Hello Mudda..Hello Fadda.. Here We are at Camp Granada........

May 20, 1995

If you ignore the flight attendant that was reenacting the Shirley McClain role from Steel Magnolias, the trip from L.C. to Dallas was as reasonable as a flight could be. The judicious combination of antihistamines, muscle relaxants, codeine and alcohol combined to produce a fog from which I was aware that I was flying but just didn’t care.

The trip from Dallas to LA was a different story. The Boeing 757 was full except for one seat to my left. Right before takeoff a short, fat, Latino came waddling down the aisle and plopped into the one remaining seat. Well, I did what you would have done: I pretended that she didn’t exist. Right up to the time when she nudged me, pointed at Karen and asked Espousa… Wife?…. Girlfriend? Friend? When I admitted that Karen was my friend she asked "Does she speak Espanish"? I said no. I hoped that it was over and that I could go back to pretending that she didn’t exist. Wrong.

"My English is not so good. Could you ask her..could you..could you ask her where she got her I don’t know how to say..Makeup."? "Karen" I said "Where did you get your make up"? "The White House. Dillards." "Do you have a card where I can call you?’ she asked. Karen handed her a napkin with a description of the makeup, mercifully letting me out of hell. For a little while.

I retreated into my drug induced stupor until nudged again. The short, fat, Latino was handing me her driver’s license, and two prescription bottles, and telling me that "She couldn’t walk when she got to LA. Intelligently I asked "Did you need some water?" "No," babble babble babble, I can’t walk when we get to LA." I finally told the attendant that Ms. Ortiz needed a wheel chair when she got to LA.

Nadia, who is from San Juan, who lives with her husband in Dallas (for two years), and who has a twin sister in Los Angeles, became my Buddy after that.

I HATE to travel,

more from Camp Granada later.

Ken

If this seems disjointed its because I am.

I know that your curiosity about Nadia and her wheelchair is about to eat you alive. Nadia needed a wheel chair because she had just been released from the hospital that day after having a kidney operation. I think that she would have let me see the incision if I had asked. We don’t know what happened to Nadia after the plane landed and we disembarked.

There are only women’s bathrooms at LAX.

Our luggage arrived at baggage terminal 4 before we did. Grabbing it off the luggage belt was uneventful and it looked as if we were going to escape LAX without incident. It just looked that way.

As we tried to walk out of the terminal a terrorist barred the exit and said, "tkt and ((*&^^jkirrrm)). I said, "WHAT?" The terrorist again said "tkt and ((*&^^ jkirrrm)))", and started harvesting the claim check tags from our luggage. In mute horror I docilely pointed my ticket packet at him and Karen, taking her cue from me did the same. He examined our claim papers like we were known CIA agents and he was KGB, then handed them back to us, whipped around in a circle, and left, Free at last we walked outside the building and smoked, and smoked, and smoked. The weather here is incredible. It’s May, yet it’s 61 degrees with low humidity.

We shared the shuttle bus (The bus driver was a terrorist also) to the Hilton with 4 Japanese (you could tell by the camera which was attached to their necks) flight attendants. They laughed and pointed at us. "LA is a great big freeway".

Rolls Royces and double cappuccinos.

The person who checked us in at the hotel spoke English; not well, and not as a first choice, but English. As nearly as I can tell the architecture firm of Kesey and Leary were groovin’ to the Dead and having recurring flashbacks when they laid out the floorplan for the hotel. Several do’s must have been going on because Rolls Royces and stretch limo’s kept pulling up to the door and dropping off people in formal attire as Karen and I sat in the lobby drinking double cappuccinos and gawking.

Mudslides, Cyn, and the gray horizon.

