Not Nick Nolte's Diary

Fleer

I can't get my European business cards to fit into the pages of my contact binder. It's not even close. I never realized the size difference. So I called my office supply guy and you'd a thought I was asking him where to get an ocarina lesson. He had no clue. Then Manolo's life coach stopped by the house. While he was waiting for Manolo to pretend to get ready he suggested a trip to a sports collectable shop. He also suggested signing up for his class on Goal Visioning. So it seems my first session is next week, but I'm more interested in seeing what a Lou Brock rookie fetches these days. I can't remember what storage facility I keep my nostalgia in, but that might be a knot in need of retying. Keep your powder dry Diary.

Pizzone

I ran into Burt Ripshaw at the nursery. He was fully bearded so I hardly recognized him. He told me it's the whiskey that makes the whiskers grow. His words nearly parted my hair. Anyway, it appears I hadn't spoken with him in quite some time. It wasn't until after the conversation that I realized why. His Reiki healer is a complete asshole. The guy is one of those cats who puts you on the back peddle in order to control his fragile universe. Before you can say anything he'll "remind" you that you're not suppose to drink liquids out of plastic bottles that are grade 2 or higher or he'll wonder why you're still using tungsten. It gets to be too much. But Burt has been collateral damage too long. So I challenged him to a game of squash next week. They say ennui shuffles the deck but its the forgotten proclivities that deal the cards. And so here we are Diary.

Astronaut Avocado

All the world was reflections this morning. The sun was shining over the roofs of all the cars of the valley. If it sounds like William Carlos Williams, diary, it's because it should be. Now that I think about it, it reads more like Cormac McCarthy. Anyway, I woke up this morning with the phrase "astronaut avocado" pounding around my head like so many goatskin jai alai balls in Miami of the 1970s. I'm not sure where I picked it up, but it is likely that I will not soon drop it. I may head down to my local Sherman Williams dealer and see if they have it in their color robot.

Point

I had long ago overheard an expression, was a few months back at the opening of a friend's hibiscus farm, and today I've come to find I've misunderstood the expression entirely. It seems 'lift music' isn't necessarily inspirational music as I understood it, but rather what the English refer to as elevator music. Appears I owe a few emails to Neil. All my insistence of him writing more lift music is without question embarrassing. The sound man came by today on a maintenance call (and apparently to give me some much needed music education.) At any rate he suggested a few modifications for the system. Low and behold Lorena Garay plays as smooth as room temperature raclette. Manolo and I then wasted the afternoon indulging our Oware addiction. On a more aggravating note. My new assistant can't help tripping over his wedding tackle. Seems he called Sports Chalet to see if they could work on my Shinai. He's a friend of the family so we'll just keep this here for now. Stay dry Diary.

Mood number four

I've gotten into a blue mood, diary but I know your creaky keys are willing to hear me out. Listening to a bunch of Angelo Badalementi scores only clarifies the feeling. I replaced the bearings in one of the scareowls that guard the widow's walk from gulls and such. When I got above the roofline I was startled to see the ocean was a flat sheet of slate blue, unchanging in color as the water raced toward the horizon. It was like pallet knife had scraped one of those colors from that PBS painting program across the bottom of the sky. I am growing my hair out for charity, diary.

All Star Science

It's a strange day Diary. My new supplement people just don't get it. I feel as though I am trying to write a novel with a skywriter and a ship-to-shore radio with these people. I suppose the root of the problem is that if they have bad news they disappear like Phyllis Thaxter at a union benefit. The truth be told though I am not even sure how tough it is to get a decent mandrake and B-12 supplement put together. Or if it is in fact possible. But whatever the case may be I'd at least want to know the snag. What can a man do to get an update on his supplements? Speaking of which the diamond waffle Kimono style robe Manolo tracked down is top shelf. Felt so nice on the test drive that I decided to do some hedge work in it. Well, I worked up a sweat, and the robe stayed with me. I am not sure of the composite but I wouldn't bet against lycra. Final grade: luxury plus. As always, touch will be kept Diary.

Court

My new business cards have arrived and as usual surprises are part of the deal. My print guy sends me a batch with new vitals this time of year and its always something. This year I am a Rodeo Archivist and apparently my friends call me "neckbone." He's got quite an imagination. Manolo and I had a good laugh with it. Manolo said that he could actually see me walking this path. I am still not sure if this is a compliment or an insult. At any rate I am now fascinated with giving people nicknames. So far this is what I got. Neil's is "cheddar." That's easy. Sam will have to be "ink." Manolo is "sweet water." I would attempt one for Constance but something tells me that it won't be taken correctly. I wonder why women don't gravitate towards nicknames like men do. They only shorten or lengthen their real names. Something to think about. Perhaps Kant has written about this, and then perhaps not. I don't know how to end this entry so I'll print a Hikku Constance left in the Quiet room.

Dragonflies are free
And my God is a secret
Do you like my sky?

I wonder if Constance will get bent about this? Nothing a dozen chocolate roses won't fix I'm sure.

Cayenne

Manolo has resigned me to kitchen duty for the next couple minutes. He stepped out because he forgot the alfalfa (again). Of course he didn't admit to this. Over the years I have come to know Manolo's playbook and when he leaves something off the grocery list he simply says that he needs to go "sew the net." Sure I could press him, but I have to save my arrows for the war that's brewing. I am expanding the quiet room on the north wing which according to my blueprints will cut into Manolo's hot house. Not a happy man he'll be. Back to point, Manolo told me when the peppers start to stain the pan its time to add the spice. It's strange how cooking is so closely related to life. On my jog yesterday I felt roughly the same way, the hills in Topanga are legendary; seemingly small they cast a long and stubborn shadow. I need to tend to the range. Sprinkle liberally Diary.

