine baritone who has worked in opera we did get off several rounds of Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Ursulas mother was delighted by it all and said that by comparison, German restaurants are very sedate. It was her birthday, as well as Eds, and I think it all turned into a lovely celebration. Teresa and I got into a cab and came home. Now Im really tired.

Monday, June 15, 1987

9 PM. Today was a sweltering day. I woke up early; although the night was hot, I did manage to sleep well. Downtown at 9:15 AM, I got my first $5,000 cash advance on my new American Savings Visa, and I deposited it my Chemical checking account. Then I went to jury duty, fully expecting the trial would begin in the morning. It didnt. At about 2:30 PM, half an hour after we returned from lunch, the six jurors and two alternates on the Stevens case went upstairs and they called us into the courtroom. The judge is elderly Justice Klein, who gave us detailed instructions on what to look for and what to ignore. We heard the opening statement of the plaintiffs attorney. The facts seem to be these: William Stevens, 39 in 1982, an unemployed Queens man and father of two, went to have a late lunch with a married couple. Then, on his own, he went to the bar and had twenty drinks scotch and water, mostly. A young black woman engaged him in conversation and invited him to a party at a friends apartment in Lefrak City. Drunk, he went with her, and they got into the building, past the security guard (the woman may have had a key that part isnt clear). Stevens and the woman took the elevator to

the ninth floor, and when they emerged, he was attacked by a black man. A struggle ensued, during which the woman took out a gun and shot Stevens four times. His attorneys contention was that the bar was negligent in letting him order so many drinks without cutting him off and the Lefrak Organization and their security force were negligent in letting them in the building and therefore the defendants were responsible for the shooting. The woman who was the attorney for the bar and restaurant asked to make a motion in chambers before her opening statement, and when we returned to the courtroom, she left, as the bar was no longer a defendant in the case. The Lefrak attorney then gave his opening remarks, saying he would prove that Stevens was the only one responsible for the shooting since hed gotten drunk and his aim was to have sex with the woman at which point the plaintiffs attorney vigorously objected. Anyway, Stevens himself was the first witness. He seemed a little nervous, and not too bright, and his words were barely audible at times. I havent heard all the testimony yet, so of course, I cant form an opinion, but Stevens seems like a decent if stupid man. The defense counsel was good at trying to make him look bad and at times there were

fireworks when it appeared the Lefrak lawyer was badgering him. The judge, over Stevens lawyers objections, allowed testimony that showed Stevens had earned only $1,500 from his supposed full-time job as a car-service driver the year before the shooting. The plaintiffs lawyer argued that Stevens had been promised a job that was set for him to begin that October. The judge struck from the record testimony that noted that a neighborhood criminal ring known to the police was probably responsible for the shooting, so we have to ignore that. My reaction to the day is that Stevens drinking and sexual behavior are irrelevant. Clearly, he went to Lefrak City by his own volition. The question is: were the security guards negligent in protecting Stevens by not letting him and the woman into the building?

Saturday, June 16, 1984


7 PM. Last night was wonderful. Ronna came here directly after work, and she looked terrific, at least to my contact lenses. We talked for a while, and then, since neither of us was really hungry, we decided to eat at that Greek diner on 85th and Broadway.

We go sit in a booth in the back and the next thing we know, Alma and Isaac Bashevis Singer are sitting in the booth alongside of us, he next to me, she next to Ronna. Its funny how often I come across them in restaurants, both here and in Miami. After our quick bite, we rented the seventh and last movie Im entitled to at the video place: Risky Business, which Ronna had never seen. We snuggled in bed and watched the film. It was a sweet, pleasant experience and we did some major hugging, fondling, kissing, and all that stuff. But both of us agreed not to have intercourse, and the decision seems to be a wise one. While its possible were afraid of the commitment, I feel that if I cared less about Ronna as a friend, then I would sleep with her. Its just easy for me to get aroused by Ronna. She may be one of the few women who can get me excited sexually (though come to think of it, Im sure Id have no problem with someone like Mira, either). As Teresa said when Doug called her the other night, there are so few people in life who you are really attracted to who are really attracted to you. I do love Ronna and think that shes gorgeous and sexy, and its also heavenly to be intimate with someone even if youre stopping short of intercourse. Im clear in my sexual identity, even if this sounds fuzzy. I am gay, but I am attracted to

certain women, not many; I guess I am somewhere along that numbered Kinsey continuum. Anyway, this all sounds clinical when last night was just plain wonderful. I walked Ronna up West End at midnight, a ritual that reminded me of driving her home to Canarsie late at night (or early in the morning) on our dates about a dozen years ago. She said that Jordan may be a little jealous, but he understands basically; after all, hes been with other women. Unable to sleep, I read Saturdays Times, watched the videotaped news, and read Crads fantastic new books (I had read parts aloud earlier to Ronna.) This morning Tom was supposed to come over, but he said he was nauseated all night and vomited and had diarrhea, so he just wanted to rest today. This afternoon we spoke on the phone. His plane leaves from Newark (People Express, of course) for Buffalo tomorrow, and hell be up to Toronto to visit Crad. Tom should be back in New York around July 20 and then off to California before returning to New Orleans. Next time Ill see him, it will probably be there when I return for a visit to NOCCA. Josh had asked me to meet him, Simons sister Lynn and her husband and another couple for

brunch at Caf Figaro in the Village, so I decided to do that since I was now free for the day. From there, we all went over to the Tompkins Square Park festival on the Lower East Side. It was cool, dry and clear, the perfect day to be outdoors and a great contrast to last weeks oppressive heat. At the festival there were the usual booths, but Josh and I wanted to go to the marathon poetry reading, put on by the St. Marks Poetry Project. Earlier in the week, Tom had talked about meeting these assholes and Josh and I spoke to a couple of their tribe today. He published this guy, Sal Salasin, in Grinning Idiot and we went to this artsy Eat Life Caf where, Sal told us, the poetry readings are very prestigious. All Sal talked about was how careful you have to play your politics to succeed in the poetry world which to him consisted solely of St. Marks. I am dependent upon these people for my career, he said. I cant alienate them because I will have to live with them for the rest of my life. Later, Josh said he just took this bullshit comically, but it made me a bit angry. What an insulated, careful, pissant way to produce poetry! The other asshole, Etan Ben Ami, was slightly less pompous, but you could tell he thought his

life would be a complete nothing without the St. Marks Poetry Project.

Wednesday, June 17, 1987


5 PM. I feel extraordinarily sleepy today. Yesterday at this time I called Dad, who had just gotten back to the house. Aunt Sydelle and Will had returned home from Israel, and Cousin Scott from down from Washington for Grandpa Nats funeral. The Littmans and Dads Uncle Daniel and Aunt Anne also attended the gravesite ceremony, which lasted only twenty minutes. Dad said the rabbi did give a very good portrait of Grandpa Nat, that he seemed to get at the essence of the man. After the cemetery, they went back to Sydelles and spent most of the day there. Dad said theyve told him to sit shiva on chairs and sofas, not on those little stools that are bad for your back. As he did with Grandma Sylvia, Dad plans to call a synagogue and pay someone to say kaddish for Grandpa Nat. So its over. Last night I dreamed I was at the funeral myself. At 36, I no longer have any grandfathers and have only one grandmother still alive. Dad did say that I shouldnt regret my absence from the funeral because I had

visited his father when he was alive more than anyone except him and his sister. I felt that way about Grandpa Herb, too, and Im sure Ill feel the same way when Grandma Ethel dies. Even if I dont attend her funeral, Ill know I made all those long trips out to Rockaway to visit her over the past four or five years. In class last night, Prof. Abeles demonstrated how the MIDI (musical instrument digital interface) works with various synthesizers; a lot of the musical terms were beyond me, but it was interesting anyway. I took out a book on BASIC graphics for the Apple IIe and plan to use it for my class project. On Monday night, when it got hot, Teresa and I put in the air conditioner, but we had more than a little trouble. Teresas air conditioner is old and doesnt work that well anymore, and the window slammed down on her finger, causing her great pain. In typical Teresa fashion, she made things worse by hitting the window, as if it were a sentient creature responsible for its actions. To her surprise, her blow broke the window pane, scattering shards of glass everywhere. Why did you do that? I thought but did not say, because I knew it would only make matters worse. For me, it was a good object lesson on how not to behave. Sometimes I feel

Im always learning from Teresas negative example. Shes going to Fire Island tonight, and theyve got catering and cleaning work to do. At her office, out of twelve people, only one got a commission last week, and business is terrible. Last weekend, though, she told off Rhoda, who had once again stolen her jacket. However, that weekend Teresa had an especially good time because she met Dominick, a terrific guy with whom she spent nearly the whole time together. Dominick is in his fifties, a plastic surgeon whos been married for 25 years. As usual with Teresa, things are going fast, and she says Dominick has already asked her to manage his boutique on the North Shore. (The store doesnt exist yet.) Now, Teresa may think that Dominick can easily cast aside his wife, who just graduated law school, but I imagine that 25 years counts a thousand times more than a single weekend. Teresa and Marilyns Rent-a-Chef did get a good write-up in the Fire Island News and that should bring them business. I woke up at 8 AM but soon went back to sleep and barely roused myself at noon, when I tried to work out with ESPNs Bodies in Motion. This afternoon I took another cash advance on my new $9,500 Visa card and deposited it in

my checking account, had some pizza, paid several bills, mailed my package to Helmut in Germany, and generally relaxed today. Josh is coming for dinner. He told me his mother has been diagnosed with Parkinsons disease.

Wednesday, June 18, 1986


4 PM. It was a real treat having Dad here these past few days, and Im going to miss him. He came home at about 6 PM last night, and we went out as soon as he changed into comfortable clothes. At Marvin Gardens, we both had angels hair pasta with sun-dried tomatoes. He told me about his day and his frustrations, and we talked about the family. Jonathan has grown a pony tail, and with his red outfits and mala with the Bhagwan on it, Everyone stares at him at the flea market. But your mother says it could be worse because hes not doing anything antisocial. Marc has really fixed up my apartment in Lauderhill, but now that Dad doesnt see much of him, hes worried that Marc will get involved with drugs: I gave him an article about crack to read.

I myself have been worried about Marc getting on crack since I know hes got an addictive personality and had so much trouble getting off plain old cocaine. Dad says his sister thinks hes crazy for doing so much for my children. But Sydelle is selfish. If anything, I feel Im not doing enough. . . Because Grandpa Nat did everything for Dad and always tried to make sure I didnt have to work too hard, Dad feels guilty that, for example, I even have to go to work to make a living. Thats crazy, of course, but I love Dad for it. He cant understand how some parents, like Justins, can be distant or cold with their children. And of course, Dad wouldnt let me pay for dinner although at least he allowed me to leave the $2 tip. We walked across the street to Zabars. Dad hadnt been there in fifteen years, and I knew hed get a kick out of all the delicious goodies on sale. As we walked back on Riverside Drive, Dad actually felt cold and marveled how changeable the New York weather was, unlike in Florida, where one day is always like the next. He said the walk among the old grand buildings reminded him of walks hed taken in New York as a child. Back home, we watched TV; Dad normally never watches network TV and was amazed at how stupid it is.

Mostly we ended up watching the Mets game. Dad packed his things, for he planned to go straight from midtown to the airport this afternoon. I slept like a log and said goodbye to Dad; we really spent what they call quality time together. Up at 9:30 AM well, sort of I went out to buy USA Today and the Times, which I read in bed. Chief Justice Burger resigned and was replaced by Rehnquist, who in turn was replaced by another arch-conservative Justice. At 11 AM I went to the Times Square out-oftown newsstand to get Sundays News/SunSentinel. It was thrilling to see my response, headlined The problem with South Floridas senior citizens, on the front page of the Outlook section and continued on the last page. Described as active in several political arenas, the bio note said I maintained homes in Davie and New York. (Thats true, said Teresa, back from the campaign trip to Binghamton and Elmira. You do maintain homes.) What a treat to be able to unload my opinions on everyone. They printed my article almost exactly the way I wrote it, and if I seem immodest, its a terrific piece; I dont have my usual diffidence about my writing. Thought Id clean it up in a few places, the article is one of the strongest pieces of writing

Ive done, and it has style and wit. Im sure it will make many elderly people angry. Good. The article gives me new confidence in myself as a writer and a public figure, and Im grateful to Barc Bowman for giving me the opportunity to respond to the column he wrote criticizing me. It was good to see the whole paper and see whats going on in Broward. The Sawgrass Expressway opens this weekend, and the papers lead editorial called on Gov. Graham to veto the expenditures for the Broward honors college, which the newspaper feels will detract from the Southeast Florida higher education plan. As usual in Florida education, politics comes first: it appears the whole honors college is a provincial attempt by one man, Senate President Ken Jenne, to wield power. It probably is a bad mistake. This afternoon I xeroxed my article, had a burger out (my stomach feels okay now), did some banking (Im now up to a record $33,000 in all my accounts), and worked out. Now Ive got to get to school

Tuesday, June 19, 1984


9 PM. Ive just come back from dinner with Josh in Brooklyn. Teresa has gone out to

Studio 54 with a friend. Taking the IRT express to 96th Street, I realized that of the forty or so people in my subway car, I was the only one who was not black, Hispanic or Asian. Walking down Broadway with a stop at the Korean grocery store and the Indian newsstand I was again struck by the remarkable diversity of people. What I love most about New York is its tolerance of diversity in terms of race, religion, style, dress, sexual orientation, etc. I know its still hard for a black man to get a cab on West End Avenue Ive seen that but its still so much better other places, including South Florida. Of course, Broward County has a narrowminded, anti-Semitic, highly racist background, and I guess weve come a long way, but nothing can compare to New York or Los Angeles as being a city of immigrants. Im glad Miami comes close. In the Democratic primaries, Jesse Jacksons rainbow coalition never materialized although his domination of a strong black vote was enough to enable him to carry major cities like New York. Someday it will come to pass. Theres talk of California becoming the first (outside of Hawaii) third world state, when Asians, Hispanics and blacks become a majority of the population in the next decade. I like the idea.

Well, enough ruminating but I see that unlike Teresa or Alice, Im interested in ideas, even ideas as banal as the ones Ive written about here. Thought Ive never liked to say it mostly because of embarrassment I am an intellectual. Teresa said she hates libraries and schools, and I find that dismaying. I spent two hours last evening, and another two hours today, in the public library reading. More than ever, I have a hunger for knowledge and books and ideas; I still remember how intoxicating they were to me as a kid. This morning Teresa never did get to Unemployment even though she was up at 8 AM; she must have made forty or fifty phone calls. I guess these are the important things in her life, but I really cant understand how she can spend so much time on all these details. I went out at 1 PM to join Justin, Nate and Justins actor friend Ryan for lunch at Eat Here Now. It was a welcome break, and I enjoyed the conversation. Today turned sunny and hot, not quite oppressive but getting there. Because Stacy called to push up our dinner date to tomorrow night, I called Grandma Ethel and told her Id now be in Rockaway on Thursday. Suddenly, with than less than two weeks to go before I head up to the Millay Colony, time seems short. Late this afternoon I went into

Brooklyn and had dinner with Josh at this glitzy Greek diner, Park Plaza, that just opened on Cadman Plaza off Pineapple. We walked around the Heights and shot the breeze. This has really been a pressure-filled week for Josh. Hes decided to forgo a trip to Europe and opt for a week in New Orleans in late August; I told him it will be hot then but hell like the city. Teresa left a message that Bob from Broward Community College called; he left his number in Florida. I suppose I should call him, but hes become so strange since he got rejected for a full-time job there that I dread speaking with him. Justins play Boundaries will be at Roosevelt Island next weekend, and maybe Ronna will want to go with me. Ive also got to get back to Mikey, who left a message on the machine. Before I go to Millay, I need to again see Pete, Ronna, Josh, Susan, Mikey and Amy, Justin, Alice and a few others. It feels really good to have all these friends. As the days go to the longest of the year and summer officially begins, I realize Ive had a great spring and winter wasnt bad, either!

Thursday, June 20, 1985

2 PM. Last evening I shared a good time with Dad. I went over to the Barbizon-Plaza, where he had a fairly crummy little room. Dad has a reasonably good day, making a sale of his new Left Bank line to Robinsons, the Tampa-based department store. Today he had just one appointment, with Jordan Marsh, and Dad said he viewed this trip more as a working vacation than a real business trip. The weather has been perfect fair, mild and dry a nice relief from Floridas brutal heat. Dad, like Ronna, told me Id lost weight, though since Ive been eating so many sweets, it hardly seems possible. After looking at my mail nothing urgent we went outside. Manny Hanny was sponsoring a three-mile run in the park and we passed thousands of runners. Dad got excited. In Florida, he hardly ever sees another runner, and here, at the races starting point, there were about 20,000. Dad and I walked up Broadway and had dinner outdoors at the Opera Express by Lincoln Center. He was amazed and horrified to see so many men wearing the yellow tie with dark spots that hed worn. Id previously had no idea that tie has become a sort of Yuppie uniform. After dinner, we walked up Columbus, where Dad had trouble believing what he was seeing: all the trendy restaurants, hip boutiques and

Korean groceries with their salad bars on a street he remembered as dismal. Then we switched to Amsterdam, still not quite gentrified, and finally Broadway. Since Teresa was in New Jersey, I took Dad up to the apartment so he could see where Ive lived and then we waited on Riverside till 10 PM for the bus back to his hotel. Ill probably see him again tonight. Earlier Id spoken with Susan, who, in a conversation with Darlyn Brewer of Coda, learned George Myers wrote in, asking if he could do an article on being a book critic; rather self-servingly, he mentioned Susans name and that of Bob Fox, whom Susan says is a pompous politicker. (George publishes Fox and Fox gives George an Ohio Arts Council grant I get it now.) Susan had a lot to say about her hour with Richard Price. Like Scott, he seems tortured and burned out. He and his wife and their new baby live on an opulent loft on Broadway, one decorated and furnished like something out of Architectural Digest. Susan found Price arrogant and his conversation she and he both made tapes was a running argument with himself. The literary side of him would like to go back to writing novels, but hes done so much better financially with screenplays that it hardly seems worth it, especially since he hates writing.

Price wrote seven screenplays, none of which will ever get made, but he earned $60,000 to $100,000 on each. He castigated the literary West End Avenue types who go to Hollywood with disdain; he loves being flattered and wined and dined by studio brass. Id like to hear the tape, but Im beginning to think that Price, Scott Sommer and others may stop doing fiction when they realize how meager the rewards are when compared with Hollywoods. And of course, I cant blame them. Susan said that both Price and Scott are hated by a lot of people, Price for his throwing his big earnings in your face (Chuck Wachtel) and Scott for making a small talent go further than people think it deserved to. Susans reaction to all of these writers seems akin to Jimmy Carters, when as a governor in 1972, met all the candidates coming to Georgia courting his support: I could do what these guys are doing. She could, too and maybe so could I.

Sunday, June 21, 1987


8 PM. Today was a sleepy, dark, drizzly day. At least I didnt spend much this weekend: about $18 total. Still, thats because I didnt do much of anything. I read the New York Times,

Washington Post and Newsday; exercised a little; lay around a lot; watched the news on TV; and mostly vegetated in an air-conditioned room. Tomorrow Ill be more energetic. I spoke to Alice briefly. She and Peter returned from a long weekend in the Bahamas, and as this week is busy for her, we made a date for Wednesday evening, July 1. Its hard to believe that in ten days it will be July and that half of 1987 will be over. I feel a bit lonely this evening, but I suppose Im more bored than lonely. Ive got to make sure I dont vegetate after this week, when my class at Teachers College ends. I remember how unhappy I was in July of 1985, when I felt at loose ends. At least Im writing more now. But Ive got to put structure into my life with work of some kind. I always talk about doing volunteer work; maybe I should march myself down to the Gay Mens Health Crisis and try to do some good in the world. Or else I should just get a job and make some money wordprocessing. Ive always hated it when I have too much or too little time on my hands, and I need to strike the right balance. Tonight I dont feel very happy with myself. I see myself as lazy and unmotivated. I seem to accomplish so little. Yes, its true that I dont do anything actively destructive, like drink or take drugs, but I dont do much thats positive, either. I dont have all

that many friends anymore, not even in New York City. Theres Josh and Justin and Alice and Ronna and Susan and Pete but I hardly have seen Ronna, Susan or Alice lately, as theyre all busy with their own lives. And I dont confide in people like Pete, who are writer-friends. I havent been very adventurous with new people, have I? I dont go out of my way to make new friends because Im so selfish of my time. Teresa may be extreme in the way she makes good friends so quickly, but I could learn to be more open like her. Well, dissatisfaction usually gets me moving in a new direction, and I hope it will now. I need to make some mid-year resolutions, I think. As terrible as AIDS is, it is sometimes very hard to be celibate, especially if its not entirely by choice. Im too wrapped up in myself and need to get out among people a lot more.

Friday, June 22, 1984


5 PM. After writing in this journal last night, I lay in bed thinking about life. You remember life. Exactly two years before, on June 21, 1982, I came to Rockaway from Florida. It was on a Monday and that night there was an eclipse of the moon. Grandpa Herb came out

with me on the terrace to look at it at 2 AM or 3 AM. He was very frail then, clearly dying, and a few weeks later would be the last time Id see him. I remember that visit was an unhappy one, mostly I see now because I stayed with my grandparents rather than with Teresa or another friend. I remember how I used to get distant stations on the TV on clear nights: channels 16 from Salisbury, Maryland; 10 from Philadelphia; 13 from Norfolk. Last night I watched a slightly fuzzy David Letterman on channel 40 from Wildwood/Atlantic City. I thought about my future and decided that my best bet is to head back to Florida, to try to teach and get my M.Ed. in computer education. I went back to sleep at about 3 AM and woke up six hours later to a glorious, cloudless, dry and mild day like Florida is in February. For once I went out with Grandma Ethel, as she had to sign something at the bank. Then I dragged her to the supermarket just to keep her out of the house longer. Later, while we sat on the terrace, she complained of feeling so sleepy all the time. Grandma hasnt yet gotten the doctors report on her heart. Arlyne will get it today, and if its bad news, very likely nobody will tell Grandma. Sometimes she appears to be dying, and yet with her sparkling new white dentures, shes

never had a nicer smile. The sad thing is that she so rarely smiles. I see now that much of her needless worrying is due neither to her limited intelligence or lack of education. While Grandma Ethel has great difficulty remembering things, she caught me on a minor error I made in describing a Rockaway bus route. I left the apartment at 1 PM. On the bus to Jackson Heights, I was surrounded by adorable teenagers, including two shirtless boys in cutoffs whose lean, freckled bodies reminded me of Seans. I took the IRT Flushing line to Times Square and then the uptown local. Tonight Im seeing Ronna. While I do care for her very much, I hope shes not getting too close to me because I dont want her to get hurt. Ill always be more attracted to men, and though Ronna, as a woman, can give me something men cant, I need the different kind of feeling that Sean gave me. Justin called and invited me over to Park Slope to play Trivial Pursuit tomorrow night, but Im not sure Ill go. Right now, after exercising aerobically for 45 minutes, I feel tired, but I also feel uneasy. Perhaps its neurotic, but I just feel that life has been going too well and I dont deserve it. So Ill make myself miserable to feel better, no?

Saturday, June 23, 1984


Midnight. Coming home on the 86th Street crosstown bus a little while ago, I found an ad in Section 4 of the Sunday Times for what would be my ideal job, a full-time temporary one-semester position at Nassau Community College. From meeting Jamess mother, and through her, other English teachers at NCC, I know the pay is good, the atmosphere is pleasant, and its only four courses per semester (one course is lit). I just wrote a good cover letter and Ill cross my fingers. Naturally, I dont expect to get the job; in fact, if I did, Id feel a few twinges about leaving Florida. But anyway, just applying for the job just there being an opening makes me feel optimistic about the future, as does an article in the same section about the end of the teacher glut. Like Robert Ringer says in Winning Through Intimidation, a book Josh is reading now, I may be a tortoise but what counts in life is whos first at the finish line, not whos ahead at the start of the race.

I feel pretty sure that my income and career will catch up to that of my friends eventually, and I wont always be a starving writer. Hell, for a starving writer, Im pretty fat, and I could probably use more lean years (though I know that these days affluent people are thinner). Last night Ronna came over at 6 PM, looking pretty in a rose-colored dress. We had dinner at Hunan Taste on Broadway and 82nd, and then deciding there werent any movies we wanted to see at the Loews 83rd Street Quad, we came home and stayed in bed for three hours. It was fine for me and I know it was good for Ronna, too. She realizes that theres nothing permanent in this except as part of our friendship and caring for each other. Weve stopped short of intercourse, as if to set a limit on the sexual part of our relationship; though it seems a little silly, both of us are happy with that. With Ronna, I feel close intellectually and physically, and we can also be kids with each other not easy considering our wrinkles, sagging bodies, gray hair (hers), and long memories. If its not the great passion of our lives, its warm and fuzzy and sweet and very important to me. I walked her home at midnight.