Take a left off Airport Boulevard through Westchester, get on the Santa Monica Freeway, and then exit at Pacific Coast highway. We passed through the Santa Monica foothills on the way to Pepperdine. We got off the interstate onto the Pacific Coast highway at the Santa Monica state beach where people were surfing. As you drive down the Pacific Coast highway you see beautiful homes up on the tops of the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Coast highway, and the scattered debris of beautiful homes that slid down the cliffs last winter during the rains. The Pacific has some of the same green color that the shallow beaches near Pensacola does, and there is no horizon. The sky is smoggy and also has some of the same green color that the shallow beaches near Pensacola does. About every third street we passed on the way to the campus was something cyn. Johnson cyn, Big East cyn, etc. It wasn’t until we passed Topanga cyn that I realized that Cyn is California for canyon.

Nine by Nine by Nine, or The joys of Institutional toilet paper.

The campus here is beautiful; Set into a hill, (read mountain if you’re from Louisiana) full of gorgeous landscaping with a view of the ocean. Teams of freshly scrubbed and insidiously happy Church of Christer’s (to be known henceforth as COC’s) were on hand to help us find our accommodations. My COC led me to dorm 2 suite C1 where he deposited me and left. My cell is depressing. My bed is not as wide or as long as I am, and the communal bathroom that I am to share with my suitemates is stocked with rolls of Institutional toilet paper which somehow manages to have at the same time the consistency of Big Chief tablets and the tensile strength of a spider web.

Here we are at Camp Granada.

I hate to travel. More later. Ken

 

I’m sure of it!

I forgot to mention that at the Nude Nudes all girl dancing and video, book, gift and novelty boutique next door to the Los Angeles airport Hilton, female dancers were very much wanted.

M. C. Escher

George Pepperdine, founder of the Western Auto fortune wanted to give something back to the country which generated his enormous fortune, and gave California Pepperdine University. Conventional wisdom proclaims this to be the prettiest campus in California. I have no trouble believing it. Student folklore attests that the campus was designed by someone with an interest in a concrete company and a stair step fetish. I have no trouble believing this either. It really does seem that every direction is up.

Froggy went a courtin’

So far I have had 8 hours of intensive review of Employee Benefit Trusts. Classes are 50 minutes with a ten minute break to which they adhere. An hour off for lunch from 12 to 1 then back at it again ‘til 5. Based on one day’s experience the course is going to be worthwhile, and I’m going to be completely fried by the end of the week. Today’s instructor, Bob Carlisle, looks like a bright red bullfrog with huge owl glasses balanced on a bright red nose. He has a curly red tonsure surrounding his bald froggy crown and hops back and forth in front of the podium erratically. I would not be surprised to see a long pink tongue shoot out and snare a fly. I wouldn’t.

Trailer for sale or rent:

I don’t think that I’ve done the campus justice. Picture Coronado standing on a precipice overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I think he was on the Pepperdine Campus. The narrow roads which cut through the campus are carved out of steep hills, and are the only flat terrain on the campus. As I look out the window of my dorm room I see exquisite landscaping leading up to a sheer cliff of gorse, sage, and scrub pine. The cliffside is teaming with rabbits. You can almost hear the cry of siflay at dusk. As my eyes traverse the vista I notice that the steep cliff is crowned by a row of mobile homes. Such is life.

P.S. extra points for anyone who gets the Siflay reference

I hate to travel.

More from hell later. Ken

 

Oookayy

Karen reminded me that I needed to tell you about the following. Sunday morning before getting on the shuttle bus to come to Pepperdine, Karen and I walked down the boulevarde past the Nude Nudes all girl dancing, video, book, gift and novelty boutique where female dancers were very much wanted, to a convenience store. As we neared the store we noticed that a young black man was stopping traffic on the boulevard and waving a black T-shirt at the cars he was stopping. As we got closer we could tell that the T-shirt was emblazoned with O.J. Simpson’s mug shot, the number 32, and encaptioned front and back "DON’T SQUEEZE THE JUICE", in several different languages. somet’ing tell me we not in de Bayous anymore, Todeaux.

ZZZZZZzzzzz

This is only Tuesday. I’ve had 10 hours of intense training in EBT issues, an hour of CE (CTA for CPE) requirements, an hour of regulatory updates, four hours of F i d u c i a r y T a x a t i o n, and an hour of "Rap" with the instructors. (their description not mine). It’ s a little known fact that Charlie Whitman attended Cannon Trust Audit and Compliance III right before climbing into the bell tower. I am so totally fried that I would welcome an earthquake. The school is very good. I hate it a lot.

