Back at work, my bosses leveled with me. I was a scab. I was to attend union meetings and report back to the boss.
I took a liking to VR. I drove V home after work. Pay days we would go to the check cashier, the electric company, the furniture rental store across from Lincoln Park, or wherever they owed money.
We went to visit friends and partied n East LA. V would point out Chicanos--he's shy, he's gay, he's in a gang, he's a loner, he's a lawyer, and so forth, indicating that Chicanos were just like Anglos. We danced at El Monte Legion Stadium, while the Masked Phantom Band saxophone players back-flipped without missing a note and low riders cruised without smiling.
We saw 'South Pacific' at the drive-in on Rosemead.
I love 'Chicago (Transit Authority)'. I've visited my share of parks, from Oregon to Texas; but whenever I hear Chicago play 'Saturday in the Park,' my mind carries me back to Lincoln Park with V and tears come to my eyes. A slim triangle of grass, trees and footpaths, bordered by barrooms, furniture rentals, and pawn shops--it had everything and nothing. Picnickers and lovers, cotton candy and hot dogs, old people in wheelchairs watching children with balloons. The animals in the 'zoo' and the organ-grinder's monkey frolicked--innocent of Lyndon Johnson, Viet Nam, Watts Riots, and Three Mile Island.
Nevertheless, I began to grow distasteful of the hopelessness of their lives. V and I liked each other well enough, but I felt that when she learned English, and I learned Spanish, we would begin arguing. So I ended the relationship.
I registered to audit two art classes at Pasadena City College. I do things slowly and tediously. Introduction to Oil Painting went well, until I had to paint a live model. It looked like a pretty nun. I ran out of time before doing her hair.
Charcoal and Watercolor went better. Watercolors force you to work fast to capture the sought after effects while the medium is usable. I executed a surprisingly splendid sepia tone sketch of a life model posed as a gold miner panning for gold. The professor asked me to tour the summer art circuit with him. At first I was pleased, but seconds later I took it as a challenge to my manhood and refused.
The cannery hired an Anglo, Jack Pine, to work with me. Jack spouted radical right wing propaganda. I was friends with everyone else. Everyone thought I would welcome Jack--after all, he was 'white.' Jack was more than right wing white. He was stupid. He had met his wife, as a navy man, on shore leave in Long Beach. Jillie was a hefty blonde who had worked the docks and the strand whenever the navy came to town. He would invite me to enjoy his sweetheart's fried chicken. I could only beg off so many times. So, I asked Z, the sexy union rep, if she would go to dinners with me for free fried chicken. It has always intrigued me how a small percentage of complete idiots can discipline themselves to master the game of chess. So Z would chat with Jillie, before dinner in that hot Skid Row flat, while Jack would beat me in three games of chess.
Jack began borrowing money from me.
Z invited me to her Christmas party--but she already had a date. I got drunk on Cuba libres and passed out under her Christmas tree.
I took a liking to VR. I drove V home after work. Pay days we would go to the check cashier, the electric company, the furniture rental store across from Lincoln Park, or wherever they owed money.
We went to visit friends and partied n East LA. V would point out Chicanos--he's shy, he's gay, he's in a gang, he's a loner, he's a lawyer, and so forth, indicating that Chicanos were just like Anglos. We danced at El Monte Legion Stadium, while the Masked Phantom Band saxophone players back-flipped without missing a note and low riders cruised without smiling.
We saw 'South Pacific' at the drive-in on Rosemead.
I love 'Chicago (Transit Authority)'. I've visited my share of parks, from Oregon to Texas; but whenever I hear Chicago play 'Saturday in the Park,' my mind carries me back to Lincoln Park with V and tears come to my eyes. A slim triangle of grass, trees and footpaths, bordered by barrooms, furniture rentals, and pawn shops--it had everything and nothing. Picnickers and lovers, cotton candy and hot dogs, old people in wheelchairs watching children with balloons. The animals in the 'zoo' and the organ-grinder's monkey frolicked--innocent of Lyndon Johnson, Viet Nam, Watts Riots, and Three Mile Island.
Nevertheless, I began to grow distasteful of the hopelessness of their lives. V and I liked each other well enough, but I felt that when she learned English, and I learned Spanish, we would begin arguing. So I ended the relationship.
I registered to audit two art classes at Pasadena City College. I do things slowly and tediously. Introduction to Oil Painting went well, until I had to paint a live model. It looked like a pretty nun. I ran out of time before doing her hair.
Charcoal and Watercolor went better. Watercolors force you to work fast to capture the sought after effects while the medium is usable. I executed a surprisingly splendid sepia tone sketch of a life model posed as a gold miner panning for gold. The professor asked me to tour the summer art circuit with him. At first I was pleased, but seconds later I took it as a challenge to my manhood and refused.
The cannery hired an Anglo, Jack Pine, to work with me. Jack spouted radical right wing propaganda. I was friends with everyone else. Everyone thought I would welcome Jack--after all, he was 'white.' Jack was more than right wing white. He was stupid. He had met his wife, as a navy man, on shore leave in Long Beach. Jillie was a hefty blonde who had worked the docks and the strand whenever the navy came to town. He would invite me to enjoy his sweetheart's fried chicken. I could only beg off so many times. So, I asked Z, the sexy union rep, if she would go to dinners with me for free fried chicken. It has always intrigued me how a small percentage of complete idiots can discipline themselves to master the game of chess. So Z would chat with Jillie, before dinner in that hot Skid Row flat, while Jack would beat me in three games of chess.
Jack began borrowing money from me.
Z invited me to her Christmas party--but she already had a date. I got drunk on Cuba libres and passed out under her Christmas tree.
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