Today I went over to Joshs at 2 PM and we had lunch at the Cadman Diner. Although I hadnt expected to spend the day with him, he asked me to come along to a dinner Joyce was giving for him it was Joshs 31st birthday with Fat Ronnie and Sherry. Ronnie called, though, to say he was having a bad time with Sherry, whos violent and nearly psychotic ten days a month when shes going through premenstrual syndrome (or so Ronnie claims). Sherry wont see a doctor because she feels shes too fat. Shell go when she loses weight, Fat Ronnie said, but Ive been around psychotherapy long enough to smell a mass of neurotic rationalizations when theyre in front of my face. When Ronnie said tonight that Sherry often goes after him with a knife or causes horribly embarrassing scenes in public, I could see nothing ahead with disaster, especially if they go ahead with their wedding plans. (Fat Ronnie is supposedly marrying Sherry to get in on her job-related medical coverage pretty classic.) Anyway, Josh and I spent the afternoon in the Heights, buying books (I got a Spanish book and a BASIC text to read at the Millay Colony), walking on the Promenade, hanging out. At 7 PM we were at Joyce Hormans apartment on 76th Street and Second Avenue (her in-laws

live above her in the penthouse), where we had a macrobiotic dinner. I like Joyce a lot, and Fat Ronnie without Sherry was also fun, so the four of us had a good time. Joyce served us some good food, though a steady diet of brown rice, mung beans and steamed vegetables would bore me to death. Still, Joyce said the macrobiotic diet has calmed her down a great deal, and I feel pretty mellow right now although that could just as well be the result of the apple pie we had for dessert or, for that matter, the agreeable company. Joyce calls me Grayson because Josh has always referred to me that way, and I think she likes me. I get pretty silly sometimes, but I like to make people laugh. Going down in the elevator with Fat Ronnie (Josh stayed on, presumably to end his birthday with Joyce), I was flattered when Ronnie asked me if Id ever thought of doing standup comedy. I do like having an audience, but I suspect thats a teachers disease and that Im a lot more boring than I think I am. Only a little more than a week before I go to Millay, and Ive got some errands to keep me busy this week. Ive been in New York for over eight weeks just about two whole months and theyve been a happy, carefree time.

Wednesday, June 24, 1987


4 PM. I have a terrible headache. On each of the past two nights, I havent been able to sleep; maybe I got four hours each night. Usually I dont complain about insomnia, but today its hard for me to function. Luckily I didnt have much on my agenda, and Dad is coming over for dinner. Teresa will be going to her parents house in Williamsburg, so shell be home later than usual. Yesterday I met Dad in front of Wolffs Deli on 57th Street and Sixth Avenue at 5:30 PM, and we had dinner there. Hed walked uptown and said he had a good day at the showroom. If all goes well, he should be writing orders that could bring him a lot of money. The whole shirt companys business is expected to quintuple this year. After we ate, Dad and I walked back to his hotel room and he gave me my mail. There wasnt much of it. The good news was that I got a whopping $204 check from the State of Florida to cover my expenses on the last two computer education courses I taught in Miami for FIU. The bad news also came from the State of Florida; they still have me down as owing $2,140 for that student loan check I never received this term. I had a feeling back in April that Id be involved in some foul-up.

I dont intend to apply for any student loans again, and Im disgusted with the inability of CSI, the loan servicer, or the state to rectify their error after three letters and phone calls. This morning I sent all the information and a plea to Betty Castor, the Education Commissioner, to see if her office can help straighten out the situation. It makes me feel like screaming or suing somebody for the aggravation involved. I was cutting it close last night with my class, and out of stupidity and/or anxiety, I got off the very crowded IRT one stop early, which meant I had to walk the ten blocks from 110th Street to Teachers College. And of course the class wasnt held in our usual room, so I had to run over to the Micro Center in the library. Prof. Abeles discussed research applications for computers in the arts, and then we began showing our projects. I volunteered to go first, and Im glad I did, because everyone else worked on much more elaborate stuff. I felt a little humiliated, but the same thing happened in my Computer Graphics class two years ago. The truth is I dont have the patience for these projects. So I probably blew my A in this course, but I still think Ill get a B+ as I did in Software Evaluation and Computer Graphics.

Oddly enough, as I was walking to the bus stop, Prof. Anne Vollmer called out my name. She was surprised to see m, for shed assumed Id gone back to Florida for good. I had, I explained, but I was back for the summer. Anyway, I spoke with a woman at the bus stop on Riverside Drive who said she wasnt at all impressed with Teachers College, either. Teresa was half-asleep when I got home, but I couldnt get a quarter of the way to slumberland myself until 4 AM, and then I woke up at 8 AM. Today I did some banking and xeroxed the Grandma Sylvia, Superstar column from the Sun-Tattler. They put it above the Saturday Funhouse section, obviously thinking it wasnt exactly humorous. But it seems a good change of pace to me. In a way, the Sun-Tattler columns have allowed me to stretch and try out a variety of forms. I havent really been so creative since I was producing short stories at a fast clip in 197578. My head began pounding a couple of hours ago, and although I took an Extra-Strength Tylenol, it still hurts terribly. I did exercise at 10 AM to the Body Electric show, but I need sleep more than anything. *

9 PM. Dad came over at 5:30 PM and we had dinner at Marvin Gardens. For a change, it was sunny and pleasant out, so we talk a long walk down Broadway to 79th, up Amsterdam, where the combination of old bodegas, hardware stores and laundries on one side and Yuppie boutiques and restaurants on the other show a neighborhood gentrifying. We watched a rally against drug dealers on 92nd and Amsterdam Ill look for it on the news tonight and then walked up Broadway to 100th Street, down West End, over the Soldiers and Sailors Monument and down Riverside Drive. Dad said he was struck by the neighborhoods ethnic mix: Puerto Rican, Orthodox Jewish, black, Yuppie, elderly, gay, etc. He told me he thinks there are few places in America that contain so many disparate groups of people. After walking Dad to the Broadway bus, I went grocery shopping.

Wednesday, June 25, 1986


6 PM. In a little while Ill go to Teachers College for my last Software Evaluation class. Teresa and Ken were here for the last hour. Kens son John graduated from Bronx High

School of Science, and his daughter Jessica graduated from junior high; afterward the family (including Kens ex-wife and her husband and the kids grandparents) all went out for a celebration dinner. Teresa and Ken thought about going to Fire Island and got as far as Penn Station before deciding it wasnt worth it. Teresa picked up her mail and some clothes, and they took champagne glasses for a party. So I guess Teresa wont be coming home tonight after all. Last night I had a while evening with no plans. After dinner, I went out shopping at Red Apple. There are a lot of cut guys, most of whom look gay, in that supermarket, which might be a good place to meet people. For example, the guy in line ahead of me was not only nice-looking, but he had coupons and a guy who cuts coupons out of the newspaper is probably a good catch. Oh well. I couldnt resist a couple of easy cash advances at the Plus terminal at Chase Manhattan next door to the Red Apple. From 8 PM to 10 PM, I watched ABC-TV and worked out, concentrating on my back and arms, which are now nicely sore. After a shower, I began reading The Diaries of Adrian Mole, which is a delightfully hilarious book in the form of a diary kept by a 14-yearold British boy. I fell asleep early and slept

straight through till 10 AM, when a call from Mikey awakened me. We agreed to meet for lunch at Teachers up here, and after reading the paper, I was at the restaurant at noon. Since it was such a glorious dry, cool day, we decided to eat outside. It was good to see Mikey, but we seemed to have trouble making connections. I guess I dont talk about the stuff hes used to talking about. This sounds snotty, but the last time I was with Mikey and Amy, all they spoke about was Yuppie material: food, restaurants, clothes, furniture, and real estate. One on one, I found it easier to dominate the conversation, which I tried to steer more to talk about idea. Im afraid I bored Mikey and he bored me. Oh well, hes still a good guy and certainly the last person whod do something unethical to make money. Mikey is still extremely honest and trustworthy, but the high cost of living in New York has made him, as he admitted, more concerned with money. Back home, I got lots of mail: always a treat. Susan Ludvigson said she was sorry I didnt get the job at UNC-Charlotte but she had really pushed for me. She told me I should call Bob Parham at Francis Marion about an opening there, but I knew about that and purposely didnt apply because, having been to Florence,

I dont think I could be happy in such a rural location. Crad writes that the street is still terrible, but he seemed in better spirits. Harpers will reprint his Appeal to My Readers (the various ways to kill the Revenue Minister) in its September issue. Quite a coup, Id say. Crad thinks it was brought to their attention by Rick Peabody. Crad says hell be typesetting during the final weeks of July and expects to be nervous all summer, including his visit here in August. I got several credit card bills, and Mom sent along a Tropic contest announcement asking people to submit literary parodies relating to South Florida. Not only did I send them Arbys but I also entered their bonus contest which involved making connections between writers on a long list. For example: . . . Stephen King, Gore Vidal, Siegfried Sassoon . . . Kings novels are full of gore and Vidal Sassoon is a famous hairstylist. Reading over the Times Book Review and American Book Review reviews of my work reminded me that Ive received thoughtful, serious if not always favorable criticism. Because I had only a spinach salad at Teachers, my blood sugar has been low, so I

need to eat some carbohydrates before I go to class or Ill get shaky. I feel good about myself today, though. I see myself and Crad and Rick and my other friends finally gaining recognition come the 1990s. Theyll probably wonder where we were all these years. If I can bet another Zephyr book out, I can keep up my limited reputation until 1990. Maybe Ill have a breakthrough of some sort, though I cant believe one thing could do it.

Wednesday, June 26, 1985


9 PM. Back in New York, Im feeling confused. Not that Im having trouble orienting myself after my trip to Florida; the one positive aspect of this trip is that the gulf between the two places no longer seems so large. But Id planned my whole summer around this computer education course at FIU Id planned to take for three weeks, and now that its been canceled, I feel empty-handed and have no idea what to do. Last night my parents took me to Hurdy Gurdys, but I wasnt very nice to them, at least at first, because I kept bitching about how tings hadnt worked out. Then I realized I wasnt being very likable or gracious and made an

effort to forget my problems and talk with Mom and Dad. Still, being in their house subjects me to Dads constant worrying and Moms nagging, and it brings out a side of me the bratty kid that I dont feel when Im on my own. Marc again went to Danielas, so I had his room to myself and could enjoy cable TV until late. This morning I left at 10:30 AM, saying goodbye to everyone, and I drove along State Road 84 to the airport. Hertz made me pay the full weekly fare for the rental car; with insurance, it came to $85 and that upset me. Our flight left after noon. The plane was a 767, and by now Im so used to takeoffs that my heart doesnt race as the plane lifts off the ground. Due to thunderstorms, the flight was bumpy, but I did manage to watch the movie and eat most of the lunch. After 36 flights since 1979, I feel pretty much like a seasoned flyer. If I didnt have so much to cope with, I might have felt more depressed, but at Newark, I had to get my luggage and then get the bus to Port Authority and then take the subway home. I wasnt thrilled to find Frans cousin Wayne, a fortyish Chicago businessman, staying here. Apparently Teresa had given him and his girlfriend the apartment while I was gone and they werent expecting me back this early.

But they left after I arrived, with Wayne giving me instructions on what to say and not to mention Sue (the girlfriend) when his wife calls tonight. How sleazy! Teresa called to say she screwed up some money matters so what else is now? and that I should make out and mail some checks to various places. Her brother-in-law keeps telling her that she shouldnt be going to Europe with the co-op closing next week, but by now Teresa and her grandmother are flying somewhere in the North Atlantic, I suppose. However, I wouldnt be shocked if they come home earlier than theyre scheduled to. I got everything out of my luggage and into its proper place; then I went out and bought a few staples at the grocery. I phoned Josh and Susan to let them know I was back. Josh has been working hard and had just gotten back from Rheinbeck; hes very concerned about Blue Cross because Joyce handed in her resignation as of July 11. Shes taking a better job that will have her in L.A. for months. The other news is that James returned to New York on Sunday. Susan had a great weekend at Rochelles upstate; the country was peaceful and she met some nice people. Today her doctor told her that shes in her second month and that its

okay to go ahead with plans for the trip to Britain. Spencer said New Mexico is hot and lovely and he really enjoys the zen center classes. Tom sent me a letter in Davie that said he got the sole $5,000 Literature Fellowship in Louisiana this year (I should be happier about it) and will be at Linda Franciss Chambers Street loft next weekend; theres still no word on his sabbatical. Life goes on, it seems. (Ill always remember the last words of Seans final letter to me: And life goes on . . .

Wednesday, June 27, 1984


6 PM. Teresas watching Another World and Im at the kitchen table. Last evenings dinner was fine. I got to Mikeys apartment at about 8 PM, when he was serving hors doeuvres to Larry and Judy, and Judy was already somewhat drunk on wine. The new apartment is definitely a few steps up from West 23rd Street. Theyre on the eleventh floor and have a fairly spacious living room with a fantastic view of the Trade Center and downtown. The apartment is light and airy, a place Id love to live in.

We walked to the Village, and I realized that Mikeys block West 16th between Fifth and Sixth is one I was completely familiar with because Dads place was across the street on Fifth. It was a gorgeous night, cool and bright, and the Village looked wonderful, reminding me of the many happy times I had spent there. We ended up eating at BBQ, which replaced the beloved Cookery on the corner of University and Eighth Street. The Cookery was the first Village restaurant I went to fifteen years ago. Amy joined us late, coming from her shrink appointment; she greeted me with an effusive hug which I dont think was phony. During dinner, Amy felt her handbag being grabbed; it had been on the back of her chair and fell to the floor. She opened it and discovered with horror that her wallet was missing. Behind her was this black girl about 19 who said, Whats the matter? Amy looked at her and said, My wallet is missing. Because of the way I was seated, the fifth wheel facing the street, I was the only person who could see what happened next: the girl let the wallet fall to the floor. Its on the floor, she said coolly, and Amy grabbed it, checking to see that everything was inside. The girl shouted out, Is my takeout order ready? and walked over to the

takeout counter, but she and a companion soon left, and as they passed, we all exchanged wary looks. I admired Amys nerve, the way she looked the girl directly in the eye. Dinner was pleasant: barbecued chicken and ribs la Swiss Chalet and afterwards we walked back to Mikey and Amys. Overhearing Judy say something about a wedding, I walked ahead with Mikey and asked if theyd set a date. Sunday, November 11th, he said, and your ass is expected there. It will be in Roslyn at that, Mikey made a face and Ill be happy to have an excuse to come up in the fall. We all sat around for a while. Larry and Judy told me their friends in Fort Lauderdale sent them the article about me. When they had to leave, I decided to go, too. Amy had to get up early for her new job as director of special events at City Opera, and Mikey had to be at Legal Aid at 8 AM. Hes been looking for a new job for months, but its impossible to get a position with a criminal law firm but difficult to switch to civil law. I took the M5 bus at Sixth all the way up to the corner of Riverside and 85th, but I ended up walking to Broadway with an old lady whod gotten on the wrong bus. We chatted, and it turned out that she had been a friend of Edna St. Vincent Millay. Teresa was awake when I

went into her room, but she soon fell asleep. I, too, slept well. Today was a gorgeous day, but since tomorrow is supposed to be crummy, Teresa didnt go out to Fire Island. I suggested we ride out to Rockaway so I could visit my grandmother and not have to go out there on my own before I leave for the Millay Colony. Our day worked out very well. We went to Brooklyn, where Teresa looked at her co-op on Ocean Parkway, which is really still a lovely neighborhood. Then we stopped off at the college, to which Teresa hadnt been since graduation. The campus was beautifully manicured, with green grass lush on the closed-off quadrangle and a beautifully serene lily pond. Teresa was amazed at the halls of Boylan and their antiseptic neatness: no papers anywhere, so different from when we were undergrads. LaGuardia is still empty and awaiting renovation. On Hillel Place, we ran into Bruce, whos adjuncting at Kingsborough now and doing as much writing as he can; hes also still running. Teresa and I drove down Flatbush to Rockaway, stopping to drive through Breezy Point and then to the Rams Horn for dinner before getting to Grandma Ethels.

Since Aunt Tillie and Uncle Morris were visiting Tillie crochets, watches her soaps Grandma was more sociable than usual and she complained less, though she said her angina bothered her despite a clean report from the doctor. We stayed there a couple of hours Teresa knows how to talk with elderly relatives and then, after a boardwalk stroll, we drove home through Queens, then Teresas neighborhood in Brooklyn and back into Queens and over the 59th Street Bridge. We even ran into Alice (not literally) on Second Avenue as she was crossing at the light. It was a pleasant day. Teresa is wonderful, though Ive learned never to disagree with her about anything because she is always right. Tonight Im meeting Ronna at the Lincoln Center fountain after she finishes with her shrink.

Thursday, June 28, 1984


5 PM. Last night I was feeling pretty shitty when I went to meet Ronna, but she cheered me up right away as I saw her pretty figure come strolling over to the fountain. Id been upset about a lot of little things: feeling fat and pimply, worried about a USA

Today report that Miami-Dad is laying off a hundred staff members due to state budget cuts, and annoyed with Teresa after spending so much time with her. Its not Teresas fault, but I am delighted she left for the weekend tonight. It just isnt natural that two people spend so much time together, and Teresa has such a strong personality, I sometimes feel overpowered by her. Well, Ronna and I had a quiet, cheap lunch at Amys (felafel and hummus) and then all we did was sit out by Lincoln Center and talk. It was a very low-key evening, but as I told Ronna, it was exactly what I needed. I really felt like being alone, but if I had to be with someone, Ronna was the best possible person because I feel I can be myself around her, and shes so easy to be with. We talked about our careers and our hopes and shit, and occasionally we held hands. After a bus ride up to 95th, I walked her home and we agreed to meet again tomorrow night. I didnt fall asleep until 4 AM and though I had good dreams lots of subways in my dreams I felt icky today; it was just too much for me. Teresa said I should stay in New York for the fall, but I could never do that. As I told Ronna, we make fun of the term space as in I need my space but its a good word because it describes a real feeling.

Anyway, after two months of socializing in the Big Apple, Ive just about it had it and Im glad Im going to the Millay Colony. I should be anxious to work like a demon.

Sunday, June 29, 1986


7 PM. I watched the Gay Pride from the same spot I did last year, at the start of the march by Columbus Circle. Despite the AIDS crisis, this years parade a celebratory mood because of the City Councils passage of the gay rights bill. It was a hot sunny, day and everyone seemed in good spirits. Im encouraged that even in the conservative 80s, so many gay people can literally come out. Surely the world has irrevocably changed. Just to see so many people who are so diverse of every conceivable racial and religious group, profession, political affiliation, from different states and schools, people from teenagers to senior citizens is heartening. It reminded me of the old peace and civil rights demonstrations and those concerns were also in the crowd today: lots of signs against racism and apartheid, T-shirts of a mock Daily News front page with the headline GAYS S,

CONTRAS NO! and stickers that said NICARAGUA IS NOT OUR ENEMY. The police officer who constantly and goodnaturedly told us to move back a little was a young Hispanic guy perhaps ten years younger than I, and gay cops marched along with myriad other groups. The biggest applause, as usual, was for the Stonewall veterans at the head of the march, for the Gay Mens Health Crisis group (who held up giant safety pins to remind people about safe sex practices), for the People With Aids Coalition (another group, memorializing the dead, held up signs with their names I got a twinge when I immediately spotted the sign for Evan), and for the Gay Mens Chorus, the parents groups, the elderly (SAGE), the kids from Harvey Milk High School, and numerous lesbians organizations. There were some floats and some outrageous transvestites who made the crowd laugh with them, not at them. What cheers me is the number of different support groups of every kind, from Sober Lesbians (One Day at a Time) to Gay Veterans to alumni and religious groups. The spirit of the 1960s isnt dead, really; behind the materialistic ethos of today there are a lot of people who no longer live by the old rules: believe what the government tells you, go along to get along, dont call attention to yourself, etc.

Really, since I was a teenager theres been nothing less than a revolution in the way people in society think and act, not only in regard to homosexuality, but in regard to many other things. The thousands of people I saw marching did look proud. The last person in the whole march had a sign on his back that said FREE AT LAST. So maybe theres hope. Anyway, last night I read the Sunday Times and watched TV until I finally fell asleep. My wobbly front caps continue to drive me crazy. I slept until 10:30 AM. After the parade ended, I went uptown, had lunch, and read Newsday and the Washington Post. Newsday had an interesting group of articles on New York City as a post-industrial city, with the service economy and information-based economy providing most of the jobs. Unfortunately, with the decline of industry, poor uneducated minority youth are finding themselves permanently unemployable. They just dont need illiterate people anymore, and New Yorks ghetto kids will become the underclass that threatens to make this city sharply divided into the well-off and the poor. Nowhere is the gap between income groups as sharp as it is in New York City, and that spells big trouble for the future. Education is the

answer, but you know how much this country values education when they pay sanitation workers half again as much as teachers. Well, it didnt take me long to get into my usual gloom-and-doom mood, did it?

Sunday, June 30, 1985


4 PM. The first six months of 1985 are gone now. I dont know how to assess them or how to assess where I am now. (Yes, I know Im in Manhattan.) Last evening I went over to Ronnas, and from there we went to the Ziegfeld Theatre to meet her friend Ellen, whos 25 and cocky and bright. Whats your story? she asked me as we walked around, and that put me at a loss for words. Ellen wanted to know about my life, and I couldnt imagine how to describe myself without sounding like a pathetic failure. So I came off like an asshole instead. I dont know what it was, but it was as if Id forgotten how to act with people because Ive been spending so much time alone. Maybe part of it had something to do with Ronna. Seeing her, I realized I no longer feel as attracted to her as I once did, and I wondered if the attraction Ronna had for me

was because I always knew we were going to have sex. Oh God, I cant even express myself clearly anymore. What Im trying to say, I think, is that the expectation of sex with Ronna led me to view her in a sexual way, and now that the expectation is gone, so is the attraction. St. Elmos Fire was a despicable movie for its pretentious attitudes and stereotypes (especially of a flouncing gay character). Its been years since Ive heard an audience boo and hiss a picture like they did last night. I resent all the young actors playing college graduates and was gratified, at least, that they couldnt make the characters seem like anything else but shallow, selfish people. Going out of the theater, we ran into Alice, Peter and his son Brendan, whos grown up into a teenager, and I was very glad to see them. (Alice was the only one who liked the movie.) It was 9:30 PM and because I hadnt eaten dinner, my system was all upset. As we walked uptown, I grew increasingly irritated and didnt want to have dinner at Ronnas with her, Ellen and Laura, so I pleaded a stomachache and took the subway home. Ronna was probably upset, and I guess I was being rude, but I needed to be alone. I ate something and then got into bed with the

Sunday Times. All night I tossed and turned and had sick dreams of frustration and anger, and this morning I awoke feeling depressed. I saw myself as someone who never lived up to his potential, who never got his shit together: a failure who could never focus on anything long enough to succeed. Though the line in the movie that got the most hisses was I never thought Id feel this tired at 22, I can understand the feeling, in a way. To shake off my depression, I went to Columbus Circle and spent two hours watching the Gay Pride Parade. Sixteen years ago the Stonewall riot happened; I was just coming out no, not sexually, but out of the house after my terrible winter of agoraphobia. I was eighteen. Do I want to explore agoraphobia now? Is it a way of getting back to where I began to understand how I got from there to here? Brad was a part of that summer of 1969; when I called him yesterday, I got a recording that said his new number is in the 617 area code, Boston. Oh well. Back to the parade: it was great Its so good to see tens of thousands of gay men and women, black and white and brown and yellow, young and old, disabled people, parents of gays and gay parents, and all the various groups: the gay police officers, scientists, teachers. The parade got off to a rousing start with the Gay Apple Corps marching band, though the

banner that expressed the theme You aint seen nothin yet could be read in two ways. A car with two couples, two men and two men who each had been together for fifty years, was next, and hundreds of people followed. I clapped as the lesbians groups passed, and the alumni and college students from the various schools, the religious groups (a guy wearing a yarmulke held hands with a Catholic priest), the Parents and Families of Gays (always a crowd-pleaser), the AIDS patients marching behind a banner that said Fighting For Our Lives (That gives me a lump in my throat, said the woman next to me), the city politicians, the gay youth some from the Harvey Milk School and all the others. I hate parades and crowds, and standing in one spot for two hours made me dizzy and headachy enough not to want to go to the rally at West Street but I was very glad I went to Columbus Circle. Not to be corny, but it was beautiful to see so many diverse people with whom I shared something. I wouldnt like them all, or maybe even most of them, but all knew what it was like to feel different and to be oppressed in some way. I wish Id had someone to go with, but I was still happy to go alone. (Later, I spoke with Justin, whos still uncomfortable with the idea that hes gay. I like him, but hes such a wimp sometimes.)

It has to impress people that there are so many gay men and lesbians out. Imagine what it must be like for a confused boy or girl who thinks he or she is the only one in the world. As the last group paraded by and were followed by the clean-up crew, I left feeling better about humankind, if not about myself. I still have not accomplished very much.

Wednesday, July 1, 1987


Its 2 AM and I cant sleep. Alice and I were supposed to meet at a screening at 6:30 PM, but she called from her job in New Jersey and said shed be late. I got to the Lincoln Center area as it was swarming with police, who had evacuated and roped off most of the buildings. A Jewish group, in protest of tonights performance of the Bolshoi Ballet, had called in a bomb threat, and later I found out that the grenade they discovered proved harmless. But I couldnt find the theater where I was supposed to go, and it was 90 out, and I felt kind of helpless. At last I discovered the address of the screening room was at the Library of Performing Arts. I went in and caught most of the film which I think was called Maid to Order: Ally Sheedy in some typical Hollywood junk.