Petal

Sweet Maria, blood oranges are addictive. They don't appear to be that tantalizing at first but its not until you walk away that their powers take hold. I think if I ever found myself between a pile of pistachios and some blood oranges my head would explode. They both can get their hooks into you something fierce. Seriously Diary what do you choose? Don't answer, it's impossible. Pistachios are irresistable. I remember last year when Manolo made me watch Bloodsport, I cashed an entire bag of Turkish label before the Kumate even started. That was a day to remember. As far as today is concerned, I am in search of a decent foot powder. My dog's are in bad shape as I have been putting in some overtime in the bean garden. I suspect Manolo will want me to pick up some fresh socks while I am at it, mid calf of course. No time like the present, keep it real Dairy.

Travel

A postcard came today from the Ishii's; it seems they have made their way back to Japan. Kazuhisa signed a contract to play for the Swallows of Yakult and he states that he is most happy with the decision except he notes that the Central Divison is a harsh mistress and I for one can't argue. It might be a different land over there but baseball is still baseball. He went on to note that the decision had a "seprate fork" his words not mine, anyway his wife needed to be closer to her uncle's business, they are the leading importer of Japanese unmentionables, and so the post card ends. In the post script it states that the little ones miss my newspapers. God bless the Ishii clan and may the Swallows gobble up the competition like a clipped mayfly. Til we meet again Diary.

Angle

I've been informed that my waste isn't being properly sorted, Diary. This time, not from my second wife. Yes, the Homeowner's Association heavies are on me once again. Apparently there are four different "classes" of plastics and none of them belong in the brown bin. I tried to plead my case but they didn't want to listen; to be fair I was a little sluggish in getting it out there. They simply handed me another yellow note and a calander of events. Mark it down, May 14 Ice Cream Social. If I go, I'll be wearing my Harvest Moon t-shirt and I'll be nude from the waste down. Manolo played me a song the other day that not only made me want to jump out a window, but I also think it may have cause permanent damage to the house system. I think its called "beautiful" and its by some English stalker posing as a musician. I had to clean out the works with two hours of Gram Parsons before anything sounded right. Manolo has just informed me that he will now be taking back the trash detail. He saw the note. Looks like I will be avoiding the kitchen for awhile. Stock the pond, Diary.

Soda

Why is it when Constance loses her moccasins it becomes my problem? I ask you this Diary because if I said it aloud I would seem like a poor boyfriend. I can't believe I just typed that sentance. There is much static in the signal. I feel as though I am being sent to the work farm without tobacco money. It was only Tuesday when we were fighting last; she wants too many salt lamps in the quiet room. It's an impossible amount diary, trust me. She fails to grasp the concept of a Quiet Room. The way she approaches it, its as though she wants the room for Opium sales. Perhaps I didn't comprimise but then again I didn't call myself a "stubborn bear." In better news, Manolo and I have finally turned the Grey Room into a functioning recording studio. Our side project is now entitled Growth Poster until Manolo changes it again. I am just wanting to give the four track a proper test drive. Neil faxed over some tips from his vaults and when I say vaults I mean mind. I of course was expecting a joke and he delivered with the second bullet point. The first one read 'Power on.' The second: 'Get good at guitar.' Solid gold. Til next time. Aloha.

Adieu

Well Diary, its been a long road and the turns, well there have been a many. Don't worry I will cut a check to The Hollies. Anyway, this entry is an official good-bye. With Constance finally moved in and more irons in the fire than ever, I think its time for a new chapter. Leon has informed me that I can post my nature photos here, and therefore I plan to do so. I hate to end it here Diary, but I feel like I have said enough. So farewell and enjoy my photos, and perhaps if I feel inclined I will be back. Take care and keep the powder dry. Your pal, Nick.

Slow

I am officially the Sergeant at Arms on the council to save the Salton Sea. To be quite honest I have no idea what my duties are but I think the cause speaks for itself, and so my capacity is irrelevant. I do have several ideas but I am keeping them on the drafting board for now. But here I do have an idea ready for birth; why do people speed through when leaving their callback number on a message? I received a call yesterday from a action-adventure memorabilia club requesting my presence at a convention. The message itself was a trilogy in its scope, the hard sale in its fullest, but when he got to the call back number he zipped by like a junebug in the night. Luckily my Dictaphone has three speeds otherwise it might have meant another stain on the reputation, and I know first hand never to upset the convention types, their scorn is legendary. Peace.

Awe

There is no coversheet for telling someone they have bad breath is there Diary? It always seems as though the ones that need the hints the most cannot take them. I am of course talking about myself. I felt like a cuckold when it finally came to my attention. How could I have been so blind? Afterall, I have enough peppermint pinwheels in the Rover and in my coat pockets to plug up the Suez. I just thought everyone giving me mints was a coincidence. Looking back on it I cannot believe I didn't connect the dots, I feel like I am on tape delay. Well at least the intervention was preceded with a fabulous Ecuadorian meal. It doesn't make sense on paper I know, but in practice, the aim was true. Stay gold Diary.