As I was sitting on the aisle in the second row, Alice came in about half an hour before the end of the movie and sat down in front of me. Outside, we got caught in a raging thunderstorm which flooded the streets and got us completely soaked. Alices umbrella was useless and we huddled under a bus shelter with a small crowd before the storm died down and we had dinner at Saloons Grill. Alice told me that Jason Epstein of Random House loved her proposal for the Donna McKechnie bio but wanted to see sample chapters to make sure Alice can write in Donnas voice. Since Donna is now in Toronto, it will be a while before Alice can get the sample chapters written. Meanwhile, another book packager has cheated Alice and not paid her $10,000 for work she did. We had a good long talk, and I came home at 10 PM. Restless, I had diarrhea and felt generally icky. Its been impossible for me to become comfortable. Is this the July malaise I felt last year and the year before? Sometimes I feel that Ive accomplished nothing with my life, and I get so frustrated. I could start beating myself up. Am I getting anywhere? Am I progressing at all? 1987 is half over, and what do I have to show for it?

Being here alone, without Dad or Teresa, for the first time in nine nights, feels odd. Im grinding my teeth again.

Wednesday, July 2, 1986


8 PM. I decided to go back to Manhattan this evening because I was worried about tomorrows traffic. This Liberty Weekend has been hyped so much by the media, I just wish it were over. Last night in Rockaway, when Grandma Ethel came home, we watched TV for a couple of hours; I fell asleep around midnight. It started raining hard during the night, and today was dark, cool and dreary. Unable to sleep late, I went out at 10 AM, taking Grandpa Herbs old umbrella with me. I took the bus into Brooklyn and then went to Sears on Bedford Avenue for a Discover cash advance. Its been a long time since Id seen such monumental incompetence as I did today at Sears customer convenience center. Nobody answered the phone, everyone walked really slowly and looked as though they couldnt care less, and from what I heard, other customers also couldnt believe how inefficient and fucked-up these workers were.

I had nearly an hours wait, something I never experienced at the Bronx store. With my $500 and some $400 in other credit card cash advances, I went up Flatbush Avenue to the Chemical Bank in Park Slope, where I found myself standing behind Jan Pirelli, Justins landlady; its a small world. For lunch I went to the Roma Pizzeria on Seventh and Union and had one of their baby pizzas, a delicious treat unlike any pizza Ive ever had anywhere else. Then it was back to Rockaway via the buses. Grandma Ethel seems to be feeling better, but we still didnt have that much to talk about. We watched TV and had dinner at 5 PM. As I went to and from Brooklyn earlier in the day, I saw hundreds of RVs and campers parked at Floyd Bennett Field; presumably people from all over the country were there for the July 4th Statue of Liberty anniversary festivities. I spoke to Harold, and we tentatively decided to go see the fireworks, though that may prove to be a mistake. This evening I made great connections getting to Manhattan through Queens, and I was back here at West 85th Street by 7 PM after only ninety minutes of travel. No mail except another bounced check notice for Teresa. And a very difficult Fire Island renter keeps calling her to demand his deposit

back; I see this in Small Claims Court all over again.

Tuesday, July 3, 1984


3 PM. I got about four pages of dreck written, but at least thats better than no dreck whatsoever. In a way I wonder why Ive come here to Millay to torture myself when I think of how comfortable I was in the city. This is a big shock after Manhattan, but I guess the others, all of whom live in the city, are feeling it too. Last night at the 6 PM dinner I met the remaining residents: Emily Berger, a painter about my age, and Sue Ribman, an older woman whos working on a book for children. Every one of the four of them is friendly, but as usual, I feel out of place. Theres no one here I can really talk to yet, and I miss my friends in New York and my family in Florida. After a spaghetti dinner, we went for a walk to the swimming pool, which has fallen into a state of genteel disrepair, and some tennis courts long overgrown with weeds. Norma Millay, Ednas 90-year-old sister, has a house on the grounds and presides invisibly over the colony.

Ann-Ellen, the director, joined us for coffee and seemed less aloof than I expected. At 9 PM I went back to my room so far I havent really used the studio upstairs and read for about two hours. My clock radio gets, at the very beginning of the FM dial, the audio from the CBS-TV affiliate in Schenectady, channel 6, so I can at least listen to the local news and network broadcasts. I couldnt get used to the animal sounds from outside, so I didnt get to sleep until after 2 AM, but I woke up at 8:30 AM for breakfast. We have to fix our own breakfast and lunch, and our weekend meals, so in that respect Millay isnt as luxurious as MacDowell or even the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. After breakfast, I went back to bed and actually fell asleep until early afternoon. I only just came back from lunch, which I ate by myself, with no one else around. You really dont see people here all day, and I wonder how long I can stand it. As at VCCA two years ago, I feel that Im not really a writer or maybe Im not the type of writer who can benefit from colonies. Still, I didnt do any writing the six weeks I had Teresas apartment to myself, and in Florida, I wasnt at all productive. Miriam wrote that she attended a Zephyr Press meeting and learned that the hardcover of I Brake is sold out again, but Phil Zuckerman of

Apple-Wood advised them that libraries will accept the softcover edition if they send it. The first novel contest, as I predicted, turned out to be a disaster; Miriam says thats the last time theyre going to get involved with something like that. No mail today, but Mom sent me my credit profile from TRW. I went through it, and its actually very positive with no errors or negative reports. As long as I have all this time to think on my hands (theres a terribly misplaced modifier in there, but maybe it expresses the way I have been thinking), I should give some thought to my future. Theres always the possibility Ill be called for an interview at some college, but I doubt it. (It would give me an excuse to get out of here, I guess.) I cant stay at Teresas and I dont really want to stay in New York beyond the fall. If Im back in Florida and not teaching, what can I do? I really think Id enjoy a job in the real world for a change in PR or banking or something. It would take away a lot of time Id otherwise have free, but Id also be freed from grading papers, and perhaps Id come home hungry for intellectual activity like writing. Besides, I need money to pay off my debts. And also important to me are the computer education courses I want to take.

Thursday, July 4, 1985


11 PM. The air on West End Avenue is hazy with exploded firecrackers. Ive just returned from Ronnas. At 6 PM Josh asked me to walk him to the subway, and as I went down Broadway, I saw Ronna walking towards me. Glad to see her, I offered to accompany her as she shopped for groceries and then I went back to her house, where I had a painful bout of diarrhea. I still feel a bit queasy, but talking with Ronna for three hours in her kitchen soothed me as much, if not more, than any medicine could have. I think I made her feel better, too. Shes been alone all day and had just gotten out for a walk. Ronna seemed depressed and I asked her about it. Last night she was out on a blind date, and she could tell from the start that the guy thought she was too fat. After twenty minutes, he asked me what time it was, Ronna said. Also we got into this later she learned last evening that the clinic at the Adler Institute is closing, so shell have to leave her therapist. She sure had reason to be upset. We talked so much: with Ronna, its so natural and we know each other so well. I made it

plain to her that to me, shes as sexy and desirable as ever. I told her about Justin and how I just couldnt feel attracted to him, and that led to a whole discussion on the difficulty of clicking with people. But it will happen for both of us again, Im certain. Ronna and I are both too special not to find people wholl like us. (Of course I already have and the problem is, nice as he is, I dont want him except as a friend.) With Laura away for the weekend, Ronna was alone and she said she was grateful shed run into me. Im certainly grateful I saw her. Neither of us would have called the other, although last night I did phone Ronna while she was out (now I know, on that blind date). When she wasnt home, I felt relieved, for Id gotten to thinking and would have said foolish things about wanting to be with her. (And, just as foolishly, I would have responded, she told me.) This morning I finished reading Kozols Illiterate America, a bit repetitive and polemical but a book that stirred me. I tend to agree with Kozol that not only does the power structure not care that one out of three adults are functionally illiterate but also that some feel (though they never would say it, of course) that its an advantage to keep powerless and uninformed.

At about 2 PM Josh came over and we had lunch at Marvin Gardens, then strolled through Riverside Park and down Broadway, ending up here for a good talk. Josh is upset that Joyce will be leaving Blue Cross and he doesnt quite trust Henry even though he plans on going into business with him. I broached the subject of a job with Josh, and he seemed to think I could definitely learn the software and work for them. But he seems unhappy in general and said it was an effort to get out of bed this morning. Hes probably still mourning his dog and the loss of his relationship with Wendy, poor guy. A sad sight on this July 4th were the beggars on every corner of Broadway. It kills me that some people have so little.

Saturday, July 5, 1986


3 PM. Ive just come from a two-hour walk up and down Broadway. Its hot and sticky out. Despite my best precautions, my forehead has broken out again. Rats! Anyway, I dont look all that bad. In my baggy shorts, I could almost fit in among the fashionable people of the Yupper West Side. My cheap blue pocket T-shirt doesnt quite make it, nor does my paunch. Oddly, I look better bare-chested than I do with a shirt on.

Last night I watched a great little drama on channel 13 from BBC-4, about a widow and her two sons struggles to keep a Scottish farm going. I especially liked the way the younger brothers homosexuality was handled naturally and casually, the way it was in My Beautiful Laundrette. Obviously a lot of people were as angry as I was with Mondays Supreme Court decision. There was a big demonstration in the Village yesterday, and people are planning strategy to roll back the sodomy laws in the 24 states that have them (including Florida). And in New York City, Councilman Noach Dear, an Orthodox Jew, abandoned his effort to get on the ballot a referendum to repeal the gay rights law. He said it was no longer necessary, because the courts would rule the law unconstitutional. Although Americans may not approve of gay people, I would like to think that most people hold privacy very dear. Still, its upsetting that gay people are essentially second-class citizens under the court ruling: heterosexuals are constitutionally given privacy rights that dont apply to gay people. Last night I slept really well. I had another dream about getting an F on a term paper, and in one dream, Leon, Elihu, Scott, Avis, and Jerry and Shelli appeared in my bedroom as I was apparently dreaming within a dream.

I again slept late, listened to Weekend Edition on National Public Radio, and did bench presses and chest flyes for nearly an hour before I showered and dressed. Ive been debating whether to sign up for that Popular Culture course on Mondays and Wednesdays this term. Against doing so is the huge cost: more than $600. However, other people spend money on vacations and luxuries and maybe I should pamper myself a little with a course that seems right up my alley and which stimulates my writing. Of course that would mean Id have school four nights a week, which might prove too hectic. Then again, Ive learned that time usually expands to take in all the work you give it. And I want to avoid feeling bored. Also, if I take six credits at Teachers College this fall, Ill need only sixteen more to get my M.A., which means I could do that next summer if I wanted to. I dont know. It would be good to take a non-computer class like three of the four classes I took this past winter in Florida. I really dont need another two credits in education, but this class might be fun. I could drop it after Monday night if it seems like its going to be bad, and for all I know, it may not have enough students registered to go. Ill see, but right now Im leaning toward taking the class.

Monday, July 6, 1987


10 PM. I was up early today and left the apartment at 8:30 AM, just after the cleaning woman got here. Downtown, I met Josh at Film/Video Arts on Broadway and East 12th Street. We decided to do the taping right there after Josh was able to secure a room. If we had taken a taxi to Joyces, we would have been loaded down with more equipment than we could have handled. I find it hard to believe how much equipment was involved, from the camera to the tripod to all the lights, the video monitor, the power pack and zillions of cables and other stuff. By comparison, writing is so simple; you can do it with a pen and paper, or at its most complicated, with a computer. It took Josh over an hour to set up and then figure out how to get everything working and eliminate shadows and other technical problems. Joyce arrived with all her photos and mementos; she had to catch a 6 PM flight back to L.A. today and she had an upset stomach. Josh had given me a list of questions, I got to ask most of them, but I changed the order. Joyce talked about Charless disappearance and death, the movie Missing, the political situation in Chile and she did very well,

without even breaking down. Her answers were thoughtful and I think Josh got some good material. We taped about thirty minutes worth, and then Josh tapes photos of Joyce and Charles in Chile, the picture of her and her in-laws from People, and the movie and book paraphernalia. Obviously, Joyce will never get over that horrible tragedy for which the U.S. government is probably responsible. Its heartening how a Hollywood movie seemed to crystallize Joshs story as well as it did; the film led to lots of publicity, and Joyce even got to speak at the UN. Before Joyce left, she said she may be moving back to New York City. Joshs friend Sally appears to be happy being Joyces father-inlaws companion, as she genuinely likes Ed Horman, even with his dementia. After Josh got the equipment put away, he had forty minutes of tape that hell begin to edit on Friday. We had lunch at Dojo on St. Marks Place; Josh paid for me as thanks for helping him, but I genuinely enjoyed being involved as the interviewer on a project like this. I think Joyce and Josh would eventually like to put together a half-hour film with some grant money. Teresa had called last night and said she wouldnt be back today. When I returned to the apartment, I paid some bills and looked at

my other mail, which included a long, very sad letter from Crad. The final breakup with Gwen MacEwen has devastated him. Granted, Crad is melodramatic when he says that Gwen took a knife and cut out my heart and other such mishigass. But the poor guy is suffering terribly, with thoughts of suicide. Gwens constant belittling of him (of course, only a neurotic would pine away for such an imperfect relationship) has left him bereft of self-esteem, Crad says, and he has no joy, no pleasure, no rest. He didnt get the Ontario Arts Council grant for his work-in-progress about life on the street (a story only I can tell . . . the big project Ive been preparing for years without realizing it) even though Gwen was one of the four grant panelists. Its not as much a financial blow Crad recently got some money from a family trust fund but an emotional one, and Crad says he now realizes that hes a failure as a writer and will never get respect as long as he remains selling his work on the street. While others get reviewed in the Globe & Mail and respectable places, Crad feels hes just an eccentric with a cult following. After fourteen years in Toronto, Crad says he has few friends and is very lonely.

Because Toronto has become so expensive (Yuppie Hell), hes decided to move to Hamilton, where he can live much more cheaply, and to stop street-selling and get a part-time job (I see myself cleaning toilets). Well, I feel very bad for Crad, but I do think its time for him to get off the street and I also think the move to Hamilton might do him some good. I felt depressed and lost when I moved to Florida in 1981, and the change certainly helped me. Maybe for Crad, all this trouble is a blessing in disguise, though I certainly wouldnt tell him that, in that its getting him to change his life. Remember my favorite line of Rilke: for there is no place that does not see you / You must change your life. Josh came over at 6 PM and we had dinner at Marvin Gardens and saw The Witches of Eastwick not a bad movie at the 84th Street sixplex. This afternoon, Josh got the results of blood tests he took at his doctors three weeks ago. He tested negative for Epstein-Barr and other problems, and he tested negative for the AIDS virus for the fourth or fifth time. Now if he doesnt stop his hypochondriac ways, he really needs help.

Tuesday, July 7, 1985


9 PM. The long weekend is over. Last evening I spoke with Susan, whos having troubles with morning sickness and getting down to the business of writing, and I read the Sunday Times. After a grand nights sleep, I spent most of today working out, reading Charles Newmans The Post-Modern Aura: The Art of Fiction in an Age of Inflation (some intelligent and original ideas are embedded in the jargon), and lolling about (I even took an hour in the sun in Riverside Park because I felt I could use a little color). Josh came over at 5 PM or so and we had dinner at Szechuan Broadway. Hes a good pal to hang out with on a lazy summer Sunday. My beard is growing back in, but Im now at the point where I look like a bum, which probably wont help me on my job interviews. Perhaps a haircut will make me look less seedy. Im starting to wonder if I should even go to the interview in Westchester, but then again, I hate it when I sabotage myself all the time. The main question facing me is whether a $50 bill for a car rental is worth an interview. Tomorrow Ill go to John Jay, of course, but Im not confident these days about the impression I make. Maybe I need an image consultant?

Certainly my sport jacket is tacky (Sears blue blazer, with padded shoulders polyester, yet), my pants ditto, and my shoes arent in very good shape because I bought them in August 1983, at J.C. Penneys in the Aventura Mall when I had just moved in to North Miami Beach. Lets face it: in this Yuppie world, Im an outsider almost as much as Crad Kilodney. The difference between me and Crad, however, is that I dont revel in my situation and I do understand what would be fashionable. I keep hoping for the end of this era of mindless consumerism, unthinking patriotism (Rambo and shouting U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!), callousness toward the poor and unfortunate, and greed on a grand scale. Were 55% through the 1980s, and a reaction probably isnt in the offing for another four and a half years if then. But the world may surprise me. Ten years ago who would have believed that OPEC would be on the verge of collapse as a worldwide oil glut continued? Or that Id have eighteen graduate credits in computer education? Or that Reagan would be in the second term of a wildly popular presidency? Or that New York City would have rebounded so strongly from near-bankruptcy? For all my reading about trends and the future, Im still pretty scared about whats facing me.

In one sense, I have many of the skills and attributes needed for the vaunted Information Age: flexibility, an ability to learn, a broad (by todays standards) education, a willingness to adapt, good communication skills, an analytical mind, etc. But I look at society and wonder if it really needs someone like me. Certainly the world doesnt need another fiction writer thats part of what Newmans book is all about. And yet I go along merrily, enjoying every day, to be sure, more than most people do but am I living in a fools paradise? The fact is, my future is no more secure than a welfare mothers; I only assume it is, and as everyone knows, assumptions are dangerous. Im a generalist in an age of specialists, the wrong man at the wrong time. And yet I cant deny that Im having fun. So far 1985 has been like one big party for me though very few party-lovers would recognize my existence as such. Im doing things I enjoy, though, and how many people on this planet can say that?

Wednesday, July 8, 1987


2 PM. Like last summer, this summer has not been especially hot, but the humidity levels have been extraordinarily high. For weeks Ive

felt a coating of sweat on my body at almost all times, and since Ive been exercising a lot, my acne has flared up terribly. Really, South Florida isnt much worse than this, because there everything indoors is airconditioned. Even at the risk of losing my chance to go to MacDowell, Im looking forward to returning to Florida. Yesterday I wrote Crad a long letter sympathizing with his problems but advising him to seek therapy. Hell probably reject my suggestion and maybe get offended, but I believe he needs professional help. Anyone that miserable shouldnt have to suffer needlessly. Early last evening, I went to Teachers College and wrote for ninety minutes in the computer room. My column was on suntans, but it just isnt very funny. I need to revise it drastically, and maybe then I can hammer into something publishable. As it stands, its a pleasant but wimpy piece. Back home, I began reading Arthur Schlesinger Jr.s The Cycles of American History, a very good book I got in the library. Schlesinger takes theories of his father, Emerson and others to postulate alternating cycles of conservatism and innovation/liberation/reform. He predicts the next liberal cycle will begin around 1990, when the generation inspired by JFK (who was part of the FDR-inspired

generation) takes power. Schlesinger thins a new liberal era will end around 2010, when the generation inspired by Reagan will come to power. I still hope for a sea-change in national thinking, but Im worried that the country may turn to some extreme right-winger. It disturbs me that Oliver North appears to be coming off as some affable, boyish, charming patriot and the Congressional committee, the establishment, coming off as villains. Essentially North is a thinking conservatives Rambo, and Im afraid the public will fall for this crap. If extreme conservative do take (continue in?) power in 1988, its possible even a depression couldnt change the national mood. Well, thats the worst case scenario. It still seems more logical that Schlesinger and others are right. The country feel like its stagnating, and how much more greed can we take? I read Schlesinger until 3 AM because I couldnt sleep out in the living room. Last night Teresa came home to pick up checks, file the court documents relating to the West End Avenue apartment (Freddy has agreed to get out in January) and pick up her paycheck at work. She has Kens car and has been tooling around, running errands. This morning she left at 10 AM, and an hour later, I did aerobic dancing with Body Electric (I

also worked out to their Tuesday 4:30 PM show, so Im pretty sore), and then got a ton of mail from Mom. My column on ALOHA, acquired lack of humor attitude, looks good in print, though I had problems getting a clear xerox copy. I got my Gold American Express card with its $5,000 line of credit from AmExs nonbank bank in Delaware. I plan to keep my green AmEx card for MCI and other purchases and use the Gold card checks as cash advances when they arrive. Hopefully Ill be offered an Optima card eventually. I was preapproved for Torch Club, the Amoco/Diners Club joint venture, and even though I have a Diners Club card, this one is revolving credit, so I took it. I paid bills to various banks, and FAU wrote that the loan problem is finally straightened out: its off CSIs books. This evening Im having dinner with Stacy and tomorrow, breakfast with Pete Cherches, whose book, according to Alice, has been in B. Daltons window for the past two weeks.

Monday, July 9, 1984


3 PM. Im in my studio. Ive been happier today than any day since Ive gotten here at

Millay. Its been sunny since yesterday afternoon, when I lifted weights and did the first two chapters of the self-teaching text in BASIC; doing the math and learning, or brushing up on, the language are exhilarating. Last evening I met Flo and Kurt, the caretakers, who were on vacation all last week, and Flo promised thered be more food this week. I had lunch an hour ago, and weve now got peanut butter, rice cakes, tofu and other goodies. Yesterday we all made hamburgers, and it was a riot watching five cooks running around a kitchen spoiling the broth or, in this case, beef. The room got as smoky as a backroom at a 1920s political convention, but it was good to bite into a bun with beef and raw onions and ketchup. Afterwards, Emily, whod returned from her weekend wedding at 5 PM, was kind enough to drive us (all except Matthew, who went back to work or to sleep) into West Stockbridge, the nearest town, just over the state border. Its not much but a tourist trap, having been bought a few years ago by a developer who decided to turn it into his idea of a quaint New England town. The result is a kind of hokey, nearly horrendous, mixture of shops, restaurants and inns in fact, exactly the sort of kitsch thats a perfect antidote to the rustic austerity of Austerlitz.

We looked around a precious toy store and bought homemade ginger ice cream cones; then we walked past the towns stream and its art park where Vietnamese boys were playing ball. In the general store, I bought some caffeinefree Coke cans and Sundays Hartford Courant, which had a fine article by elderly Martha Munger from our South Florida Book Club in the magazine section (edited by the guy who used to edit Tropic for the Miami Herald. It was a real treat for me to be out in civilization and look at tourists eat dinner in the Shaker Mill Inn. The sky was darkening and the green hills of the Berkshires were a stunning sight Ill remember when Im back in the flat terrain of Florida. Back at the colony, I slept for ten hours solid, refreshing myself after being totally exhausted. This morning I got mail forwarded by Mom, and again, hearing from the outside world is a real treat, too. I got rejected from a fiction job at SUNY Oswego; a guy in Oregon wanted my autograph for his collection of presidential candidates; Diane Kruchkows latest Small Press News (with a well-deserved salute to Rick Peabody) arrived; and Mom sent along the application from Lake City Community College. I filled out the application and sent it back to them, as its got to be there next week. Lake

City is forty miles north of Gainesville and sixty miles east of Jacksonville, and it has only 3,000 students; its probably Southern and rural. I was even happen happy to get my first bills from my new credit cards and Goldome Visa and Citibank MasterCard. And Ive got todays and Thursdays New York Times yet to read. I like the crowd here: Emily reminds me a lot of Avis in the way she walks and moves. Claire is funny and hip, and Sue is 44, a bisexual typesetter who has run a womens martial arts center. Except for Matt (who Ive liked since VCCA two years ago), whos got to complete his MOMA composition by August, everyone here is pretty relaxed about her work, so I dont feel guilty about not being productive or for goofing off. Emily plans to drive to Manhattan on Wednesday after dinner and return on Friday morning. I think it will be okay if I mail my unemployment stuff a few days late; it shouldnt matter to the Florida labor department.

Tuesday, July 10, 1984


1 PM. In my studio again, Im looking out at the field, watching Kurt, the caretaker, cut the

grass. Although I have a headache and my wisdom tooth has been paining me for days, I feel much better about life here at the Millay Colony. I no longer need to count the days, though that may only be because Im going to New York tomorrow evening with Emily and Matt. Yesterday afternoon I wrote a little, and now I have six pages of a pretty good story, Thank You, Payne Whitney. I imagine if I could write just one story that could go into The New Yorker, Id be more than ahead of the game. Reading PW last night, I came across an interview with William Zinsser, an idol of mine because of his book On Writing Well. He said that today the action is in nonfiction, and I think hes right. Its not so much that I dont want to write; its that I dont want to write fiction. And for a long time, Id rather read nonfiction than fiction. What Ive got to do is plan some book projects in nonfiction and send query letters to agents. Theres the possibility of a book about my publicity stunts; or I could do a serious book of interviews, maybe with baby boomers; or a book about agoraphobics. We had a fine chicken dinner last night, and early on, I retired to my bedroom to read and to listen on radio to the CBS TV station carrying the Miss Universe pageant from Miami. There were a lot of descriptions of places in Miami,

but instead of viewing them, I had to imagine them, and I realized I missed Florida. The producers of Miami Vice, a TV show for next year, said Miami is an American Casablanca , where one can get anything done for a price. (Idea for publicity: I could picket the NBC building in Rockefeller Center, protesting the title Miami Vice.) Because Flo, the caretaker, said shed drive us to do our laundry this morning, I got up at about 7:30 AM, and we left in the pickup truck, making stops in West Stockbridge before we got to Great Barrington. Flo said that Gordon Rose, the New Yorker who bought up much of West Stockbridge and made it touristy, is not liked by the old residents, most of whom are Italian and keep to themselves. She pointed out a house where Shaun Cassidy was spending the summer. Speaking of celebrities, yesterday the actor Roscoe Lee Browne was laughing all morning in the office. He visits every so often, as hes Norma Millays best friend, and Flo thinks its likely that Roscoe will inherit Normas house. Tom Selleck is another friend of Normas who visited last summer, and Roscoe is friendly with him and with the cast of Days of Our Lives. In the strip center in Great Barrington, Sue, Matt and I did our laundry, though because neither of them does laundry regularly, they put in too much detergent. Then Matt and I

had a problem figuring out whose black T-shirts and white briefs were whose. I enjoyed being able to go to K-Mart and a bookstore and a Radio Shack while the laundry was being done and while Flo was shopping for Norma. At 11:30 AM, Flo, Sue and I went to Dos Amigos, the Mexican restaurant in the center, and had delicious burritos a real nice change of pace from Colony food. The conversation was also stimulating, as Flo talked about her year here and how each months group is so different. In the summer, she said, you get people who work but who also treat their stay as a vacation; in the winter, people work continually. We got home about half an hour ago. Todays warm and sunny, but rain is expected tonight. Ill always be grateful I had the chance to see this part of the country. Being here between Albany and the Berkshires is a real education.

Friday, July 11, 1986


3 PM. Ive come down with a cold. It hasnt quite broken out yet, so either its coming on slowly or else maybe I can keep it from developing into a major nuisance. I first

noticed it when I got home from school at 9 PM last night. Obviously the emotional stress of this week hasnt helped. My colds always seem to come when Im about to make a change in my life. In any case, I plan to pamper myself a little. Ive just spent a couple of hours in bed listening to classical music. The cleaning woman was here at 8:30 AM, and I went off, first to read the newspapers, and then to get to the CCIMS lab at Teachers College to work on word processing. I wrote my log for the Computers and Writing course and worked on a new rsum for nearly two hours. I feel very fluent on the word processor, and I think if I had one at home, I could definitely increase my productivity. Yesterday, I was about to get on the bus at 86th and Broadway when I heard someone calling my name. It was Sue Ribner, who was putting up posters for her womens karate school. I was very glad to see her, and I walked with her for another ten blocks as she put up posters. Shes still running the karate school, taking Chinese lessons, and working on her book, and she got away on a trip to Japan. But her family problems continue: her mother had a nervous breakdown three months after her father died (shes better now but she had to go to a

sanitarium), and then her sister had a relapse of her cancer. Sues sister seems unlikely to survive now, and Sue will be responsible for her 17-year-old nephew, whose father died last year. Poor Sue. She never seems to get a break but what a good person she is. We parted at 96th and Amsterdam; she had to meet a friend, and a blind old lady whod just had two teeth pulled asked me to help her to her apartment a couple of blocks away. After that, up at Columbia by 4:15 PM, I spent half an hour on the IBM-PCs in the lab and was a little late to class. Computers and Writing is definitely many times more interesting to me than Software Evaluation. Im enjoying learning about writing process theory and the computer. After class, from 7 PM to 8 PM I went to the workshop in the library and helped out the women sitting with me, both of whom were very unsure on the computer. One was a teacher from Kentucky, and the other just graduated Syracuse and will start teaching this fall. Teresa didnt come home last night, so I had the place to myself again. I should have really enjoyed myself, but I was starting to feel sick. However, I did finish half of the Colette Daiute book and read the next days Times.

Now that Ive taken Money and Banking at FAU, when the Fed cuts the discount rate as it did yesterday, to 6% -- I understand it all. In fact, the business section of the paper is the first section I turn to these days. The first half of 1986 was pretty anemic in terms of economic growth, but the outlook always was for a more robust second half. Now people are starting to wonder. Parts of the country the oil patch, the farm belt, the mining regions are in a kind of localized recession, and while nobodys predicting a general recession, this recovery from the 81-82 recession is very old, and you cant cheat the business cycle forever.

Friday, July 12, 1985


8 PM in Rockaway. Id forgotten how beautiful the beach can be on a summer evening. A cool breeze is blowing, and I feel pretty good. I slept wonderfully from 10 PM until 8 AM, getting just the sort of refreshing sleep my body needed. My dreams were nourishing, and I woke up feeling energetic and optimistic. Because I was already packed, I figured Id get an early start, so after I read the papers, I took off. Id been wanting to stop at LIU to see Margaret Rubel, but when I got to the school, I found it

closed for the day. I noted that the second summer session starts a week from Monday and that theyre offering several English classes; though they probably have teachers assigned, it wouldnt hurt for me to drop by and see if a course is available. It was interesting to see downtown Brooklyn: Flatbush and DeKalb, Juniors, the LIU campus, the time and temperature sign atop the Dime Savings Bank; many years of my life were spent there, and I got the feeling things are on the upswing again. Its hard to believe, but its only six years of my life that I have not been living in Brooklyn. I took the IRT to the Junction and got on the Rockaway bus, watching the old neighborhood as we passed by. Although it was a bit cloudy, there were dozens of beachgoers on the bus, most of whom got off at Riis Park. I, of course, got off at the end of the line Beach 116th Street and went over to Ciros Pizza for lunch. I began thinking about whether to go to Florida or not and realized something that hadnt really occurred to me before: namely, that theres no time limit on when I go there. All along, Ive been thinking that I have to get to Florida in late August so I can begin taking classes and/or start teaching or else I have to teach in New York in September and not leave until December or January, when the semester ends.

But what if I dont get a job in academia? Then I can come and go at any time. Id miss out on taking or teaching college classes, but even at the public school level, its likely there are vacancies during the year; certainly I could work as a substitute. And again, even if Ive got a teaching job here, nothing says I cant, if Im unhappy, quit in October or November and return to Florida before January. Thinking this way makes my decision less threatening and less awesome. Grandma Ethel looks pretty good now that shes gained weight (a side effect of her antidepressant), but she admits shes become very forgetful and shes still as out of touch with the world as she ever was, though she showed me she could still do a decent disco dance to a Madonna video of Material Girl. We watched TV and talked until 3 PM, when she went out to talk with the ladies in the park and I lay on the beach. The beach is relaxing, but I hate the sand and lack the patience I used to when I was less worried about skin cancer and wrinkles. So I was back here at 4 PM; Grandma followed half an hour later, and we had a decent supper. I called Mom, who spoke to Grandma mostly. It was too hot for Mom and Marc to go the flea market today, she said. Grandma Ethel left to make a living (play cards) at 6:30 PM and should be back soon.

President Reagan will require surgery to remove a precancerous intestinal polyp tomorrow. Tomorrow is also the big Live Aid rock concert to benefit the starving Africans; a billion people will see it on TV live from London and Philadelphia.

Monday, July 13, 1987


11 PM. Ive just come back from going to get tomorrows New York Times at the corner of 86th and Broadway. I do that most nights. Although were in the grip of a heat wave, it was comfortable out just now. Its obviously better here than it is in Florida. I spoke to Jonathan today, and he said theyd had the hottest June ever recorded in South Florida and that July was continuing just as bad, with temperature highs of 93, about the same as ours. The difference is that when Jonathan goes early in the morning to set up in the flea market, its already 85. He told me the intense heat had discouraged flea market strollers and has hurt business. Last night I dreamed about being back in Florida.

Ive decided to stay in New York City until Wednesday or Thursday, August 26 and 27. If the MacDowell Colony hasnt called me to say that theyve got a space for me by then, I can still go back to Florida and register late for a couple of courses even though the school term will have already begun. Ill be happy to go to MacDowell, but Ill be happy to go back to Florida, too. I feel very lucky about my life. Teresa said its been hot on Fire Island, but she didnt come home tonight, and I feel Ive had as much privacy as Ive wanted. This apartment has really been my home while shes away. I know so many people on the block; every day I say hi to various neighbors and the mail carrier. Up at 9 AM today, I went to the bank to deposit money, and I ordered a replacement pair of lenses; my current pair are so cloudy, theyre almost opaque and theres no sense in holding out till I get to Florida to get a new pair. Back here, I exercised to Body Electric, the same aerobic dancing routine show I worked out to on Saturday. My body is looking better although sometimes it seems that every guy in Manhattan has a perfect build. I watched the Iran/Contra hearings and was glad that some senators and representatives told Ollie North that those who oppose aiding the Contras can still be as patriotic as he is. I

think he needed a few lectures on our system of government. It still disturbs me greatly that so many people can revere a hero a man who admits to lying and falsifying and shredding documents. The American public may be getting dumber, but that tits in nicely with the prime motif of this decade. At 4 PM I met Susan Mernit at the Argo diner for an early dinner; shed just come back from the shrink. We talked about writing and literary politics and magazines and this and that. If only I had someone in Florida with whom I could talk to like that, Id be much happier there. We walked down to Shakespeare & Company to browse, and then Susan got some H&H bagels before getting into the subway to return to Zack and Spencer in Brooklyn. Tomorrow I plan to go to Rockaway. Last week, when I talked to Justin, I mentioned that I always think Im lazy and undisciplined yet Ive managed to keep a daily diary for nearly eighteen years. Justin said hes never been able to sustain a diary, and really, no one else I know has, either. But to me, this kind of writing isnt really work. I dont revise, I rarely plan ahead when Im going to write, and besides, life wouldnt seem as real if I didnt record my thoughts and my activities.

No, I dont expect except in my more manic flights of fancy that this diary is a literary document of interest to many people. But its important to me; it kind of keeps me honest. I couldnt do anything too awful because I know Id have to face the blank diary page and explain myself afterward. Not that I dont lie to myself from time to time, but its harder to lie to a diary.

Saturday, July 14, 1984


5 PM. Ive only just gotten to my studio. Today has been such a sunny and mild day that I goofed off most of it. I feel kind of sleepy even though I slept well, dreaming that a woman met me and told me I was gorgeous. Although I woke up at 8 AM, I kept going back for more, and it was 1 AM before I joined Matt and Emily at the breakfast table, where we discussed the difficulties making it as a composer, painter or writer. Emily decided we should try to pick up the mail, but by the time we drove down to the post office, it was closed, as the postmistress had just locked up. So Ill have a bigger batch of newspapers and maybe mail on Monday. For an hour early this afternoon, I sat out in the sun, getting just enough color to ward off summer pallor. I wanted to exercise but I felt

too tired to go ahead; instead, I read U.S. News & World Report the stories other than the one about me. Last night at Tanglewood was terrific. Sues friend Christine, whos at the Cummington colony, drove here after going to Albany for her Unemployment, so we had a sixth person and second car. We had chicken and macaroni salad and other goodies to take with us as a picnic supper, and we stopped in West Stockbridge for other stuff, like diet soda for yours truly. Following a shortcut Matt knew, we were only a few minutes away from Tanglewood. We paid our money and took our choice spots just behind the shed on the great lawn, spreading out our blankets and having dinner al fresco. At 7 PM the weekend prelude recital began, with pianist Gilbert Kalish playing Haydn and Schubert. It was exciting to be in a big crowd, but peaceful because of the music and the quiet of dusk. After the sun went down, it got cooler, and at 9 PM the Boston Symphony, all in white, came onstage and with Kurt Masur conducting, they played Webers Overture to Oberon, Beethovens Piano Concerto No. 4 in G, Opus 88, and then the highlight, Mussorgskys Pictures at an Exhibition, orchestrated not by Ravel, as Ive always heard it done, but by Gorchakov.

Im an ignoramus when it comes to classical music, but over the past four years Ive listened to it so much on the radio that a lot of names and familiar music have penetrated my nonmusical skull. At the end of the concert, getting out quickly, we had no trouble finding our way home, and I went to sleep right away since my usual thinking time had been done at the concert. Emily, glad to be back after her romantic disaster in New York, feels Millay is a great place to hide from the real world, and shes right, but I want to get back to the real soon. I no longer feel antsy about being here or at least I dont feel that way today but Ive got a lot I want to do. Previously, when I was at VCCA, I set goals for myself for the following year, and Im doing the same here. First and foremost is taking the graduate courses in Florida Atlantic Universitys computer education program. It will be hard work and Im sure Ill get frustrated, but its also an exciting investment in knowledge and my future. The more I think about it, the wore I dont want to teach at Broward CCs Central campus again; in fact, I think Ill be disappointed if I do get hired, but I cant turn down the money. Its just that its so much drudgery for so little reward.

Teaching at South campus would be easier, and I intend to see Betty Owen before I see Dr. Grasso or Dr. Popper. But I dread grading papers. Id like to take at least three grad courses in LOGO, BASIC, and the introductory computer class. The would give me, along with PILOT, twelve credits computer education. I should meet with my adviser at FAU and check out if there are any jobs there for me. Living at dorms in Boca, possibly with Jonathan, is another option I have. Or I could check out the Nova dorms in Davie. I have no doubt I can make money somehow. For one thing, I just need a job to support myself as a grad student, not a career. How can I be sure this years foray into grad school will turn out to be any less of a fiasco in last years experience in the doctoral program at the University of Miami? Instinct, I guess: I feel good about this. Going for a Ph.D. in English was a last resort; going for an M.Ed. in computer education is an opportunity. What about my career as a writer? Well, I intend to self-publish one or two chapbooks la Crad, using different publishers imprints. One might be a reprint of Disjointed Fictions, my most underrated book. I wish I had my stories here so I could plan the other book, but there will be time for that later. I dont expect to be in the public eye since I wont be a candidate for anything, and maybe I

can use the extra time and energy to devote to writing articles of all kinds for money, even. I wouldnt mind researching subjects and doing articles for commercial magazines. If Alice and June and others can do that, I probably can, too; Ive just got learn more about it. But I still need and want a fiction chapbook or two to keep my hand in that and to keep up the illusion that Im making progress. Luckily, I have enough of a backlog of old stories to make a couple of books, if not more. So there are some worthwhile goals. What else? Personally, Ive got to slow down and continue to work out, but I need less muscling up than slimming down, and Ive got to diet and do more waist exercise, and also I need aerobics. I intend to dress better, meaning that I should wear only clothes I really like. And I want to make friends in Florida with a more intelligent group of young people; obviously, Id also like to find a lover, and I intend to put more energy into that. Does this sound like a parody of a member of the Me Generation? Probably, but Id rather sound silly than be depressed. I also intend to learn a lot more about banking and publishing.

Sunday, July 15, 1984

5 PM. Last evening I wasnt very hungry at dinnertime and therefore I avoided the baked scrod, which I dont like anyway. We all went out at about 8 PM, piling into Emilys car and driving into Stockbridge. After a quick walk around the stores, we sat having drinks in the backyard bar of the Red Lion Inn, established in 1773 and as touristy a place as you can imagine. Still, it was a relief to be relaxing away from the colony. We all get on very well and are good friends by now. Home at 10 PM, I read PW, Small Press Review, and other stuff until about 2 AM, when I finally fell asleep. Up at 9 AM after an anxiety dream (Jim Ledford of BCC was giving me a test and thought I was cheating; obviously thats a reflection of how I think he and others there eel about me), I joined Matt and Emily at breakfast. Then I listened to CBS TV news about the San Francisco Democratic convention until 11 AM, when I began an hour of weight lifting. Groan but it felt good when I stopped. Once I got out of the shower, I took a blanket outside and again sunned myself. I like having color, and in just half an hour for two days, Ive managed to get tanned again. The radio warnings about heatstroke amuse me because its relatively cool here compared to what Im used to in Florida.

This afternoon I did more writing and thinking. I answered letters from lots of people, too. Rick Peabody says that Esquire again phoned him asking about Crad and other young writers. Rich doesnt say if he mentioned me, but I think by now Rick knows Im not going to be one of the baby boom hotshots. Still, everyone here whos read my work Emily, Claire, Matthew and Sue have all told me Im very good. They could have avoided saying anything, so I dont think theyre patronizing me. Im trying to prepare merely from a list of previously published story titles a couple of chapbooks for the spring. I realized that I have enough top-quality (by Grayson standards, that is) stories to make another full-length collection of at least four chapbooks. Its important that I publish a book or two next year so I stay in touch. Im really lucky I have a backlog of over fifty uncollected stories. I hinted to Rick that Paycock Press might want to do a book of mine. Obviously I dont have the money to spend, but I can afford the $1200 or so involved; again, its an investment in myself and my career just like the masters program at FAU. Careers in the arts are so fluky. Last night Matthew got a phone message that a Contemporary Records Company wants to record his music; hes got to call them back on

Monday. Matt said he vaguely remembers entering their contest and wonders whether theyre crooks. When I get back to Florida, I really should make an active effort to get my stories published in a book. The trouble is, all the small presses are so backed up with projects and most publish only their friends. Rick says hes liked by lots of young people in the New York publishing industry, but the old farts distrust and dislike him: Will we have to wait until everyone born before World War II dies before we get anywhere? Sometimes I wonder.

Wednesday, July 16, 1986


1 PM. My Computer and Writing teacher was absent yesterday, and Prof. Robbie McClintock took her place, lecturing on DOS. Some of it was familiar to me, but I learned a lot about the PC-XTs hard disk drive and how to work with it. After class, I went up to the library and wrote for twenty minutes; then I had some pizza at Broadway and 111th before coming home with some Korean salad bar goodies.

I thought Id feel more energetic today than I actually do; Im still real lethargic, and after reading a USA Today interview with a woman died a week later of AIDS, I began to worry. She said she had a bad cold last year, and thats how her AIDS started (she contracted it from her bisexual lover who died a year ago). I called up a city hotline about HTLV-III antibody testing, and the woman in charge asked me if I was in a high risk group. When I told her I was gay, she said the test wouldnt be accurate if Id taken in semen in the last three months, and when I said I hadnt, she told me Id have to think about how Id react to a positive result: Ive seen a lot of people who beforehand are sure they can handle it, but when it comes down to it, they fall apart. Still, a negative test result would make me feel very relieved. Because Ive never directly taken in semen by mouth or anus I would think Im probably not at risk, but I am worried about my health. Never before in my adult life have I had four colds or viruses within one year as I have since last summer. If this was 1976, I probably wouldnt be concerned. But if I have AIDS or will get it, is it important to know ahead of time? Is there really any psychological preparation I can make for a fatal diagnosis? Would I do

anything differently? To all these questions, my answer is that Im not sure. Ive been living pretty much in the here-andnow anyway, not worrying about the future or permanence. Maybe theres no sense in making it all happen faster if its going to happen. And maybe Im just depressed because of my low energy level now, and I just have a bug and it will go away and Ill feel better soon. Teresa will be home tonight, but I spoke to her in Fire Island last night. She finally called Ken and was stunned that he was polite and wanted to come out to Fire Island this weekend and talk things over. Im not surprised because Ken never knows what he wants. Teresa is obviously hoping against hope for reconciliation. Shed settle for less now, clearly. Well, I figure it could go either way, and that for Teresas sake, a clean break might be best. But she loves him and knows how hard it will be to find someone else.

Friday, July 17, 1987

8 PM. I feel very hyper this evening, most likely because Ive learned Ill be going to the MacDowell Colony after all. Teresa called late this morning with some messages Id received and one of them was from Chris Barnes, who had some dates for you. Puzzled, I soon remembered that Chris was the MacDowell director, and I called immediately, just before 5 PM. He gave me a choice of two periods, and I picked the three weeks from August 28 to September 18. Obviously, Im excited and elated. Its ironic that earlier in the afternoon, Id made a reservation on a flight home on August 26; now Ive changed to September 23, four weeks later. I figure Ill be able to return to New York City and have a few days to see friends and Grandma Ethel before I go back to Florida. Im nervous, of course, that somehow this wont work out, but thats my neurotic superstition that things shouldnt work out too well for me. Unfortunately, I still become a trifle uncomfortable with good news. Also, this drastically changes my plans. I hadnt expected to hear from MacDowell until the last minute. Of course, now Ive got weeks to adjust. Three weeks at MacDowell is enough time for me, and Ill be seeing New England at a great time of year. It should work out.

So why do I feel so antsy? Part of me wants to go back to Florida and take courses, but right now its important to me to feel like a writer again; theres time to be a computer teacher. I left Rockaway at about 10:30 AM. Grandma Ethel wasnt feeling well last night, she told me; she had pains in her chest and side. It made me sad to leave, as I realize Grandma is not going to be around forever. For a change, I took the Q53 bus into Queens and then the E, D and 1 trains home, where I was confronted with a lot of mail. My Beneficial National Bank Visa card has converted into a First Chicago Visa card, with a new account number and even a new card that will come later. Id known First Chicago had bought out BNB, but I didnt know theyd change the banks name and everything. The 21% interest rate will be changed to a new variable rate which is now about 17%. They must be pretty confused because they also sent me the bill of another cardholder, someone in the same zip code whose name also begins with G. I got a couple of other bills, from AmEx, Bank One Visa, and Discover, and the application for Optima from AmEx; I do hope I get the Optima card, and I just wish Id been pre-approved so I didnt have to apply myself.

Also, I got a new credit card, Money Express, from Bank One; its good at tire dealers and auto supply stores and carries a $1,000 credit limit. My credit union statement arrived, and as Ive done for the past several months, I discovered a discrepancy when I tried to reconcile my share draft balance but since the statement shows me with $600 more than I thought I had, I wont worry about it. I do need to get another checking account, though, to replace the Citibank (South Dakota) account. I picked up my new contact lenses, bought stamps and groceries, returned a book to the library, made several purchases at Shakespeare & Company, deposit $500 into my Chemical account and read the papers this afternoon. Over the phone, Teresa and I went over her mail; she got checks from the agency and also via her brother-in-law, from Donna for the July rent now that their case has been settled. Ronna called and we agreed to get together tomorrow evening. She was on her way to Tarrytown, where her father had just had surgery for a thyroid tumor. Ronnas mother had the same operation many years ago. Its caused by the old-time treatment of acne and eczema with radiation. Mr. Cs tumor was benign, but because he had arrhythmia during surgery, his heart is being

monitored now. Ronna will stay with the baby till tomorrow evening so her stepmother can go to the hospital. She also told me that her sister thinks Im terrific; God knows why that is. From 2 PM to 4 PM tomorrow, Ive been invited to go on Scotts walking tour of Chelsea, and I told Scott Id be happy to go. It was pleasantly warm today, but tomorrow its supposed to go past 90. I called Mom to say hello. She said that yesterday Dad was in Tampa, where he learned hell be losing the Robinsons account because its been bought out by a big department store in New Orleans. They still havent heard back regarding the return of their down payment on the house. God, I feel strange. Ive been in New York City eleven weeks, and in six weeks Ill be in MacDowell. All in all, Ill be away from Florida for nearly five months total; actually Im happy about that.

Thursday, July 18, 1985


11 PM. Sometimes I think Crad and Toms belief in the film and popular culture myth of the writer doing heroic work against the odds (which will be recognized after his death) is healthier than what might be my clearer

perception of reality, that we dont matter much. That may be why both of them are writing a lot while I remain blocked and silent. Still, it seems to me that the healthiest response to the question of a writers eventual renown came today from Pete Cherches at lunch: I dont care if Im famous after Im dead. Id rather be famous now and forgotten when Im dead. I jokingly told Pete he and I were Information Age writers while Tom and Crad were Industrial Age writers. You could write a thesis on that, he said. What Tom and Crad have in common with Pete and Josh is revulsion of humbug, cant, and the accepted wisdom. All of my writer friends, I think, are good at seeing the emperors new clothes for what they are and when we do that, as Tom and Crad and I did yesterday (Susan Bernofsky was so quiet I kept forgetting she was there) we have a great old time. Last night, with a break for dinner at a Greek greasy spoon (Crad refused to go to someplace nicer), we talked away until well after 8 PM, at which time Tom and Susan went home.) Then Crad got out the snacks he bought at Sloans and started behaving like Mr. Fussy. Although it wasnt hot last night, he demanded the air conditioner be turned on and lots of other little things. Hes no very flexible and adaptable, and in his way, he seems to his

creature comforts every bit as much as the Yuppies do. I rented two movies, which kept him amused and quiet, and I fell asleep about 1 AM. But two hours later I was in the same panic about my future that I experienced a week ago. Scenarios kept popping up my head, and the terror of moving to a new place here in New York City or in Florida and taking on new jobs kept me up for hours. One way Ive hedged my bets is to send query letters about adjunct courses to FAU and FIUs English departments; I might as well find out if the Florida colleges scorn me before I scorn them. Life is so much easier in Florida, so much more simple but I feel Im wanted here in New York and not there. Well see. Ill talk with Teresa when she comes home; Ill wait to see what job offers come my way; Ill check back with Teachers College; and Ill also see what happens with my teaching license applications. I know that after a year and several months of an easy life, Im about to begin a difficult period. This morning Crad and I had a good conversation as he chain-smoked in his pajamas. When I left him at the 42nd Street station, I felt real affection for him. I certainly wish I had Crads faith in himself and his ability to withstand being outside society.

I do feel more at home with Pete, whom I met at Dubrows. Like myself, Pete values the comfort of a conventional job. But he was tired after staying up most of the night mixing the recording he made on Monday. How long Pete can combine computer programming and his East Village art, literary and musical activities is anyones guess. I exchanged xeroxes of my stories for the work of Lynn Tillmans and Harrison Fishers and we enjoyed Dubrows old-style Jewish cafeteria among the garment workers before the close the place down to make way for a high-rise. Hot in my tie and jacket, I took the PATH train to Journal Square in Jersey City, the first time Id ever been there. It was like an adventure to be in a new city. I walked past the downtown stores to Kennedy Boulevard and then up a few blocks to St. Peters College, a lovely place. For half an hour, I sat in the quadrangle and listened and watched as a jazz combo (all white guys) entertained and answered questions from a group of kids (mostly black). Dr. Welsh, the English Department chairman, was an intelligent and perceptive man; we developed a rapport from my first answer. I could tell he was impressed with me, and it would be a real treat and a learning experience to teach at St. Peters but as he himself suggested, Ill probably get better offers because they can pay me only $330 a credit.

Thats pretty bad. Its sad I cant afford to teach there, I thought, as I went back to Manhattan.

Thursday, July 19, 1984


1 PM. The last couple of days have been interesting. Yesterday I decided to go home next Tuesday, so I told everyone I had a job interview in Florida. I called Mom to send my mail to Teresas, and I left a message with Teresa to hold my unemployment stuff, which Ill mail out on Tuesday, only a day late. Gail said shed drive to Hudson on Tuesday and I should be at Grand Central before rush hour. Ill have been at Millay for a little more than three weeks, which is really the ideal amount of time for me at a colony. Now that I have five days to go, I feel relaxed even though I havent produced much of anything here. Im glad I was among a small crowd who also enjoyed playing around rather than constantly working. Yesterday was a dark, rainy day. I went back to sleep at 7 AM and stayed in bed most of the gray morning. In the afternoon I finished Joyce Johnsons book a terrific memoir and began thinking of other memoir-type books that Ive loved.

I can tell Im really a teacher because as I read Minor Characters, I kept thinking how Id like to xerox parts and use the book in a classroom. Id love to be able to design a course using books like Johnsons, Harding LeMays Inside, Looking Out, Nicholsons Portrait of a Marriage, Exleys A Fans Notes, Conroys Stop-Time, and other biographical or autobiographical works. From 3 PM to 5 PM, I lifted weights, forcing myself to exercise when I really didnt want to; naturally, I felt better for it. Sue and I began dinner for ourselves and were joined later by Matt and Emily; Claire didnt feel like eating until later. Putting something away in the refrigerator, Emily got her pinky finger stuck in the door and she was in terrible pain. Sue held the finger under cold water as I stroked Emilys hair and Matt went to get the first-aid kit. Emily really mushed up the finger, but it wasnt broken and eventually she calmed down. Im certain that the accident happened as a direct result of her finding out that she didnt get into that show at the Drawing Center, which had been the reason for our trip last week. To cheer Emily up and to take her mind off things, we decided to go into Great Barrington to do our laundry, but the trip was doomed from the beginning. We got terribly lost in a raging downpour, and then we got to the laundromat too late.

Driving home, we encountered dense ground fog: essentially clouds kept wafting by as we drove through them. And the car made a rattling noise, too. I was relieved to get home, where I listened to the Democratic convention: Harts speech, the rollcall for President with Mondales nomination assured. This morning wed made up to the laundry in Chatham, N.Y., which we hadnt visited before, but as we got going, we were greeted with the knocking noise of last night grown much worse. The muffler had rotted away from the pipe and was hanging down. In Chatham, we found a service station that would repair the car, so I handled all our laundry Matt had been asleep, so we took his for him while the women had breakfast. And when I was finished putting the clothes in the dryers, I went to the local coffee shop and had a terrific burger and french fries. Chathams a real small town, not touristy like the Massachusetts towns. At the diner everyone seemed to know everyone else. The car was ready just as the laundry was finally done, so everything worked out well. Emily paid with a check and was glad to have the repairs over with. We just got back here and Ive been looking at my mail. Manufacturers Hanover sent me an

application for another $500 six-month CD, and Ive decided to go ahead with it. Their Ready Rate feature gives me access to my money and lets me borrow 80% of what Ive got on account, so I really cant lose. I intend to run up huge credit card bills, but I also want to have big savings accounts. Silly? Not really. The finance charges on the loans I pay will be tax-deductible, and as Ive said before, its important to have relationships with lots of banks. I have credit cards with Chemical and Citibank, as well as Landmark, Mellon, California Federal, Goldome, etc.; Ive got CDs with Manny Hanny and Chase; and accounts with First Nationwide and my credit union. Mom sent me another rejection, from Clark University, who said that my publications, while impressive, could not compete with some of our applicants who are extremely well published. Susan Mernits letter must have crossed mine in the mail. She apologized for not calling, but shes been working feverishly on her new novel and its taken over her life. Ill see her before I go, Im sure. Another person Ill see in New York is Crad Kilodney, wholl be there for the first two weeks in August, dividing his time between Jamaica and Plainview. Crad has misgivings about this trip because his mother is very ill.

Tonight the documentary Crad is in will be shown on CBC television, and the two new books are selling well, allowing Crad to live off cash flow for a bit. Good for him!

Saturday, July 20, 1985


5 PM. The heat and humidity are getting to me. Also, Ive spent today alone, without any phone calls, and Im bored. I should be reading or exercising, but I cant manage it. My head and stomach have been hurting me for some time. When Josh got here last evening, I felt faint, possibly from not eating although I seem to have no appetite. I did feel better after we had dinner at the American Diner, but I wasnt up to going to the movies. Instead, we rented Birdy and watched it here; both of us enjoyed the film, which had intelligent and sensitive performances. I walked Josh to the subway station at 10:30 PM and then came home to bed. I slept well and for a long time, but my head still felt heavy all day.

My only journey out was to get a slice of pizza for lunch and then go to the 42nd Street library. At the out-of-town newsstand, I got the Miami and Fort Lauderdale papers. Reading them depresses me because I remember how narrow-minded and parochial Broward County is. Every time Im certain Ill go back there, Im reminded of what I hated about South Florida. But New York City seems so expensive and so hard. Im beginning to believe I need a new option, a city thats cheaper and more laidback than New York but more progressive than Fort Lauderdale. I wish I could find a place where I belong. I know Ive scattered my efforts. In many ways Im a confused failure. I cant seem to focus on anything, not even this agoraphobia book. Probably I need therapy, but I cant afford it now and dont know what do about that. Hey, I see from the top of this page that today is the sixteenth anniversary of the first moon landing. I was pretty confused then too, I remember: I was eighteen years old and only just getting over agoraphobia. If I call myself a failure now, I was certainly one then. I couldnt even attend college until my first summer session course that year. Thats the summer I answered Brads ad in the East Village Other, the summer he used to pick me

up in his green Mustang and I was too scared to do much beyond hold his hand. The past few days I cant get Sean out of my mind; I keep seeing guys who reminded me of him. The truth is, Im lonely. And confused. And I feel an awful lot like a failure. But Im 34, not 18, now, and if I have a record of accomplishments friendships, love relationships, success living on my own, my jobs and my publications and everything on my rsum I also know that I dont have my whole life ahead of me the way I did in the summer of 1969. True, I was a fucked-up kid, but my life was fairly stable: I had college, my parents and brothers, a secure and safe home. There was almost more permanence in my life then than there is now. Last night I read a Chinese proverb: He who does not know where he is going will journey the farthest. Does that mean life is most difficult for those without a clear goal? Or that life is most rewarding? When I think too much, as in the past couple of days, I just drive myself crazy. Remember the Emerson quote I used as the epigraph for Eating at Arbys: Do not craze yourself with thinking . . . I feel in turmoil, the way I felt at the end of the summer in 1968, when I couldnt attend Brooklyn College and didnt know what to do

with my life. I had panic attacks, but before I got worse, I was able to go places. I remember spending the Jewish holidays in 1968 with Grandma Ethel and Grandpa Herb in Rockaway and while I was there one evening going to visit Grandpa Nat and Grandma Sylvia. It was just across the street, but I got a panic attack on the way. Theres a photograph of me from the terrace from that visit: I am a skinny seventeen-yearold with his hair flopping down into his eyes. I wish I could go back in time, as in this summers hit movie, and talk to that guy half my age. What would I tell him? Would I make him optimistic or despairing if I told him what the next seventeen years of his life would bring? What would the 51-year-old Richard Grayson of 2002 say to me today? I cant imagine being 51, but perhaps its not as hard as it was for me to imagine, back in 1968, being 34 years old. Grandma Ethel says that apart from her aches and pains and memory lapses, she doesnt feel like an old woman, that in her mind shes maybe about 27. Will I ever feel old? Id almost like to: not tiredold but wise-old, settled-old. Ah, like all days, today will pass and the mood with it but its also real enough to return. This may sound sophomoric like the kid who started these

diaries in 1969 but I dont have a clue as to what the fuck life is all about. Damn this stupid introspection! No wonder my head aches. Hey, kid, its just one of those days. You need to get busy, get moving. I will. Maybe though, for today, I should get all this drecky angst out of my system. President Reagan left the hospital a week after his cancer surgery. I wish I had his unthinking, optimistic attitude towards life. Yeah, Id rather be one of those people who see life as sturdy, to use Emersons word.

Sunday, July 21, 1985


2 PM. In an hour Ill meet Josh at Chambers and Broadway, and then well visit Tom. Josh was livid that Newsday cut up his article, taking out all the vivid phrases, giving it a dopey title (Sad Memories Linger of the Day His Dog Died) and chopping off the ending. I told him it read okay to me. Thats show biz: when you get paid to write, the words may not be your own. My left eye has been itching when I put my contact lens in: not good. And the past few days, Ive been more depressed and anxious than I have been in a long time. Again last

night, I couldnt sleep. No surprise, I guess, since I slept so much during the day, but frustrating nonetheless. When I phoned Dad to wish him a happy birthday, he said, Dont worry. Things will work out. But I know he of all people would be worrying even more if he were in my position. I feel like a failure, and even potential successes scare me. Like the agoraphobia book: I cant seem to get into the project and I resent myself for having started it. Don Booth of Toronto called me. He and his friend have $50,000 to do a low-budget movie and they want to see any screenplays or samples of stories that might make a good movie. Ill send him a few scraps, but I dont feel confident even though his friend read I Brake for Delmore Schwartz and pronounced me a real writer. Ive scattered my energies all over the place in recent years. Im unable to develop a passionate commitment to any project. I really do need therapy. Im drifting. * 9 PM. I have a bad eye infection. Its not just my contact lens, but now wearing my lenses is unbearably painful. I put them in before I left this afternoon, but by the time I got to the Chambers Street station, I was itchy and uncomfortable and after Josh

and I arrived at Linda Franciss spacious loft, I took out my lenses. Luckily Susan uses the same solution I do. I put them in again to go home, but I couldnt stand the itching and discomfort, so I took my left lens out at 72nd as I waited for the local. Theres mucus in my eye. I dont know if I need new lenses, but I shouldnt try to wear them for a while, and I should probably see an eye doctor. This summer is reminding me a lot of the summer of 1980 when I felt so desperate even though there were beautiful times with friends. This afternoon with Josh, Tom and Susan was wonderful. We talked and got along so well; the conversation was always stimulating, and Josh liked Toms unpretentiousness. They were good enough friends to let me talk about my fears and insecurities. But Ive always been lucky in my friendships. When Im beating up on myself, as I have these past few days, I even feel I dont deserve such friends. Do I give them what they give me? And yet, unfortunately, now Im alone as I need to be to figure out what the fuck Im going to do with my life. This eye infection comes at what seems a proper time, and Im sure some stress-related physical problems will come later. What Ill remember about today is being with Tom and Susan and Josh in that loft, going out

to eat at Hamburger Harrys, seeing everything through the fuzziness of myopia. I wished this afternoon would never end. But after 8 PM it started to get dark, and once again I felt like a mess of confused feelings. Its still 90 and humid. Teresas sister called to say that Teresa will be back from Europe on Tuesday, though she probably wont come home till later in the week. July hasnt been my month. But Ill get through this.

Wednesday, July 22, 1987


2 PM. Its another day of high temperatures (today could equal yesterdays 95) and humidity, and Ive been hanging out in Teresas air-conditioned bedroom. I pray that the decade-old air conditioner does not die before the end of the summer. It amazes me how people like Josh, Ronna, Susan and Harold do without air conditioning. My arms, back and legs ache from working out, although I did still exercise to Body Electric this morning. Maybe I need a break. Ive also been reading a great deal. I finished Why Nothing Works, in which Harris gives some novel theories mostly related to

the switchover from an industrial to a service and information processing economy about the rise of feminism, gay liberation, black urban unemployment, street crime and the shabby products and services Americans have to put up with. At 11 PM last night, having finished the book, I went out for todays Times and read it until I fell asleep about ninety minutes later. Disappointingly, there was no mail today; I was hoping to see last Saturdays column in print. I really dont feel like braving the hot weather today except to do some necessary shopping. The last three weeks have been almost entirely filled with 90 days, and no end to the heat wave is in sight. The dog days of summer didnt wait until August this year. New York is not an air-conditioned city, either. At least in Florida, you go from a centrally airconditioned house to a cool car to cool public buildings. Well, at least Im not spending so much. Yesterday I spent less than $9 and today I have yet to spend a cent. Thats lowering my denominator, I guess. Crad said that the column I wrote on Grandma Sylvia was great and that I should be syndicated nationally. When will someone in power share that view?

Earlier, I was thinking that I havent had the pleasure of seeing a new book come out in four and a half years. In the four years between 1979 and 1983, I had all my books come out. I really do feel bad about not having a new book. I dont have any new stories for a Zephyr book, and its obvious that no one wants my uncollected stories for a new volume. Perhaps I should see if Zephyr would take the best of With Hitler in New York, Lincolns Doctors Dog and Disjointed Fictions for a trade paperback. Or is it just not worth it anymore? I dont seem to know how to get fiction published today. Ten years ago I was writing like crazy and sending out to little magazines, getting many rejections but also getting plenty of acceptances. Every time a new story would come out in a little magazine, Id put the copies on my bookshelf in my room; eventually my shelves were getting filled with little magazines that displaced other books. God, that time seems so far away. Teresa just called, asking if I want to come out to her parents in Mattituck next week. I was noncommittal, but I dont really want to go. She asked me to bring some stuff over to her friend Micki so that Micki can take it to her on Fire Island. Then Alice phoned, asking if Id go computershopping with her on Saturday; naturally, Im

more than glad to help. Actually, I think Id like to go to Rockaway on Sunday and Monday and spend another few days with Grandma Ethel, especially if this heat wave continues. Tomorrow night at 9 PM, Harold is coming over after teaching at John Jay. But Ive been alone most of the time lately, though of course Im used to that from living in Florida. I guess I was better off taking a class to provide some outside stimulation, but I didnt want to pay the Columbia tuition, which is going up to $325 a credit next fall.

Monday, July 23, 1984


Noon. This is the last time Ill be writing at this desk with my window overlooking trees and fields. I was going to go to New York tomorrow by train, but Ann-Ellen is driving into the city this afternoon, and Ill go with her, as that will save me train fare and lots of trouble. Ive just finished packing. The others want to take me out to lunch in West Stockbridge in an hour. Im glad that at dinner last night, I told everyone how wonderful it was to be with them. If Ive neglected to write one thing about the Millay Colony these past three weeks, its that I havent really said how the five of us have

functioned like a real family, with caring and concern. It could have been terrible here, but the four people Ive been with have all been sweet and kind; theyre tolerated my ornery ways, my bad puns, my refusal to join in drinking and running. I havent felt like an outside at all. Emily came back yesterday afternoon with Jason and his brother, and they took me and Sue to a hidden lake where I sat in the sun and watched the women swim. Later in the day, I wrote four pages of an essay and then had my third typing cartridge run out. That meant I did type at least fifty doublepaced pages here: mostly fragments, but some substantial ones, of stories and essays. I certainly did more writing than I would have done anywhere else. For dinner last night, Sue and I cut up pieces of marinated lamb, tomatoes, onions and green peppers, and I put them on a skewer for shish kebab. Afterwards, I drove us into West Stockbridge for ice cream cones. It was fun, if a little challenging, for me to drive up country roads in darkness. Emily is smitten with Jason, so it seems the start of a deeper relationship for them. Claires art dealer, Stephen Rosenberg, is driving up

here to have a serious talk with her about her work, as he wants to represent her exclusively. Both Emily and Claire will be heading to Cummington for August. Sue will be joining her sisters family on Cape Cod, and Matthew goes off to those places where his work will be performed. Already the August colonists at Millay are getting mail, and Sue said it hurts her to think that therell be others here in our place. Me? On Saturday night I dreamed about teaching a class at BCC, and last night I dreamed about taking FAU computer education classes. Ill have nearly three weeks in good old New York and then Ill resume my life in Florida. Ive been gone nearly three months already, and theyve been the best three months of my life. You never know what tomorrow may bring, but part of the reason I write is to record permanently, I tell myself those good moments and hours and days. Yeah, Im apprehensive about the future, but I know Ill survive and even if I dont, life will go on without me.

Thursday, July 24, 1986

8 PM. I made an appointment tomorrow for a checkup and an HTLV-III antibody test with gay doctor whose advertisement I found in the Voice. I still feel fatigued and my throat is sore and my sinuses and chest are congested. Id like to finally discover if Ive been infected with the AIDS virus. Maybe I have a form of pneumocystis carinii, a rare infection but common to people with AIDS. Its been two weeks, off and on, that Ive been feeling this way. The doctors visit tomorrow will cost $85, but itll be worth it if I can ease my mind or at least learn what it is Ive got and if it can be treated. This illness hasnt really prevented from doing anything in the past week, but Ive been tired, and being sick has colored my whole outlook on life. Nevertheless, Im making good progress on I Survived Caracas Traffic. I spent from 10:30 AM till noon on the word processor today, and the scenes with the nephew are done, and Im going into the scene at nursing home with the grandfather. In the story as Ive written it before, the protagonists lover a barely disguised version of Sean had died, but the narrator has tested negative for the AIDS virus. If I test positive, I may change that in the story. Or maybe Ill just have him waiting for the results. Yeah, that might work.

The doctors chatty receptionist told me that the HLTV-III test results dont come back for three to four weeks. Obviously, Id like to know sooner. But Ill see what happens tomorrow. Right now I feel tired. The cleaning woman is coming tomorrow, so as long as I had to be up early, I made a 10 AM appointment with Dr. Rundle, whos at 68th and Broadway; if I feel okay, I can walk there. In class today, Prof. McClintock guest-lectured on how the computer may change writing. He spoke about how printing changed texts and the whole concept of literacy and even memory, and he explained what should be obvious that when we do word processing, were really just putting down electronic code into a buffer in the RAM. I think hes right when he said the process may have implications we dont fully understand yet. I felt funny (but also a little pleased with myself) because I was the only student who seemed to have an answer to most of McClintocks questions. At first I thought I felt so tired and ill that getting through class would be rough, but I concentrated on the ideas and felt better. Today I got a real diploma-sized certificate from EPIE, attesting that Im a certified software analyst. That and a dollar will get me on the subway, but Im glad to have it. Id

better get started on the Proteus evaluation for next week, when I promised Id have it in. Mom sent me seven credit card bills in the mail today, and I had fun paying them and juggling my money around, as usual. I havent been keep track of my bank balances, but Im sure Ive got somewhere between $30,000 and $33,000 in my various accounts. Teresa remains on Fire Island, and next week she may come in only on Monday. She still talks about Ken like theyre going to get back together again someday. He still owes her $3,000, and Teresa said that she may take in exchange the car Ken wants to give up. Pete called for some advice about an aesthetic dilemma. Sue Goodman of Red Dust wrote that shes accepting his manuscript for their new paperback series, and Pete feels one of the stories she likes isnt strong enough and doesnt fit the tone enough to be in the collection. Should he ask her to take it out? I played shrink and told Pete to explore the issues. God, I wish I, like Pete, had a couple of books coming out. Josh called from work, sounding despondent.

Saturday, July 25, 1987

7 PM. Today, like yesterday, was a recordbreaker, with a high of 95 and awful humidity. Ive been confined to the bedroom for nearly a week now because of this heat wave. Its supposed to get cooler and less humid by Monday, but it looks like a long, hot summer. Already weve had a record nineteen days over 90, and were still a week away from August. I was happy that Josh came over last night. Not only did I need some companionship, but I wanted to get out of this room. Josh and I hung out here for a couple of hours before having dinner at Szechuan Broadway and then going to the 84th Street sixplex to see Dragnet, a moderately funny parody remake of the old TV cop show. I got the Saturday paper when I walked Josh to the subway station, and as was true the night before, I felt better by the time I came home. This morning Judy and Brian brought in their petunias for me to water and gave me their keys; theyre on their annual trip to Cape Cod this week. I called Alice, who agreed that today was too hot for schlepping around midtown looking for computers, so we postponed that for another time. After exercising with Body Electric and listening to Weekend Edition on National Public Radio, I took a long, cool shower before I went out for lunch at the Four Brothers. They put the

building crane up for the new high-rise on Broadway between 86th and 87th today. When I got home, there were three big bundles of mail from Mom waiting for me, and they made the afternoon a treat. First, I got to see last Saturdays column, which the paper titled The Puzzling Search for the Maltese FICA: very clever. I see that another columnist, Harold Kornstadt, has had a book of his Sun-Tattler pieces published by Hallmark Press; the book is available from the paper for five dollars. When I get back to Florida, Ill find out if he self-published it or if Hallmark is a regional press or part of the Sun-Tattler. Certainly my columns should be collected into a book; theyre good enough so that someone should notice. The columns I sent to Harpers were sent back because I had the wrong address for the magazine. Inside the Sun-Tattler, I noticed that the BCC faculty union negotiations with administration are again at an impasse. They treat the teachers so shabbily are offering them a 9% raise but want them to be on campus for 35, rather than 30, hours a week. Les Standiford of FIU sent me a nice letter rejecting me for the creative writing job; they hired some woman Ive never heard of whos been teaching at Carnegie-Mellon for ten years.

I was not among the winners of the Philip Morris essay contest, unfortunately. And my semiannual royalty statement for Hitler showed that Taplinger sold four copies of the book in the first six months of this year. Thus, I now owe 70 less on my advance. The official notice came from MacDowell, along with a copy of the confirmation letter I have to send back. I see that transportation to Peterborough hasnt improved in seven years, but this time Im determined to fly to Boston rather than take the bus from Port Authority. Well, Ive got a month to work out my plans. Because of the $8-a-day fee Im paying just 10% of what it costs them to keep me and the transportation, I probably wont be saving any money by going to MacDowell even if I dont pay rent for the month and get my meals for free. But I will get to meet some artists and writers, enjoy unlimited time to write, and maybe accomplish something. Also, it will be a change from New York City and Florida. I also got into VCCA for October, but Ill decline the acceptance within the next few weeks. The big batch of mail, of course, contained credit card bills a dozen of them. Id had the checks to pay them prepared in advance, as I usually do although several of them offered me a skip-payment feature.

I also got an Amoco Torch Club/Diners Club card with a $1500 credit limit. Unlike my other Diners Club card, this account is revolving credit. And I got my cash advance checks for my $5,000 credit line on the American Express Centurion Bank with my Gold AmEx card. Ive already deposited a check for $4,000 in my Chemical checking account. Although Ive lately applied for a number of credit cards, Im not optimistic about getting any more credit this summer. I would like to get an Optima card, though. I also think I can get around the lack of a cash advance feature on the Torch Club account by ordering travelers cheques by phone. Really, if I got that $5,000 Florida Arts Council fellowship, Ill be well set-up for the fall. But I cant let myself fantasize about the grant because theres only a chance that Ill get it; my submission wasnt all that good. Ill be more likely to get the grant if they look at my credentials. Reading The Postponed Generation, I keep measuring myself against the case histories of baby boomers in the book, and I wonder I too am just a spoiled adolescent who refuses to settle down, accept responsibility and grow up. Yes, I do consider myself special, but so do most of Littwins subjects. I did succeed academically and I would have been happy if

Id been able to score a secure job as an English professor, but the job market was and is impossible. Ive published books and stories and articles that have gotten good reviews. Is it my fault I havent been able to earn much money doing my writing, that the Sun-Tattler pays me onetenth of what Im worth? Ive done some good and originally work. And so, yeah, I feel am special. Look, how many people have written a daily journal entry for eighteen years a feat Ill accomplish later this week? How many people get reviewed in the New York Times or listed in Contemporary Literary Criticism or have written an article for People? Yes, Im an underachiever, but you (whoever you are) cant just say Ive accomplished nothing. Eighteen years ago, just starting college after years of emotional trauma, mental illness and agoraphobia, I didnt have that much potential. So I refuse to consider myself a failure at 36.

Friday, July 26, 1985


3 PM. I exercised some more last evening, so Im a little stiff and sore now. Last night I had vivid dreams.

In one, I was asleep on the same pillows and under the same sheets that I was in reality on the Columbia campus right near Low Library. When a black woman came by and said I had to move, I began this surrealistic adventure. In the dream, peoples heads opened up and things got swallowed inside them as in Monty Python graphics and I looked into my own eye and saw reflected a while different world. This dream world would have made a fantastic film. I had no milk, so I went out for breakfast at 9:30 AM. The day was dark; heavy rain had fallen all night, and today was sticky and the air was heavy. I took the M104 bus down to Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street, where I did some banking, went to the big library, had lunch at the CUNY Graduate Center, and then read at Mid-Manhattan before getting home an hour ago. Pete phoned to say that our American Book Review pop culture seminar would not be next Saturday after all. If Im not around in September when its rescheduled, that will be too bad. Amid the mail, there was only one item of interest. I have an interview next Thursday at noon at Baruch College not for an adjunct job but for a position as college lab technician. The job obviously has to do with the English Departments computer lab; Ive got to find the Times ad to recall the details.

* 8 PM. About four hours ago I decided to go out and distribute more of my Celebrity Shortage leaflets. I just hope Teresa doesnt get upset that I put her phone number on them. Last night I got half a dozen calls from the curious, and today a group of hip young editors at Simon & Schuster called me. Probably I should have given my name, but I felt abashed. One reason I enjoy this little piece of conceptual art is that, like most of my publicity stunts, its pure; Im not trying to sell anything and theres no point to it except for the fun itself. Today I started out in front of the New York Times building, hoping someone might see it and put it in the paper, but Times Square attracts such seedy people, I moved to Rockefeller Center. I found my best spot at the entrance to the Time-Life Building as the workers were streaming out. Its interesting to observe whos responsive and whos not. Blacks are far more likely than whites to take the leaflet. The least likely to bite are not, as I expected, stuffy-looking older business types but the super-serious, conservative young Yuppies who dont want to be caught being interested in something that isnt either fashionable or lucrative. Today my line was, Learn about the celebrity shortage. Nobody hassled me, and I was very

polite, of course, but I also understood a little of what Crad must go through on the street: the people treating you like a nonentity. Sometimes it would register only as people passed me and one would say to a friend, Celebrity shortage? And a few people who looked beforehand as if they would have a good sense of humor saw the joke immediately and brightened as they passed, whether they took the leaflet or not. Coming home in the rush hour is one way to get New York out of my system. Im becoming reconciled to returning to Florida. Once Teresa returns and this is no longer my apartment, Ill feel differently about staying here. But for well over a month, Ive had the privilege of having this place to myself. Tomorrow Ill have been in New York City for three months, and by the time I return to Florida on August 21, Ill have been here just as long as I was in Florida this winter and spring.

Saturday, July 27, 1985


2 PM on a bright, sunny, dry day. Last night, well before 9 PM, I fell into a deep sleep for over twelve hours, dreaming wild narratives.

This morning I met Alice at 86th and Broadway at 10:30 AM for breakfast at a diner. Shes trying to save her money now that shes planning to quit her job at Weight Watchers, but it turns out now she may not have to freelance after all. While at lunch yesterday with Karen, the articles editor at Redbook (who used to work with Alice at Seventeen), Alice learned that the post of entertainment editor was open there. Alice expressed interest in the job, and later, Redbooks editor-in-chief, Annette Capone (who also worked with Alice at Seventeen) said the job is Alices if she wants it. It sounds ideal: going to parties, screenings, previews, openings, hobnobbing with celebrities and actually doing little work, for basically shed be the magazines liaison with celebrities. The problem and its a big one is that the salary is $27,500, only about half of Alices present salary (in a wry irony, shed be earning less than Peter). Naturally, I advised Alice to go for it, especially since shed already decided to quit Weight Watchers to freelance. Alice would have a tight financial squeeze, and she could get about buying a co-op for now, though. Also, salary does mean prestige, and not only would Alice be going from the top of the masthead to the ninth person down, but shell probably find that her calls arent returned so quickly.

Essentially its a demotion, Alice said. But she wont have to be anyones boss, wont have the hassles with employees, and will be able to spend her time doing the frivolous, glamorous, shallow stuff we all enjoy so much. (Alice laughed at my Celebrity Shortage leaflet.) It would take her out of the editor-inchief category and move her into entertainment, where shed be starting at the bottom. Funny, but Alice said that, like myself, all the people she asks for advice seem to themselves be in career transitions or nearly there. Obviously this is a new baby boom phenomenon. I walked Alice to the 72nd Street subway stop and agreed to go with her and her brother (and Peter) to their mothers sixtieth birthday party on Long Island in two weeks. Back home, I discovered a pleasant surprise in the mail: a shiny new MasterCard from First Interstate Bank. After getting rejected from the first pre-approved mailing, I expected to get turned down again. Instead, Ive got a $1500 credit line. Now I have nine Visas and nice MasterCards (not counting the Glendale Federal one, which Ive given over to my parents). Ive been reading lots of articles about how many people my age are deep into revolving

debt. The governments measure of consumer borrowing has never been higher. Baby boomers arent used to denying themselves things, after all, and the federal government isnt setting the best example, what with Congressional inaction over the budget cuts, the U.S.s new status as a debtor nation, and the big trade deficit. In other news as the anchorpeople say Rock Hudsons admission that he has AIDS seems to be focusing new attention on the disease: our celebrity culture at work again. When a famous movie and TV star and friend of the President and his wife gets AIDS, its topof-the-broadcast news. I hope it will help the ordinary people who are dying of the disease. Its terrifying how many people I know, or know about, have contracted AIDS or have already died.

Saturday, July 28, 1984


7 PM. Im tired but really happy. These past three months have been so good, its going to be hard to leave New York. When I spoke to Alice today, she said, Im glad that youre home, and New York will always be home to me. Obviously, Teresa is more responsible than anyone for making this all possible, and Im eternally grateful to her.

Last evening I met Ronna at about 8 PM on West End and 86th, and we went over to the 83rd Street Quad to see what we could see. It turned out to be The Muppets Take Manhattan, a mildly pleasant diversion for a rainy Friday night. (The Prince fans were lined up to see the sold-out Purple Rain.) Afterwards, Ronna and I came up here, and I managed to pry off sneakers, socks and Purdue sweatshirt. Finally she asked me if she could spend the night and I happily agreed. I feel myself getting an erection as I write this, so you know how excited I was. To me, Ronna is beautiful and I guess I compliment her often. She said Jordan never did that and instead spent a lot of time criticizing her shortcomings and how she disappointed him in not living up to her potential. I know Ronna is an underachiever, a mite lazy, and a bit too heavy, but what purpose is served by telling her this? Youve got to accentuate the positive, no? And shes got so much of that. I long ago learned that if you tell someone everything that bothers you about them, no real purpose is served. Besides, most annoyances are fleeting and will pass. Its not that Im buttering up anyone, either. Ronna is totally beautiful to me.

She says our relationship over the past few months has convinced her that she should never marry Jordan because he never made her feel as good as I have. Jordans parents his mother, especially were hypercritical of him and I guess he just learned from them. Too bad. Although he feels Ronna isnt his idea, Jordans had worse relationships with women in the last year and feels he can now settle down with her. But now Ronna says she wont settle for that. We spent the night in bed, and I slept well enough to surprise myself. In the morning it was good to have someone to make love with, to laugh with, to hug. Things got pretty hot there for a while but then we had to rush to get to our respective morning appointments. Ill always be gay, but Ive never had any problem making love with women Im attracted to and feel comfortable with. I say Im gay because Im primarily attracted to males, and that Im turned on by mens bodies I see in the street and subway. With women, the sex takes on a more emotional tone; I need to care about them to feel sexual attraction. Walking through the East Village to get to Petes, I noticed signs of gentrification: a boutique and caf popping up, fewer ethnics hanging out on the street. Clearly, when Governor Cuomo referred to A Tale of Two

Cities in his keynote address, he could have been describing New York. More and more, there are the haves and the have-nots, the rich and the poor, with a huge nonwhite underclass developing. That cant lead to anything good. Pete gave me his exquisite and funny Mondrian Tac Toe, a witty book/game combo from Purgatory Pie Press, who have managed to work with Pete on several collaborations between his zany sense of the absurd and their fine printing and binding. We had brunch at Eat, next to the St. Marks Bookshop, where I was pleased to find three copies of I Brake up in the front of the store with the newer books; Im on the same shelf as Raymond Carver and other hotshot writers. Maybe Im closer to respectability than I imagine. Pete and Donna had a good time in San Francisco, although he finds even that city a bit too bucolic for his Manhattan tastes. He had a good reading/ performance at some local art spot, and in attendance were Paul and Kathy Fericano, Terry McMahon (whos organizing a weeklong Dada festival) and other Bay Area friends like Steve Abbott and Don Skiles, who said he admires my work. Don has a book out with Marion Boyer, and he gave Pete a good review in American Book Review.

Pete has decided to start the NYU computer programming course in September rather than wait until January because hes sick of proofreading and wants to get the course over with. He may go back to the Brooklyn College tutoring scam to earn money while attending NYU, but like me, he also feels that computers are the way to go. I just hope were not entering the field too late although perhaps a majority of Americans are still computer-illiterate. The Fiction Collective old farts voted to close their new anthology to all except Collective members, so Mark Leyners invitation to us to submit manuscripts no longer means anything. After watching the haircuts on Astor Place and making my way past the street vendors, I rang Alices bell as a 12-year-old boy was using her lobby to snort some coke. She came down and we went to West Eighth, where I held her hand as she finally succumbed to getting her ears pierced. She said shed do it if she lost ten pounds; the pierced ears will serve as a reminder not to gain weight. It was quick and not as painful as she thought, and afterwards, her lobes reddened around the silver studs, she took me iced cappuccino at Figaro. The Colorado writers conference fell through because of lousy promotion Peters class didnt make so theyre going to Virgin

Islands . . . unless Alice and the other tenants case against the landlord of 123 Waverly comes up in court that week. All seems to be going well for Alice, and this evening she was going to see Richard Larkin, whom she likes a great deal. After 25 years, Alice and I still have lots to talk about, from gossip to serious discussions about our careers. At her apartment, I admired the new pinkpainted living room and the fabulous wall unit for her books, stereo, TV, VCR and answering machine. She showed me her shelf of books by her friends and Peters, including my books, June and Carls, her cousin Mels The Tangled Wing, Janices calligraphy book, etc. I came home feeling exhausted and ready for an early night. Im having lots of fun.

Monday, July 29, 1985


7 PM. I always forget how beautiful Rockaway is in the summer. Even from the bedroom window, I can see the steel-blue ocean meeting the sky at the horizon line. Heaven, Grandma Ethel calls it. Last night I spoke to Ronna, whod just returned from vacation. She, her mother and

grandmother drove up to her cousin Marilyns house in New Hampshire and had a good time there. Later in the week, Ronna and Marilyn sat on the beach in Maine, and Ronna spent the weekend observing the goings-on at the Eugene ONeill Conference Center, attending rehearsals for several plays. Ronna didnt express any reaction when I told her Id be going back to Florida in three weeks, but we agreed to see each other soon. I just called Teresa, who got home a few hours ago. She got a message for me from a woman from People who wants me to call her tomorrow about the celebrity shortage. It would be great if they could get a photo of me passing out my leaflets in Manhattan, and of course that was in the back of my mind all along. When Grandma came back last night, we watched TV. It must have been a clear night because we were getting UHF stations from all over the mid-Atlantic states: channel 16 in Dover, Delaware-Salisbury, Maryland, and stations from Norfolk, Washington and Philadelphia. I dropped off to sleep at 11:30 PM and slept very, very heavily. This morning I just couldnt rouse myself until after 11 AM. It was cool but humid, and I went out at noon to get the paper and try to get a cash advance on my new MasterCard.

But the card turned up invalid; later, when I called First Interstate, they said it wouldnt be good until Thursday, the first of August. Which reminds me: In two days, I end my sixteenth year as a diarist, and on Thursday I begin the seventeenth year of these journals. I tried to buy a 1986 diary at Rogoffs on Beach 116th Street, but they hadnt come in yet. I walked on the boardwalk to Beach 118th Street and stared at my old building, even looking into the lobby directory to see who lived there now; many of the names were still the same ones I remember as my neighbors. Five years ago I was having a hard time when I lived there; in some ways, that was the most difficult period of my adult life. I felt desperate and unhappy but even then, there were moments of joy: being with my friends; looking out at the bay at night from my fifth-floor window as I lay in bed reading Emerson and listening to classical music for the first time. Id like to look back at my diary entries from that time as a reminder that I have survived what I once thought would overwhelm me. And I grew up a lot because I went through that pain. My eye itches after I put on my lenses for an hour. Im definitely going to have to see an eye doctor in Manhattan.

Mom told me that New Jersey wrote to say they wont give me certification to teach high school English until Ive had several methods courses in teaching reading and in educational psychology and until Ive had a year of student teaching. Fuck that, and fuck them. Obviously I was misinformed about the states new more relaxed rules for certifying teachers. The bureaucratic nightmare that is the educational system will continue to screw up learning in this country. I almost feel like applauding the rising tide of mediocrity and the coming teacher shortage; this country deserves exactly the kind of education its getting and is willing to pay for.

Wednesday, July 30, 1986


5 PM. My arm hurts now from the blood Dr. Rundle drew an hour ago. He called this morning and said my lab tests (not the HTLV-III test) had come back and that Id tested positive for the hepatitis B antibody. When I came in today, he went over the lab results with me. Most everything tested out in the normal range, but my white blood count and some of the components of that were a little high, although he tended to discount those results.

They computed that Im at average risk for cardiovascular problems, mostly because my HDL the good cholesterol is low; with aerobic exercise, I might be able to bring that up. My overall cholesterol level was okay but on the high side of the normal range, about 285. I tested negative for the hepatitis B antigen but positive for the antibody. What does that mean? According to Dr. Rundle, I could be in the early stages of an infection of the disease, or I could have been exposed to it many years ago (sine Ive never before been tested for it) and produced antibodies. In other words, its sort of like the HTLV-III antibody; either Im going to get sick or Im immune to the disease. But I may be infectious and can infect others, so Dr. Rundle had to do another test to check that. Hell have the results next week. He said that hepatitis B is transmitted mostly through sexual contact probably like the AIDS virus. How does a virtual celibate get these things? From Sean? In the last seven or eight years, Ive slept with only two people, Sean and Ronna, and she certainly didnt give it to me. Of course I could have had this for many years prior, but I still cant imagine that I got it sexually. Weird. Anyway, Im now very

nervous about the AIDS test. If I could get this antibody, why not HTLV-III? Yesterday I went to class at Teachers College, where Prof. McClintock lectured on and demonstrated CD-ROM technology. He had some interesting things to say, but he kept rambling, and his delivery is terrible. I got my journals back, and would you believe, Im too embarrassed to look at the instructors comments because its about the process of writing Caracas Traffic and so personal. I came home feeling exhausted, and Teresa and Donna were here, doing their thing. Donna was tired, too, and she actually conked out at 7:30 PM in the middle of us watching TV. I got the best nights sleep Ive had in a week on the floor of Teresas bedroom on my little futon. Ive spent so much money lately on the futon, on doctors bills and lab fees. This summer Ive spent about $550 on medical dental care, and without insurance, Ive got to pay it all myself. I think Id definitely better get some major medical coverage. Im not a kid anymore, and its entirely possible that Ill have to go into the hospital in the next few years, especially if I test positive for the AIDS virus. Everyone will say, Oh, youll be all right, but sometimes people do die.

I had a lovely sleep, as I said, and after the girls left in the morning, I went back to bed and slept more from 9 AM until nearly noon. I know that I cant live here with Teresa this fall, and Ive decided not to go to that open house in Inwood tonight. Maybe its not even worth looking for a sublet. The way I feel now, I just want to go back to Florida because its easy. I dread having few friends and getting involved in my familys mishigass, but maybe its healthier for me to be there. In a way, Im scared to be in Florida in the fall. But today I made reservations for Sunday, August 24, the night before the fall terms begin at FIU and FAU (I can register late during the first week of classes). Todays been humid and very rainy, and I like the darkness. I wanted to do work but decided just to rest. I feel as though Im a total mess and that my life is coming to an end. Silly, I guess.

Friday, July 31, 1987


6 PM. So today marks the end of eighteen years of diary-keeping. Ive documented half my life and all of my adult life. I doubt that my journals will be of interest to anyone but myself though years ago, when I dreamed Id be a

famous writer, I thought maybe someday people would treat my diaries the way they do those of famous writers. At 36, though, I see that there really arent seminal figures in literature anymore: writers who dominated an era and who were of interest to more than just a relative few scholars and fans. And even if there still are these major writers, I am not destined to be one of them. For me, its enough to find myself at the end of a page of an index to Contemporary Literary Criticism (Galsworthy was at the top of the page), as I did today at the 42nd Street library. Its the process of the diary rather than the product which is interesting. If I lost some volumes, Id be very distressed, but it really wouldnt be devastating. Recently I saw an article on writers who keep their diaries on computers. As much as I love computers for the writing process, I think the textual malleability would be detrimental to my diary-writing. I dont want to edit or revise; I want to record my immediate feelings and thoughts as jumbled and graceless as they are. Theres also something about holding a pen in my hand that is gratifying. Last night I went out at 11 PM and bought todays Times. On the Gay Cable Network, I

heard the end of a discussion that referred to Oliver Norths begin gay. How did this get reported, and will it ever make the mainstream news? It would certainly be interesting if true, if only because North has taken extreme pains to portray himself as a family man. Because of the sinus headache thats been nagging me all week, I again had trouble rousing myself this morning. For the sixth time this week, I exercised to Body Electric; I find the routines less difficult with practice, and I suppose its helping my strength and flexibility, though I cant see visible results. Psychologically, I feel much better after I exercise. I deposited some credit card checks into my Chemical account and then walked to Dianes on 72nd and Columbus for lunch. Its been a gorgeous day and probably didnt even get up to 80. At the 42nd Street library, I spent three hours reading various things, from issues of American Banker to literary reference books to the Peterborough, N.H., phone book. Last night I hung out for an hour among the books at Shakespeare & Company. God, I would love to be able to afford to buy all the books I want to read. Back home, I read the Miami Herald Id picked up at Times Square, and I paid the three bills that Mom forwarded. I know my credit card

system is crazy, but its also ingenious and kept meticulously. Its more than a hobby; its the way I manage to support myself. Obviously, like any pyramid scheme, it all has to end sometime with a crash but no one can ever take away from me the last three years of leisure and time for myself that the credit card chassis has given me. Unlike most creditaholics, I dont buy needless luxuries; I buy time, which is more precious. I finally spoke to Teresa today. She may come in next week because Elizabeth is visiting from the Virgin Islands. Ive got four weeks remaining in New York City; four weeks from tonight Ill be at MacDowell. The last thirteen weeks have really been a treat, and Ill treasure the memories. Ronna will be over in a couple of hours, and I cant wait.

Saturday, August 1, 1987


6 PM. Ronna spent last night here, and it was incredible night and morning of lovemaking, and it was an effort to let her go this morning. God, I felt so good with her here, and I know she felt that way, too.

I did express my fears that she was expending too much emotional energy on someone who couldnt offer what she really needs namely, marriage and children and a stable life but she told me not to worry, that she could take care of herself. Because weve been intimate since she was 19 and I was 21, we know what each others physical touch feels like and what the other person likes. Sex with Ronna was always the best. I feel I lose myself in her, and its nice not to be thinking, only to be feeling. Were still very attracted to each other, and Im pretty sure we always will be. I hope were not hurting each other, but as I said the last time we spent the night together, how can a little intimacy and passion and love be wrong between people who care about and respect each other and who are not currently involved with anyone else? Ronna says Im not stopping her from getting involved with another guy. Yesterday morning she got fitted for her new contacts. Shes been so worried lately about her health, but all her problems seem to me explainable as the result of stress or maybe minor conditions like sinusitis. We watched Harvey Pekar on David Lettermans show. Harvey came on wearing a Strike NBC T-shirt (the technicians are on strike) and eventually freaked Letterman out

by reading a list of complaints all of them reported in the papers for various violations committed by GE, NBCs corporate parent. Privately, Josh told me he felt that Harvey made a fool of himself, but I think he was doing something no one else does on network TV. Yes, he was rude, but maybe we need more rude people, at least once in a while. I met Josh this morning at the St. Marks comic book store where Harvey was autographing copies of his latest issue of American Splendor, along with his wife Joyce, who had her own comic about true Vietnam soldiers experiences, Real War Stories. Josh talked to Harvey for a while, and Harvey gave him an article hed written on a writer that Tom Whalen had introduced to Harvey. I complimented Harvey on his work and told him I taught American Splendor in my lit class at BCC. Others wanted to talk with him, so Josh and I left to have lunch at the Kiev. From there, we wandered up to Union Square Park, where we hung out and admired an elderly mans African grey parrot. Back uptown, I got mail from Crad and Rick. Rick said the new Gargoyle will be out next month. He seems to be doing okay, though reading through the lines, I can tell its still difficult for him a year after his breakup with Gretchen.

Crad has totally cut himself off from Gwen, which he should have done a long time ago. Hes busy typesetting the two volumes of Worst Canadian Stories, which will be 52 pages each and sell for four dollars. After he gets the material to the printer, he plans to come to New York for his annual vacation. I dont know if Ill get to see him during this visit. He praised my ALOHA column, as did Tom. The rest of the afternoon, Josh and I hung out here. He told me that hes never made friends easily and was an outcast all through school. From the fourth grade on, Josh had trouble with teachers just as hes continued to have trouble with authority figures. His parents, with their incessant fighting, seem the root of Joshs problem. Its odd, but as messed up as I am, during adolescence I never really felt like an outcast. I was very popular in junior high and college, and in public school I also had good friends. I blame the isolation I felt in high school solely on my own emotional problems and panic attacks.

Thursday, August 2, 1984

4:30 PM. I just returned from downtown, where I filed for unemployment benefits again. I took only two hours, and the claims-taker was helpful, so I have no complaints except for the horrible heat and humidity. Last night we had a little party in the airconditioned bedroom after Teresa got home from the Berkshires and Ronna got out of her shrinks. We ordered in Chinese food and off a tray in bed while the three of us watched dumb situation comedies. At 9:30 PM I went home with Ronna and stayed for half an hour to chat with her and Laura, who told me he used to work for the same vanity press, Exposition, that Crad did. Crad called this morning from his grandparents in Jamaica to say he wants to get together with me and Josh on Saturday afternoon. Hell come here, and I guess Ill get Josh and maybe Pete to do the same. On Sunday Crad is going out to Plainview to see his parents. I slept on the mattress on Teresas bedroom floor because it was so unbearably hot without an air conditioner in the living room. In the middle of the night I woke up feeling a sense of dread about my upcoming departure from New York. It will be horrible to leave after so many weeks in which I discovered I really feel as if I do have

a home here. In a way the past three and a half months have been the core of my life. In Florida theres nobody like Teresa or Ronna whom I can confide in, whom I can call up on the spur of the moment to come over for Sichuan food; there isnt even any Sichuan food. Here in New York, even my other friends people I dont see that often, like Mira, with whom were dining tonight well, in Florida I dont even have a friend Im as close to as am with Mira. Patrick is great, but hes got a family, and Lisa is always busy; Larry Gilbert may closer to being a New York-type friend. I once complained that in Florida I felt like Emily Dickinson, that people were always saying, What? to me. Here, I dont feel that I have to explain myself; people are hip and sensitive and well informed; they understand. At about 7 AM, I finally drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours, but my dreams were all filled with anxiety. While Teresa went to Joseph and Eds (they got home last night; tomorrow were getting our hair cut there), I did the laundry, went shopping , and was interviewed by Washingtonian magazine. Then, at 1:30 PM, I went down to Park Place (unfortunately, theyve closed Club 90, the 90th Street and Broadway Unemployment office) to file my claim.

Dark clouds seem to indicate a thunderstorm is coming, and my own imminent leave-taking makes the day seem ominous. I really would like to stay in New York, but as in 1980, I cant afford to live here. Well, thats the way it is for now, but things will change.

Sunday, August 3, 1986


10 PM. I just came home from walking Josh to the 96th Street station. He came over at about 5 PM, we sat and bullshitted a while, and then went out to have some angels hair pasta at Marvin Gardens and to see Nothing in Common at the 84th Street theater. For me, this will always be the summer of movies at the 84th Street Sixplex, taking the M5 bus to and from Teachers College, sore throats and blood test. Three weeks from now Ill probably be landing in Fort Lauderdale, and I wont be back in New York City for eight months. Sad. Judy just rang the bell and asked if I wanted some fresh sweet basil she got on Long Island today. I told her I didnt know how to make pesto but that I did want to smell the basil. Great smell! My throat was much better this morning. Last night I could hardly swallow as it felt as if it was

closing up again. Its hard for me to think about staying in New York and teaching and looking for an apartment when Ive been feeling so icky. In the last four weeks, Ive had that terrible sore throat at least half of the time. It comes and goes. I worry about it being some kind of disease, but its not really a symptom of either hepatitis B or AIDS. Throat cancer? Im not hoarse. Perhaps its just a very bad allergic reaction. This has been one of the most humid summers in memory: not all that hot but very humid. And the sore throat is always accompanied by postnasal drip. But I did sleep okay last night. Up at 10 AM, I went out and got the newspapers and some groceries and then lay in bed reading until 1 PM. At the CCIMS room at Teachers College, I edited and printed out the final draft (or close to it) of I Survived Caracas Traffic. Never have I worked so hard on a single story, revising, chiseling, editing it. You know? It was fun. I think its a good story, and though The New Yorker and The Atlantic probably wont agree with me, I do hope to get it published somewhere. Tomorrow Ill make some copies of it. I can see using the protagonist and his voice again in other stories, about other parts of his life, his friends and his relatives. This may be part of a

unified collection that will become a quasinovel. I hope so. Whether I return to Florida or stay in New York City, I want to continue writing fiction in this vein. Josh was really wiped out after a long day with his parents. He had to work yesterday on Monday he gets his promotion (I think his title is Chief Information Specialist) and so he had to spend most of today with his parents. His mother called last night and kept saying that she had some paperwork for him to do but that he didnt have to come over; of course she said it so often that it meant he did. What am I going to do f my father dies? Josh asked me several times. Joshs father is in good health, but hes 76, and he himself lost one eye to pigmentitis. Joshs mothers blindness is a terrible affliction, and Josh said hell kill himself when and if he too loses his sight. Joshs mother obsesses about her car, which has become the symbol of everything she cant do. She babied the car and rarely used it because she figured shed take it on long trips in her retirement. Perhaps Nothing in Common was the wrong movie to take Josh to see, but it was very good. Tom Hanks is the ad agency exec whos got to cope with his parents, whove just separated and the illness of his father, played brilliantly by Jackie Gleason.

I had liked The Flamingo Kid, also directed by Garry Marshall, who has really grown and taken chances with this new film. God, Id like t be the kind of writer who grows and take chances the way, say, Woody Allen has done. But Im afraid Im too lazy, scared and incompetent.

Sunday, August 4, 1985


1:30 PM. Last night I read the Times and spoke with Teresa, who sounded quite depressed. Clearly, she wasnt enjoying herself on Fire Island and who was fed up with Fran. With Frans trust fund income of $4,000 a month, she really doesnt need to work and so shes not very interested in Teresas business idea. So now when Fran starts complaining about money, Teresa told me, Im going to say, Then get a job. Coming from Teresa, that sounds ironic, but perhaps shes beginning to see Fan and the other idle rich friends she has. Most of the weekend guests were Frans age, and for once, Teresa felt she didnt fit in because the conversations were about teenage children.

Teresa is going to try to get me to go to Fire Island and I plan to resist, as theres nothing I dread more with only two weeks left in New York City than being bored and miserable on some beach. I just wrote Mimi at the Nova housing office to find out if shes got an available apartment for the fall; I hope so, because the complex there was affordable, convenient and perfect for my needs. Obviously, Im assuming I wont get the Baruch job; it seems logical that I should operate on that assumption. Although I have no job waiting for me in Florida, Im certain something will turn up. Good news about jobs comes on two fronts, though. First, Justin got hired to direct two shows at the Sheraton in Reading for September and October: Same Time, Next Year and a musical. Hell be going away to Pennsylvania just about the same time Im leaving, and hell stay there with his room and board paid for until the end of October. Good for Justin and naturally, hes so happy. Next weekend he goes down for auditions. And Alice called and said, Ive got a new job. She quit Weight Watchers last Tuesday and starts work at Redbook in three weeks, after shes taught a week at the Cape Cod Writers Conference. She, too, feels very happy.

And so I am, and Im also encouraged by both Alice and Justin. They each took risks, leaving a secure, well-paying job for something more uncertain but more satisfying. Ive got to remember how important risk-taking is and how to do it intelligently, as Alice and Justin did, weighing all the options and considering the decision. This morning I went out for breakfast and I spent much of the day so far working out and reading the Washington Post and Newsday. * 9 PM. Have I been fooling myself all this time, thinking that Ive been happy? Tonight Alice said she couldnt understand how I could be happy if I didnt have a clear goal. We had met to see Kiss of the Spider Woman, an excellent film based on Manuel Puigs novel. Afterwards, she wanted to give me career advice, but I guess I frustrated her because I didnt seem to want to take it. Inside, I became angry, and I still dont know if I was just annoyed at what I thought was her presumption in patronizing me (I felt sort of like she was saying, Someday youll get to where I am now) or if I was upset because her comments hit the mark.

Im sure youd rather be settled and on your way up to some goal, she said, and I rejoined, No, thats exactly what I dont want. I like living in different places, doing different things. Well, you dont want to be a perpetual student. But I do. I love learning. Alice seemed to imply that at 34, should be a finished person, established in one field and on my way up some invisible ladder. Shes always believed in inexorable progress. And now that Ive thought about it, one I idea that strikes me is that Alice may just be less secure than I. Two weeks ago she was desperately unhappy because of her job; now shes deliriously happy because of her job. More of her identity is wrapped up in what she does than mine is; my identity is based on who I am. Do I sound like the patronizing one now? And is this all bullshit? Should I be alarmed that I dont care? Am I have I been and am I continuing to be, self-destructive? Well, lets take the last question. Yes, like everyone else, I have a self-destructive streak, but I havent been engaging in overly dangerous behavior. I dont drink, smoke, eat more than usual.

True, Ive been living on credit I cant pay back but I think Im doing that with my eyes wide open. I havent been spending money like H2O. No, my self-destructiveness is passive; it lies in what I havent been doing: working, writing, engaging in activities that benefit humankind. Yes, Ive been enjoying myself shamefully as much as I can enjoying everything from the burger I had at The Bagel after leaving Alices to the breezes on Riverside Drive. Sure, Ive got enough Protestant ethic in me to feel I should be feeling guilty but I can overcome it. As I said to Josh when he questioned whether Susan and Tom should be together: You cant argue with happiness. Yes, Ive been frustrated and depressed, but even diffident me has been a lone with myself know I have been happy. Once, Mrs. Ehrlich told me not to be afraid about uncovering layer upon layer of feelings. I had said, But what if theres nothing there at bottom? And she said, Theres a core of reliable feelings within you; trust me. And I can trust the feelings. Of course the human capacity for self-delusion is limitless witness Teresa and if I have been fooling myself all these months (to get back to tonights original question), then Im really in bad shape and need lots of help. Time will tell, I guess. I think a lot of Emerson and Self-Reliance and his other essays. Didnt he say that the world hates people who

wont conform? Now, I guess, I sound like some leftover 60s hippie. But whenever I hear about telling me what to do, Im inclined to do the opposite. Childish, anal-retentive, infantile? Or admirable independent spirit? Living well is the best revenge, goes the Spanish proverb. Or the English proverb: The proof is in the pudding. Whenever Ive done something people told me I shouldnt do and that my core of feelings said, Go on, do it Ive had good experiences and been grateful I trusted myself. Of course that doesnt mean that will always be the case. Well find out. Another Spanish saying, Que ser, ser, seems to suit me these days.

Wednesday, August 5, 1987


8 PM. Fog starting rolling in from the ocean a little while ago and the waves are now choppy and erratic, so it looks as though a storm is brewing. Grandma Ethel went down to play cards after we had dinner. I see that in little ways Grandma is deteriorating. She can be sharp, as when she told me to make sure to get the cheaper generic drug when I went to the drugstore to

fill prescriptions for her and Aunt Tillie, but shes also becoming more forgetful and more easily flustered. Im glad I can help her a little. This morning I helped her take off the mattress so she could clean the beds frame; then I turned over the mattress. When I went over to Aunt Tillies to pick up her prescriptions, you would have thought I was doing Tillie the biggest favor imaginable when actually it was my pleasure to help. Uncle Morris was resting on the couch, and he looked pretty worn out, but he did talk to me a little about stay in the hospital. His fall this winter and the latest attack have made them both less mobile; they not going to go walking to Waldbaums every morning the way they used to. I spent most of the day in libraries, both the Seaside branch on Beach 117th Street and the Peninsula Reference Center on Beach 94th Street. I finally got to see Esquires Literary Universe, which had so riled Tom because of its emphasis on glitz, media politics, and the trendy. Even the editor seemed disturbed that, unlike the version of 25 years ago, the 1987 version contained no rebels at all: no hipsters, only hypesters who publish early and party late. It goes without saying that I am not even a speck of cosmic dust in Esquires universe.

But I have been a rebel, I think, and all my publicity attempts have not been hype but making fun of the system that produces hype, something no Yuppie in his right mind would do. Im not an 80s person, Im a 90s person, and I still believe because I have to believe that the cultural climate will one day change to one more hospitable to me. Obviously, the reason I root for a Great Depression is that Id like to see all those stinking Yups humbled. Im tired of trying to endure the 1980s, but Im a survivor and have hung on. Unlike some of the younger, fabulously successful writers, Ive had to deal with gross failure; I wonder if some of them wont fall by the wayside when the going gets tough for them. I excoriate myself for not reading as much as Tom does, but in my own way, I read plenty; its just that I dont read literature so much as absorb information about the world as it is and as it may be in order to turn it into the stuff of literature. Would anyone else in the Literary Universe be able to give a short speech on superregional banks or understand and program in Prolog or name all one hundred U.S. Senator? More importantly, while I know nothing about literary celebrity and ICM agents and posing for slick magazines and hanging out with other

writers in the Hamptons, I do know what its like to spend time with my grandmother, Aunt Tillie and Uncle Morris and to have taught poor ghetto kids at CUNY and to live in the world of West Broward condos and shopping mall.s Im not saying Im a saint, just that I have my own perspectives. Missing in Esquires cosmology, beside Truman Capotes Answered Prayers and young heterosexual male novelists, is any semblance of a counterculture. Is it just folly to think that Im not a part of that counterculture, along with people like Crad Kilodney, Harvey Pekar, Tom Whalen, Paul Fericano, Pete Cherches and Rick Peabody? Ive just got to be patient and resourceful and Wait It Out; this time in history, too, shall pass. Meanwhile, Ive got my newspaper columns and my credit cards and the books already published and my friends and family and my sense of humor and my sense of adventure and plenty of pomposity to help keep me going as I rant on and on.

Wednesday, August 6, 1986


5 PM. Dr. Rundle didnt have office hours today, and if he tried to call me in the last couple of days, he wouldnt have gotten

through because our phones been broken. The repairman was here this afternoon, and he said the phone company will call weve got a dial tone agian. I feel as if its fate stopping me from learning Dr. Rundles news. For the past week, Ive begun to feel certain that Ill have the HTLV-III antibody in my blood. After all, if I could have the hepatitis B antibody, why not the one from AIDS? I keep thinking that somehow Ive forgotten sexual encounters Ive had, but I think theres only one person I could have picked up AIDS from, and thats Sen. I cant imagine who else could have given me the hepatitis B antibody, either. This has to be one big joke, doesnt it? After I die of AIDS, everyone will assume I was at least somewhat promiscuous. Maybe I would have had better luck if I had been. Anyway, Im now determined to return to Florida. New York may be home, too, but my family is in Florida, and if Im going to be ill, I dont want to be alone. Maybe it sounds as if my mind is running away with me; my hand is shaking as I write this. Ive felt so sleepy all day: not sick but tired, and not weak-tired but sleepy-tired. Perhaps I just want to escape reality. Hey, it would be pretty funny if I gave myself AIDS when I masturbated . . .

Enough self-pity, kiddo. At the moment your most visible physical problems are acne and twenty extra pounds. My guaranteed student loan for Teachers College came through today, but I intend to turn it down. Ill also have to figure out a way to let Fashion Institute of Technology know I wont be working there as an adjunct this fall. And Ive got to tell Teresa Im leaving. Ive made a list of other things I need or want to do before I return to Florida. There was nothing suitable in the Voice sublets ads today, nothing even close to a place I could afford, and I dont expect any responses to my own ad next week. Last evenings class was okay. Amy made me one of five group leaders to work with people doing an exercise in block moves and using windows, and she demonstrated Epsilon, an EMACS-like text editor, and Magic Slate, a word processing package for kids. There are just three more classes left, and on Tuesday, our journals and chosen writing are due. Because Ive had to wait for the phone company repairman, Ive spent all day inside; its another humid, icky day. I felt like wanting to spend most of the day in bed anyway. Surprisingly, given my mental state, I got myself to exercise for an hour; Ive just taken a shower.

Vilma, the cleaning woman, will be here at 8 AM tomorrow. Except for worrying about dying, I really dont have a care in the world these days. Ill be here in New York City another eighteen days of so. Tom and Susan will be coming back from Europe, and Crad will be visiting from Canada. Id really like to see the McKinnons and their new baby, but I dont have the get up and go to get up and go to Philadelphia. Maybe, if I do test positive for HTLV-III, I should go see a therapist when I get back to Florida. But I dont trust Florida psychologists. I dont know what to do. It astounds me that I could die what an idiotic statement that is, I know. Of course Im definitely going to die, if not from AIDS next year, then the year after that in a car accident or at age 94 from a heart attack. But Im certainly going to die. Why wont that sink in?

Tuesday, August 7, 1984


7:30 PM. Im in Rockaway. Its been another hot and humid day, but right now the sky and sea are equally gray as lightning flashes indicate that thunderstorms are near. Seagulls

are darting around wildly, and it almost seems as if their sudden movements are setting off the lightning and the foamy ocean. The Army Corps of Engineers and their giant equipment are trying to fill in the beach. Again theyre doing it, Grandma Ethel said. If they didnt, thered be no more beach. The beach is now just a thirty-yard strip until the sand being pumped in comes to the rescue. But thats just a temporary cure. Erosions blowing in the wind and in the end has got to win. Grandma Ethel is off at her card game while Ive been watching the news and exercising. Ive gained back some of the weight I lost upstate and once again I feel as wide-bodied as an L-1011. A week from now, Ill be boarding one at LaGuardia; I think Im going to take an $89 Delta flight to Fort Lauderdale. I want the extra couple of days unless for some reason I have to return sooner. Last night I read until Teresa came home; then we talked and watched Joan Rivers in bed. After all this time, Ive gotten very fond of Teresas company, and Im going to miss it when I go back to Florida. (Im not going to say go back home because New York is my home, too.)

My mind raced last night, and it was 6 AM before I got some brief, unsatisfying sleep. I shouldnt do this, but I kept fantasizing about winning the $20,000 NEA fellowship in November; Ill only be dreadfully disappointed. But its so exciting to dream about it, the way others dream about becoming Lotto millionaires. Teresa did a wash early while I lay in bed. Mikey called, saying his camping weekend was literally a washout; we made tentative plans for dinner on Friday. Then Mom phoned with the news that Taplinger had written to say they were remaindering the 2100 copies of Hitler and asking if I wanted any or all of them. I called Ted Rosenfeld at Taplinger, who said hed notify me just as soon as they get a bid if they do which could be anywhere from a dime to a dollar. Certainly it would pay to buy up copies. But if I remember my contact, this means that when the book goes out of print, I retain all rights to the work. Perhaps I could persuade Rick or Ed and Miriam to let Paycock or Zephyr Press do a trade paperback edition. With Hitler in New York still seems like an unjustly neglected work to me. If nothing else, Ill spend money to send copies of it to various writers and editors. A lot of what I was thinking about last night was Florida and how Im not taken seriously there.

You could say thats my own fault, but even if I never did any zany press stuff, Id be ignored as a writer because no one would believe a serious writer would come from South Florida. Yet in New York, my books are in bookstores and were even in the windows of B. Dalton, Waldenbooks and the East Side Bookstore, and I get serious attention in the Times Book Review. In Florida Im just a clown, but luckily that doesnt count for anything up here. I also dont need the publicity here in New York. I dont need to show off for local yokels because my friends are talented doers I can relate to. I had lunch with Pete today at Wall Streets Italian Alps restaurant and then we got ices at Battery Park. Pete thought Crad was very odd and too gloomy and he wondered how Crad was capable of writing such funny stuff. Then I had a two-hour trek through Brooklyn to Rockaway, stopping off at the Junction (which looks more and more like Harlem) and at Brooklyn College, a place where I could never again teach. Rockaway was cooler than Manhattan, and Grandma looked good and sounded relatively chipper. It was, and is, good to see her up and around again.

Thursday, August 8, 1985


3 PM. About this time yesterday, I felt my worst. I just took my temperature and its 100.4, as high as its been, but I feel more comfortable. My sore throat is gone, and my nasal passages have cleared up, though Im still pretty congested. Mostly, the cold is in my chest; Im been coughing and spitting up charming green phlegm. And I feel tired. I rested a lot last night. Earlier in the evening, Teresa came by with her new friend Dennis, a burly guy we went to Brooklyn College with; he was taking her to Small Claims Court and then they were going out to Great Neck and from there to the beach. She came here to get some clothes for the long weekend, and to be honest, I was grateful for the company. Later, Teresa phoned me from Denniss car and said that all had gone okay in court. I also spoke to Mom twice yesterday. Last night I did get a lot of sleep as I continued to seat and sniffle. Today I slept till 11 AM, and then I went out to get groceries, cough syrup and the newspapers. Im really out of it, but if it doesnt get any worse, Ill be happy. Being sick, Ive had a lot of time to think. I know I got sick because Im scared to death

about returning to Florida and the changes Ill be making in my life. Although I felt more relaxed two weeks ago once I made my decision to leave New York, I never really faced the consequences of my decision, all the stuff Im giving up by leaving. Even now, I can hardly think about it. I feel too sick to deal with it. But nothing is permanent. What I dread is returning to a dead-end situation like BCC (or even adjuncting here in New York). Well see what happens. I need to get my strength back before I can deal with this. Im still alive, at least. I used to think of colds or illnesses as a kind of small death (une petite mort: for some reason, I used to think in French sometimes). Maybe this illness will help me rebuild my life. Maybe I can stop being so directionless. When I feel well enough to think about the future, maybe I can get past the negativity, the passivity, and the bad memories of previous projects. What will I do in Florida? The first thing I want to do is take classes primarily in computer education, but also in education in general and in public administration and business. Ill need about $5,000-$6,000 in income for the rest of the year, so I have to work. If I cant find a job teaching either at FIU or FAU, Ill

investigate the business schools, subbing in the public schools, and see if I can find that elusive animal known as company training. Hey, I am bright; I know that. Today the Times said 10% of New Jerseys graduating teacher education students failed the National Teachers Exam, even though the state had a very low cutoff. These dodos took all the classes Im lacking to be certified as a New Jersey teacher, but I scored in the 99th percentile on the NTE anyway. The important thing, Grayson, is not to lose sight of the skills and experience you do have. You almost got the Baruch computer job. Youre getting closer, that means. A year ago you wouldnt even have been considered for that job. And youll be back in New York when youre ready; you need to make a strategic retreat to Florida to gather your forces and regain your confidence. Next time I come back to New York, it will be with a better future. Ill be able to live here on my own, perhaps especially if the real estate market shocks everyone (as it probably will) and tumbles in the next few years. * 9 PM. Yesterday while turning the AM radio dial, I heard this cornball lawyer telling about a

client, an older woman who had open-heart surgery; while she was in the hospital recovery room, her husband was killed in a robbery. She was devastated and despondent. But a few weeks later, the woman called the lawyer from her porch and said shed been so depressed but Suddenly all I can think of is, Im alive, Im alive! Around me I can see people, trees, life, a world, and Im still part of it. Im alive! As dopey as that sounds, it is close to what I felt just now as I walked down Broadway. I had my lenses in for the first time in days, and I could see sharply in the dusk. The Upper West Side must be what Paris was to Hemingway; its so full of life. I saw kids on skateboards, drunks dancing to no music, gorgeous women with wheat-colored hair wearing white shorts, handsome guys strolling together, cranky old people, the guy playing the flute by Zabars, the book peddlers. I felt renewed. I went to 79th and Amsterdam and took out $200 on my First Interstate MasterCard, and I bought the Village Voice, Wall Street Journal and New York Native. Id gone out earlier tonight to get tissues, my old pals the Ricola Swiss Herb candy drops, some pizza to bring in, and two videos one of which, Reuben, Reuben, Ive already watched.

I still feel weak and sick, but Im ready to enter the world again. Im alive, and Im glad I was sick because it makes things seem better now.

Sunday, August 9, 1987


8:30 PM. Its raining now. I just got in and I cant stop thinking about the guy sitting in front of Zabars. Hes a young, redheaded guy, and for weeks Ive seen him there with a sign saying hed gotten AIDS from a blood transfusion and had lost his job and home. At first I didnt believe him, but at Grandma Ethels two weeks ago I saw him on that WNYCTV program about AIDS. He was having a session with a shrink and it was so sad, it broke my heart. The guy was in a car accident and got AIDS from a blood donor, a gay man who didnt know he was infected. This guy in turn infected his girlfriend, who now hates him, a feeling he can understand, he said. What he most wanted was to meet a heterosexual woman with AIDS who would hold him in her arms. Half an hour ago, when I passed him as I walked Josh down to the 72nd Street station, I knew I had to give him money, so on the way back I dropped two dollars in his cup; he looked up and said thanks.

I worry about how that guys doing. I went to the Chase ATM and then to buy groceries at Red Apple (the only store still left between 82nd and 83rd on the west side of Broadway all the others have closed and construction is coming). When I came out, it was pouring. I managed to avoid getting too wet by making my way under the various construction awnings lining West End Avenue buildings. Its funny that seeing a guy open up on TV makes him a human being and not just one of the faceless homeless people on the street. Ronna has gone to volunteer at a shelter for homeless women and their kids run by the Episcopalian church on West 41st Street. Mostly her job is to keep the kids occupied. They range in age from 8 to 11, and Ronna said they arent the monsters you might expect. They tried to play charades but didnt understand that youre supposed to act out the title so one girl acted out the whole plot of Fences in mime. Theyre putting on a play for their mothers, who all sleep in one room divided up. Last week one of the kids was playing with matches at night and started a fire which luckily was quickly contained. Those poor kids: what will become of them? Shit.

Last evening I walked over to Ronnas at 7 PM and we went to Hunan Royale for dinner. Shes still terribly worried about all her little symptoms, and I listened later, back at her place, as she spoke to her sister about them. I dont know if Ronna is just a hypochondriac like me or if there is really something wrong with her some neurological problem, say. Her mother told her to call her uncle and ask him to recommend a specialist. I just think Ronnas symptoms dont warrant a spinal tap, especially since the radial tomography showed nothing amiss. I didnt want Ronna to be alone, and I didnt want to be alone either, so I asked her to spend the night here. On the way down West End Avenue here, we talked about what Alice had said to me, and Ronna assured me that she harbored no illusions about marrying me. Youre my friend, she said. We didnt have sex but we did hug and kiss and cuddle and be close; to me, it felt very nice indeed, and its nice to sleep with someone. I got up a little earlier than Ronna and watched her sleep for a while. It seems very intimate, watching someone sleep, because people look so vulnerable then. Before she left at 11 AM to meet her sister, who was coming over to her place, Ronna and I hugged and kissed and messed around a little.

Ronna told me that a number of her friends had called her this week and mentioned my letter in the New York Times Magazine. Her friend Jane was amazed to find out I was a published author because Id seemed so unassuming and quiet when Id met her. After Ronna left today, I watched Adrian Mole and made a start at reading the three Sunday papers I usually buy. I did the laundry, and Josh came over at 5PM. After we ate dinner at the American diner, we saw The Lost Boys, a teen vampire movie, at the 84th Street Sixplex. Ive seen Pete, Alice, Ronna and Josh this weekend. I am indeed lucky to have such friends. I wish other people felt as comfortable as I do. Is that sappy?

Sunday, August 10, 1986


9 PM. I was alone most of today. No one called until 6 PM, when Josh, mentally exhausted after another harrowing day at his parents, asked if I wanted to have dinner. Last evening I went out for a walk and came home with two videos and the Sunday Times. I read the paper and watched Brazil, which was a bit disappointing despite its wackiness.

I slept okay, dreaming I was enrolled in a new high school; Im starting to have anxiety dreams about the changes coming in my life. Today I watched the Sunday interview shows, read the papers, exercised, and saw Heaven Help Us, set in a Brooklyn Catholic school in 1965; obviously someone who grew up with me made the film. Todays Parade magazine had a cover feature on the high school class of 65, and it astounded me that the people on the cover were only three or four years older than I am, but they looked so middle-aged. One guy looked older than Dad. Another guy looked so good in his graduation picture, and in the present-day photo he stood with his 17-yearold son, who looked just like his father did in 1965. I forget how long Ive lived. Well, this may be the week to find how long Ive got to live. Tonight I feel more hopeful that even if I do have the AIDS virus in my blood, Im not going to die of it so soon. Tomorrow Ill probably feel differently. Josh and I went to Marvin Gardens, as usual. Hes really having a terrible time with his parents. Its a burden on him, but he said its one most of us have to face unless Mom and Dad get hit by a truck. Ill miss Josh the most of all my New York City friends; hes been around more times than anyone else.

When I get to Florida, Im going to make a real effort not to be so aloof and to find people I can be friends with. I cant believe that my flight will be landing in Fort Lauderdale two weeks from now. Maybe its stupid of me to go to that interview at LaGuardia Community College tomorrow morning, but the best interviews are always the ones where you dont want the job. It will be a learning experience, at least, and it will get me to Long Island City, Queens, halfway to Grandma Ethels. Its still possible Ill stay in New York, but Id have to test negative for HTLV-III and find a reasonably priced place to live (maybe someone will respond to my Voice ad after all). I know I can get half a dozen adjunct offers in New York; I just wish I had a job in Florida.

Saturday, August 11, 1984


7 PM. Last night I read the first chapter of Sherry Turkles The Second Self: Computers and the Human Spirit, an exciting look at how computers are changing the way people think about themselves and about society. I love dealing with these ideas and I look forward to taking more computer courses.

Im registered for Mary Alices Computers in the Classroom FIU course, which should be a breeze, that begins a week from Tuesday at the FIU/FAU building at BCC. Id like to take Educational Programming I (and maybe II) at FAU at BCC. Its too bad that Logo is being offered only at FIU/Tamiami, but it might be worth it to go there to take it. Last night I dreamed it was the first day of classes at BCC and Dr. Hamilton made all us faculty sign sheets saying we werent homosexual and write down the names of anyone whom we suspected of being gay. A woman named Jane started crying because she was a lesbian and couldnt lie; she knew this would make her lose her job at BCC. Obviously I feel that BCC doesnt really let me be myself, and I have mixed feelings about returning there, this time as an adjunct. Yet it might be the easiest thing for me to do, saving me the hassle of looking for a full-time job. I guess I have to reprogram myself to use computer jargon to live in Florida again. Today at noon I went to see Alice, who took me to Caf Figaro and then for a long talk in Washington Square. She wanted to ask my advice about Richard Larkin, who told her shes an 11 on a scale of 1 to 10. Alice told me she felt she was in love with him, but he slept with her only once; he has hangups about an abortion his last girlfriend had and said he felt terribly guilty about this all

the time. Why this should lead him to disavow sex, I dont quite understand, nor does Alice. But maybe another, more serious problem came to the fore yesterday when Alice visited his apartment: she realized they have a real clash in values. Richard hates New York, loves the country, camping out, nature, children, and doesnt care at all about money. Hes a Woodstock person, said Alice on the fifteenth anniversary of Woodstock and all I want is a two-bedroom co-op in Manhattan. Shes lied to Peter about Richard, not telling him anything about her feelings, and she asked me if she should tell Peter tonight. I advised against it, saying she should wait until shes thought about it more. When she told Peter about her feelings toward Mark Bronner years ago, he was really hurt. Alice said that their separation is proving Peter right: she just appreciates him more and more. The problem between them is still money, and thats never going to change. Peters a pauper to Alice, feeling only that he wants to be a writer, a profession which makes him happy. Alice feels envious of other couples who have two incomes and doesnt know if she can reconcile her disgust at Peters poverty with her knowledge that hes the best person shell ever meet.

You might say Alice is pretty shallow to be so mercenary, but if money is that important to her, she cant pretend its not. We hugged at her door; shell be in Palm Beach in late October and Ill see her then. All afternoon my tooth the new caps up front have been aching, and I was really running late to meet Brad at Max & Leahs Blintzeria on First and 74th, so I hopped into a cab, which let me out right in front of a car with Broward County, Florida, plates. I found Brad with a group of people: his grandmother and his sister; Les, his former roommate; and Less parents. I got there just as theyd finished but stayed to chat for ten minutes. Brads grandmother looked okay but sort of washed out. If I had my 1969 diary, I bet I could find references to Brad and how I felt about him then. Whoever could have imagined that fifteen years later, Id be at a celebration of his 38th birthday with Brad and his family? I was almost glad that we didnt have all that much time to talk. Brad asked if Id lost weight, and his sister, who looked cuter than I remembered, said I looked about 25. I feel pretty good about my looks. The other night I was taking off my shirt to change for bed, and Nina interrupted her phone conversation to say, You have a body, Rich. Ah, vanity.

After leaving Bud and his party, I took the First Avenue and 86th Street buses home and will spend my last Saturday night in Manhattan alone, reading and potchkying around.

Tuesday, August 12, 1986


3 PM. Ive been rushing around all day since I got up in Rockaway at 10 AM, and Im going out soon. Our journals and chosen writing are due in class today, and I must xerox my Caracas story, and if I have time, make a corrected hardcopy of my journals. This course has really kept me going in a very difficult time. Maybe that difficult time is over now. I dont know. When I spoke to Tom last night, he said that my reaction to being sick and then getting a clean bill of health from Dr. Rundle when I tested negative was akin to that of the hypochondriac Woody Allen played in Hannah and Her Sisters. Last night I didnt get to sleep until 4 AM; all night by the glare of floodlights, men worked on restoring the each as the sand kept blowing in from those big pipes and the tractors kept smoothing it out. I tried to look for the Perseid meteor shower but couldnt find it.

In a way, I guess it doesnt matter all that much whether I stay in New York as I did the past two falls or I go to Florida. Wherever I go, Ill want to try to write, to read, to learn, to make new friends, etc. It seems like a crucial decision now, but its really not. Where I live and where I work and go to school are just details, after all; its what I think and feel that are important. If I hold onto that thought, maybe Ill be more relaxed over the next ten days, which are bound to be hectic. I spoke to Spencer last night Susan was at the dentist when I called while he was feeding the baby. When I said that I knew things had been hectic for him and Susan lately, but after all, our parents did it, he said, Yeah, but our parents didnt have the choices we did. Life was a little easier when there were fewer choices. I have so many that I cant make up my mind. Meanwhile, the days and months and years fly by. Grandma Ethel has begun to look very old now; it isnt that she has one particular complaint but that her old body is starting to fail her, though her mind seems much the same as ever. Ive got to remember to buy and send out a sympathy card to Uncle Sidney, whose brother

died Sunday night. Grandma said he was a rich man, but a year in an expensive nursing home bankrupted him. Thats the way things are now. I want to write about things like that, things that are wrong or cruel or unfair. This sounds pompous, but Id like to engage the world in debates over everything. I guess I can try to do that in New York or Florida or anywhere. Teresa and probably Donna will be back tonight, so its the futon on the floor for me. Ive been running around the last few hours, doing laundry, paying bills (I changed the address on the last three credit card bills back to Davie), reading the papers, flossing my teeth: all the paratactic details of everyday life. Will I really continue in my desire to write? Well see. If I do stay in New York, I wont take more than four classes on, and even then, Ill have a hard time getting the time and mental space to write. I dont know what Im going to do, and I feel both oddly serene and typically agitated. Life seems very full these days and heavy with meaning. Im alive; Sean is alive; my parents and brothers and friends and Grandma Ethel and Grandpa Nat are all alive for now. I feel as though Ive turned a corner. That may be a clich, but it seems to fit.

Thursday, August 13, 1987


7 PM. This has been a gorgeous week. Instead of the dog days of summer, its been a week of pleasant temperatures and low humidity. After a hot July, a seasonable August is a relief. I havent had to turn on the air conditioner in days. Teresa came back alone, as Eric returned to his wife in New Jersey. She told me Eric wants her to work for him hes a headhunter for big retail stores but she says shes going to work part-time as an office assistant to Frank for his PR firm. This morning I helped Teresa lug all the packages of Zabars stuff she needs for her catering to West End Avenue, where she caught a cab to midtown, to Erics car. I worked out with Body Electric today was aerobics and then did the laundry because I felt funny about sleeping on sheets I knew Teresa and Eric had made love on. Today turned out to be a productive day. Moms mail brought only one bill and a

rejection from a creditor due to too many recent inquiries in my file. I dont know if Service One Corporation is a ripoff or not, but I sent them $2,000 to be deposited in a South Dakota back in exchange for a similar credit line on a Visa. I figure the bank would get in trouble with the Fed or FDIC or state regulators if they were in on a crooked scheme. But you never can tell: in the Village Voices annual list of the ten worst landlords, Columbia University topped the list. They really do sleazy things to their tenants. At Teachers College, I was assured that my $310 refund should be arriving any day now. I was so happy because I completed another column on the TC computer. For weeks Ive wanted to do one on my campaign to draft various celebrities (Gloria Vanderbilt, Burt Reynolds, Fred Silverman, et al.) for political office, and in a couple of hours this column got finished. Like my other recent columns, its a five-pager. Best of all, the jokes and gags were readymade in the form of quotations I gave in old clippings. Now my columns are actually covered for the next couple of months. Id secretly set a goal of writing two columns this week, and I accomplished that. How about that!

Now if I could write just one more, Id be ecstatic. (See, Im never satisfied). Crad writes that Im going to miss him again because he wont be in New York until I leave for MacDowell. He asked for help in publicizing The Worst Canadian Short Stories, and Im going to try; maybe I can even work the books into my column. This apartment is mine again, as Ive moved everything back to the way I like it. Teresa will be back here on Monday, but I intend to go to Rockaway after Alices mothers barbeque on Sunday and stay with Grandma Ethel until Wednesday or so. Ive got two weeks left in New York City before going to New Hampshire, and I want to enjoy the remaining time here. Actually, its already been a great summer. Ive written eight or nine columns, taken another computer ed grad course, spent precious time with my friends and grandmother, and Ive been able to experience New York City in good health and good spirits. Someday, I fear, therell be a price to pay for all these terrific times. I can wait. Right now I feel kind of tired, though I have to go out later for milk and bread. As of tomorrow, Ill have been in New York for fifteen wonderful weeks. I really cant complain. In USA Today, I read that George Schweitzer, CBSs V.P. for Public Relations whos put out all the fires in the media in recent years is

leaving to take a similar position at Young & Rubicam, the big ad agency The article stated that my old Franklin School friend started at CBS as an office boy in 1973. I feel proud of him. I wish Teresa had the kind of friends I do. Except for Cynthia, Barbara, Elizabeth and Jane all of whom are married, working at interesting jobs, and have moved out of Manhattan most of the people she knows tend to be idle rich people who just hang out most of the time.

Wednesday, August 14, 1985


Midnight. Im so confused. Im supposed to be in Florida a week from now, but as the time draws closer, I have grave doubts about it. Going back doesnt feel right the way going to the University of Miami for a Ph.D. didnt feel right, but I did it because I didnt know what else to do. Ive been driven by inertia. But tonight, after I had dinner with Gary and Eileen, I called Mom, who said she couldnt understand why I was returning if I didnt really like Florida. Earlier, I spoke to Patrick, who did get a permanent faculty position at BCC at last; he talked about the school and Florida, and I

found myself getting depressed, the same way I did on Monday when I spoke to Betty on the bus. I dont really want to return to Florida now and am doing it because I dont know what else to do. I called Teresa, who said her father knew of an apartment in Greenpoint for $300 a month. I worried about getting an unfurnished apartment, but Teresa convinced me that she could get me all the stuff I need and said, correctly, that I already have a spartan lifestyle. So tomorrow morning Ill call this lady who works with Teresas father at the senior center. Im excited about it, and that must mean I want to stay in New York City. Ive gotten calls for adjunct work from Empire State College and Kean College of New Jersey, and Im sure I can get work at CUNY. For $300 a month, I could live comfortably, maybe even afford to buy a car. I could even afford to pay my rent and still go to Florida for the winter. Last evening I had a good time with Tom. Hes had a very productive summer, writing every day, and of course he loved being with Susan; Tom said they got along very well. Despite not getting his sabbatical, Tom has been doing well and seems prepared to go back to New Orleans and face another year at NOCCA.

We had dinner at Marvin Gardens and then spent time in bookstores. I told him my problems, and when he left, he said, Youre going to be all right, arent you? Not going to get into a major depression? Nope, I said, and told him Id try to come to New Orleans next spring. Today was very hot and humid; I figure Id better get used to it, but I really dread the thought of the Florida heat. Of course, if I stay here, Ill dread the New York winter. I spent most of the day in my air-conditioned room (Teresas room) and went out only to do some banking, have lunch and get Sundays Fort Lauderdale News (and Los Angeles Times, for some reason). At 5 PM I took a cab to the Sutton Place Synagogue on Second Avenue and 51st Street and met Gary and his fiance/girlfriend Eileen. We had a pleasant dinner at Trachters, and I got to know Eileen. Shes fairly pretty, but Teresa was right about the platinum streaks in her hair; they look odd. Eileen isnt smart or well-informed Gary had to patiently explain why people were upset about South Africa and describe to her what apartheid was but for Gary, she seems fine. I sensed a little tension between them, as when one had to explain that he or she was joking although it had been obvious, but they get along well enough. Gary took her to San

Diego and L.A. in March, and they went to New England in June. Eileen, whose mothers brother is our old optometrist Dr. Bernstein, grew up in Oceanside and now lives by the Douglaston LIRR station. She met Gary when he had an appointment with his doctor, whose receptionist she is. She sent him his diet with a note saying he should call her if he had any questions. Last winter when his father died, Gary went through a very rough time, so its just compensation that Eileen makes him happy now.

Saturday, August 15, 1987


7 PM. Ive spent the day in my air-conditioned bedroom. Later Ill go out to get the Sunday Times. Tomorrow I have to leave at noon to get to Brooklyn, and then I intend to stay over in Rockaway until Wednesday. Last night, at Shakespeare in the Park, we were too late to get line numbers and we were told there definitely wouldnt be seats for us, but Ronna said we should persevere. Ellen soon biked over from her job at CBS and we had a little picnic. It seemed to take forever, and I

crankily doubted Ronnas usual unfailing optimism that wed get in. It turned out Ronna was right, but just barely. Ronna, Ellen and I got the last three seats available. They told the couple behind us and everyone after that to go home. Our seats were all separately widely; I could see both Ronna and Ellen from my seat, though, and just before the play started, we were able to find three seats together. (I ran into the young black woman with whom Id been on jury duty as we walked around.) Two Gentlemen of Verona isnt a great play there are incredible inconsistencies in Proteuss character but the production was a good one: stripped down but elegant. The only real star was Elizabeth McGovern, whos not an exceptional actress, but all the cast was good. I always enjoy sitting in the park as darkness falls; its such a beautiful setting. We followed the crowds out of the park, up Central Park West and across 86th Street. Ronna seemed annoyed with me because when I said, Ill see you before I leave for MacDowell, she said, Maybe. Probably she does have reason to be angry with me; Im always leaving her. Maybe the best thing I can do for Ronna is give her the number of Alices eye doctor, whos looking for a nice Jewish girl to marry.

Today on C-SPAN, I saw a Senate hearing on computer education. Apparently theres a pending bill, the Computer Education Assistance Act of 1987, to provide funds for teacher training, hardware and software.

The testimony of computer teachers, students and administrators was fascinating to me. Its clear that were moving away from drill-andpractice CAI and towards using the computer as a tool (particularly for word processing, databases and telecommunications) and as a problem-solving device. I feel good that Ive gotten in on the infancy of a new field. As Senator Lautenberg said, Americas only hope to compete in the world economy is to take advantage of our technological expertise. Certainly we cant compete for low-wage factory jobs; developing countries can always underbid us on wages. The high school graduating class of 2000 enters kindergarten this fall, and computers will be in their day-today lives. Mom said that today the Sun-Tattler published my Sunshine State/Wrinkle State column on tanning, as Id expected they would. Obviously they dont want to run my earlier pieces, but I dont intend to write any more till I return home unless inspiration strikes. That way, theyll have to run the columns or no column at

all, and Ill try other markets for the ones they havent run. Mom also told me that I got a lot of the expected bills. Shell forward them and my other mail through next weekend; after that, shell send my mail to MacDowell. Neil Rogers is in trouble again, for making fun of the Pope, wholl be in Miami next month. Marc taped some satirical songs from Neils show. Its been hot in Florida but everyone is in good health and business hasnt been too bad. I didnt do much today, but I was productive this week.

Saturday, August 16, 1986


7 PM. Scott is coming over in an hour, and I have to take a shower after I finish writing this. Ive just come back from Brooklyn, where I saw an apartment of a woman who answered my ad. The place was huge and magnificent, airy and just perfect, located right on Seventh Avenue and Third Street in Park Slope. Because shes teaching at Ohio State in Columbus, a fall term sublet would be perfect for her, too. But I decided against it. The rent would have been $500, steep but probably manageable. I just have this instinct that I should go back to

Florida now. Maybe, as Josh says, Ill freak out when I get there and immediately decide that want to come back. More likely, Ill have trouble adjusting and be homesick for New York City for the next couple of months till about November, when it cools off in Florida and when it starts to get cold up here. At least I have November and the six months after that to look forward to. Yes, in one way I feel going back to Florida is a retreat but sometimes we need retreats. I dont want to ride the subways for a while. Probably after eight months in South Floridas traffic jams, Ill welcome the IRT, but thats just it: I want to get away from New York so I can really miss it, so that being here will be as magical as it was when I came here in May of 1984. Anyway, this last trip into Brooklyn made up my mind. If I didnt take that terrific apartment, I wont take any other; Ill tell anyone else answering my ad that Im no longer interested. Yes, Im scared and apprehensive about returning to Florida without any kind of job but as I told my parents yesterday, Ill find something. I guess Im still nervous about having to quit at FIT, but Ill do that on Monday and Ill cancel my student loans at Teachers College.

Ive got to tell Grandma Ethel and see her before I go, and Id like to see Alice, Josh, Justin, Susan and maybe Pete and Harold before I leave. Its just too bad the schools in Florida dont start until after Labor Day so I could have another week here. Who knows? Maybe FIU or FAU will call this week, offering me an adjunct course or two. Ive got Thursdays Fort Lauderdale News and in the library I read Sundays Miami Herald. There seem to be plenty of jobs and no shortage of apartments for rent. This morning I worked out while viewing The Re-Animator, a grisly but funny film Tom recommended that I rent. (Ive got a terrible crush on the guy at the video store.) It turned very humid, and its been a pretty dark day. Well, Id better get moving. At least Scott is coming up here for dinner and I dont have to go to Chelsea. I wish I didnt feel so tired, though. Hopefully it will be an early life.

Friday, August 17, 1984


9 PM. Ive just returned from a walk to 86th and Broadway to get some Mrs. Fields cookies. I wasnt wearing my glasses or lenses, so the world seemed a blur of lights against darkness.

Its cool tonight, and not humid, so I can do without the air conditioner. And I feel better. Emerson said something about how a man is never really tested until hes forced back on his wits. Ive been easy-going and good-natured these past four months, but why shouldnt I have been? Ive had the best of everything: not only the basics like food, shelter and clothing, but Ive had luxuries like the VCR and answering machine, and Ive had my friends. Life isnt one continual climb; there are ups and downs, and you can usually learn more from the downs. Four years ago, life was very painful for me. I remember August 1980 for being hot and unhappy; at night Id lie in bed against the open window, with Jamaica Bay in front of me, planes landing at Kennedy; the ships-bottom roofs of Rockaway below. I read Emerson, listened to classical music and cried a little. Then, as now, there seemed no way out. What did I learn from that time that I can use now? Theres always a way out. Im in a much better position now, in some ways. Im stronger and more capable. My health, knock wood, is fine. I have lots of people who I care about and who care about me. Remember, kiddo, nobody said it would be wavy gravy or watermelon. You are going to

struggle through this decade, but the 1990s will bring about a good turn of events. I have faith, but its easy to forget that when I feel overwhelmed. Still, I seem to be able to know how to upright myself after a time. Meanwhile, its five days till youre in that Delta L-1011 heading up to the sky, so enjoy the beauty here. The only way you can really fuck up is if you dont live each day to the fullest. Today there was plenty of beauty: Ronna, of course, but the buildings in midtown, the view from Riverside Drive, the breeze Im feeling now. Dont let the bastards get you down. Just like you root for your friends, there are people rooting for you. Dont let them down. Dont let yourself down.

Monday, August 18, 1986


8 PM. I just walked in from buying some literary books to take back with me to Florida. Of everything in New York City, Ill most miss the life of the streets and the diversity of people here. Its going to be hard to do without that stimulation in Florida, and I should try to find substitutes for it.

Of course, somehow a walk in the Broward Mall doesnt do it; therell be no street people, no one playing jazz guitar at midnight, no peddlers with books and jewelry. A mall is artificial and antiseptic. But Ill come back to New York City. If theres one thing Ive proven these last few years, its that I can come and go and adjust. When I finally got a chance to tell Teresa I was leaving, she sounded a bit huffy but she doesnt understand. Although Ive spoken to her every day for the last fifteen weeks, we havent had one substantial conversation. When I come back to New York City, it probably wont be to this apartment. Last night I called my parents and learned that Grandpa Nat is in the hospital. On Thursday, while Dad and Aunt Sydelle were visiting him, he seemed to have a heart attack or stroke, and they thought he was dead. With Sydelle screaming, Dad raced him from the garden to the nurses station and they gave him oxygen. Although Grandpa seemed okay, an ambulance was called to take him to Parkway General. At first the nurse there thought Grandpa Nat was totally disoriented and that he would need special care; Dad had to convince her that hes always like that. I guess the strange faces and noises he makes upset other people.

At first his hospital roommate wanted him out, but the next day the man said Grandpa had been very quiet all night and the nurse said he was actually her best patient because he did whatever he was told and didnt complain. Apparently Grandpa Nat has arrhythmia, an irregular heartbeat. When the doctor suggested they may do a bypass or put a pacemaker in, Dad told him to forget it. The doctor actually wants to do a brain scan as if we didnt know Grandpas been brain-damaged for nine years. Anyway, he should be getting back to the nursing home soon. I also called David and Ellice, who said the new baby is doing fine and that Gabe is taking having a brother in stride. The McKinnons really seem to have a good life in Philadelphia, which they describe as a livable city. While they were able to buy a seven-room house only ten minutes for downtown by car (or a clean trolley), they couldnt even afford to rent in Manhattan. David will be teaching only two classes at Penn this fall, and Ellice has one (The Screwball Comedy) as a part-timer. And by next year, David will probably teach only graduate courses. He just sent his book on James to Oxford University Press.

David says academia will probably open up in the 1990s; for the first time in years, freshmen and sophomores say theyre thinking of going to grad school in English, he reports. Davids comments make me glad I decided Im not teaching at Fashion Institute of Technology in the fall. I still believe that Ill be shunted aside in the coming 1990s professor shortage by kids twenty years younger just coming out of grad school. My problem is that Im unlikely to be considered for creative writing jobs since Im not on that track after being a comp and remedial teacher for over a decade. I dont have or want a Ph.D., of course. And Ill never be a big enough name to get by on my literary reputation. Maybe that will change in the next decade. It will be interesting to see what develops, even during the next eight months in Florida. Eight months seem like a long time, but the first eight months of this year are almost gone, and theyve galloped by. If I keep busy and keep concentrating on productive and positive things, everything will be okay. Id rather be me than be Teresa or Josh or Scott or Ronna or most people I know.

(Theyd probably rather be themselves, too, if theyre smart.) Anyway, Hurricane Charley brought us only a little rain and wind before fizzling out. This morning I did the laundry, canceled my student loan, and called FIT. Prof. Peterson wont be coming back this term, and the new chairman wont be in till next week, so I wrote him a letter of resignation: the cowards way out. I took several boxes to the post office, and Ive got a couple more to send back to Florida. At Times Square, I got the Sunday Miami Herald and at the Business Library in Brooklyn Heights, I read this months issues of American Banker. Little by little, everything is getting done. I spoke to Grandma Ethel, whos in bad pain from arthritis. Ill visit her before I go, of course. As sad as leaving is, I like the sense of closure.

Tuesday, August 19, 1986


6 PM. Ive just been listening to the news, mostly about the economy. With GNP growth for the second quarter an anemic 0.6%, with a new tax reform bill a drag on the economy (at

least right away), with Gramm-Rudman making cuts in the budget deficit, it looks to me like were heading into a recession. The stock market will go up a little more but will probably fall disastrously before a year is out. Oil patch sates may pick up if the new OPEC agreement holds, but theres still a severe problem in mid-Americas farms, mines and manufacturing companies. But I think the big crash is yet to come. Maybe I should take another economics course this term; I keep thinking that I would have made a great economist. Well, I got all of my packages off to the post office today, and I met Justin for lunch at the World Trade Center. We ate downstairs in that English restaurant. Of all my friends, Justin is the one who most disapproves of my going back to Florida, but he kept quiet about it after I told him of my decision. He looked very tired. For weeks hes been working on the set design for the show in Reading, and hes been traveling there every weekend for the past month. In a way, Justin has been able to get out of New York City in fact, all my friends have while Ive been in Manhattan continuously for four months. Last night I couldnt sleep; obviously Im still a little nervous about moving back. So I read the Times, which Id bought at 11 PM, and read the

first few chapters of Norman Cousins Trivializing America, and I lay in bed thinking. By 5 AM, I conked out and slept rather nicely for a few hours. It wasnt enough, however, for by 2 PM, when I came home from lunch with Justin, I slipped into a ninety-minute semisleep: that great deep relaxation which always makes me feel terrific afterwards. Scott will be over late tonight to pick up his contact lens case, which hed left here by accident. Josh phoned to ask if I wanted to have dinner, but unfortunately Id already eaten a sandwich. I feel ask if Im on some sort of countdown as I say to myself: In five days youll be gone; take in all this Manhattan scene because you wont see it for a long time. But this past winter I was happy in Florida, and I can be happy there again. Actually, the first two-thirds of 1986 has been quite good to me. I thought Teresa would be home tonight, but maybe not. God knows how she keeps from being bored out there on Fire Island. Id be bouncing off walls after a day there. Certainly shes making no effort to look for work, though she says she needs a job. I suspect shell live on Unemployment the rest of the year.

Wednesday, August 20, 1986

6 PM. I had a crisis today when I got home at 2 PM to find a message from Evelyn, the secretary at FIT, asking if I could teach another course. Id mailed a letter to the new chairman, but that was a cowards way out. So I went down to FIT; unfortunately, Evelyn had just left for a long lunch, and during that time I agonized. Maybe, I thought, theyre offering me a full-time position. With four courses, I could make $6,500 for the semester. (Id already given up the thought of taking classes at Columbia.) But Evelyn just wanted to give me a second adjunct course, and she wasnt certain my Friday night class would have enough students to make. I told her I was up for a full-time job and she said that obviously if I got it, I should take it and call the chair as soon as possible. When no one was looking, I retrieved my letter from his mailbox; Ill call him tomorrow. Everyone here knows what a crazy, lastminute business this is, Evelyn told me. It is a crazy, last-minute business, such a crazy way to run higher education. All over New York City, adjuncts will play musical chairs over the next few weeks. I got a notice that I got a class at LaGuardia today; Ill have to call them tomorrow. No doubt Teresas phone will get lots of job messages for me next week and the week

after. The thing is, I really dont want to teach four sections of composition. Dad phoned last night to say that the Hollywood Sun-Tattlers Mike Burke wants me to call him next week about my doing a guest humor column. Thats the kind of opportunity I could never get it in New York City, and even one column would give me satisfaction, though Im already nervous about having to come up with something for the paper. Vivian and Mark at EPIE were really pissed when I told them I was moving to Florida. Well, I guess they trained me as a software evaluator, and now Im not giving them anything for the money. What can I do? I certainly dont think Im doing anything unethical or immoral. This isnt exactly like the insider trader scandals on Wall Street. Scott came over late last night after he broke [his] girlfriends heart by breaking up with her. Jeez. She was so upset that he had to take her out for a drive to Brooklyn, where they talked on the Promenade. The girl probably didnt know what hit her. Scott will be in Florida next month for his cruise which he was supposed to take this girl on and he told me to plan an exciting Saturday night. Right. Teresa slept at Kens last night and came in early this morning. We went out for breakfast together and had a good time; sometimes no

one can be nicer than Teresa. Her mother is sorry I wont be living with them in Williamsburg, Teresa reported. She got back from suitcase from Ken, who is now planning weekend trips with Teresa for the fall. I gave her a big hug as I left her at the subway; she wont be back from the beach till next week. Well, Ive done just about everything I need to do now. Ive got to see Susan and Alice and Mikey, who said he was enjoying the third and final week of his vacation. Josh is coming over for dinner and maybe a movie later this evening. My Computers and Writing stuff wasnt in the department office, but I got a form to send away for my Teachers College transcripts. Im really a bundle of nerves right now. Its funny, but I had forgotten what stress felt like. Well, unlike in New York City, in Florida theres not much of it around.

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