Horst and Sven Redw

Darryl, I dropped the soap in the shower this morning. Immediately I flashed on your fears of Horst and Sven roaming the halls of your dorm in Madison calling Sooeee, sooeee, though I suppose in my panic I called them Biff and Ray. My fears were allayed however when I realized that I could not bend down to pick up the soap without opening the shower stall door Tomorrow is a big day. They give us a dry towel. I will be very surprised if I pass the test on Friday. I will be very surprised if I make it home sane .

I hate to travel. Ken

There was a crooked man

I couldn’t have dreamed this place up even with chemical assistance. My instructor today was a little crooked man with a cane (that opens to a flask) and a leg that walks in a different direction than he does. Trying to figure out which way he’s going to go is a little like guessing whether Sara Chapman is peering intently at you or staring off into the distance pensively. In a quiet and soothing monotone Bill Duhs (yes Duhs...he pronounces it dues) has been reciting the CTA review. The excitement is more than I can bear.

...The play is the thing with which to trap a king... Jim - there are people here who imagine that they are going to put a "senior" play; To be performed at the Santa Monica Hotel at "graduation". You should have warned me.

Any other suggestions?

The residents of the village of Mailibu refer to themselves as Malibubians, Really.

Fool me once.

Life is a cruel joke. As I’ve said before, I feel as if my life happens to me rather than with me. As I mentioned, today was a big day at Pepperdine. They change your towel on Wednesday. Dutifully I put my towel in the common area of my suite of cells this morning. Just as advertised they, (the COCs), came and took it. They didn’t leave a new one, but they did take the old one. Tomorrow I get to attempt to dry my lard ass with a wash cloth, "What did I ever do."

On a clear day you can see forever

Lest you forget, I’m in Malibu. I’m led to believe that the worthless bastards with cars who have managed to briefly escape incarceration have seen Tony Danza, David Hasselhof, Madonna, and Brad Pitt. This excites them for some reason. I on the other hand have not left the campus and have seen Charlie Manson around every dark corner. This just excites my heart right into my throat. Malibu hills indeed. For three minutes yesterday the sun came out, the smog cover lifted and you could see Catalina.

I’m out of cigarettes and I can’t get up.

I have 6 packs of cigarettes left. I will run out before I get back to civilization. There is no place on campus that sells cigarettes. (apparently the COCs don’t smoke) It isn’t going to be pretty.

Voulez vous couchez avec moi, c’est soir

Pinned to the "freedom wall" I saw the following. Bedroom for rent. Small Malibu cottage. Three miles from beach, few minutes from Pepperdine, Endless mountain trails., Fresh eggs, vegetables, chickens, dogs, and cats. Share a cottage with a charming young French woman. 475$ a month. Call Veraine at 855-7642. My interview is scheduled for 6:30 tomorrow evening. I may never come home, Imagine, fresh vegetables.

15 minutes

After lunch today I toured the Frederick R. Weisman museum of art here on campus, ( I’m staying in the Martha Weisman cellblock. ) I roamed from room to room impressed but not amazed when I turned into the "big room". There hanging on the wall for the COCs to enjoy at their leisure was the famous 8 panel silk screen of Marilyn Monroe by Andy Warhol, Hanging from the adjacent wall was Lichtenstein’s Reclining Nude. The one that blew me away however was the 4 panel portrait of Frederick R. Weisman by Andy Warhol. imagine commissioning Warhol to do your portrait so you could hang it in your own museum. Marxism does have its allure.

Hell is freezing over tonight, Sunny California my ass.

later. . Ken

calou, calay, o frabjous day

It’s Thursday night and I’m fried from studying so just a quick note.

A beautiful blond woman wearing a Tux with Cumberbun and tails served us a shitty lunch out doors today. If you put lipstick on a pig it’s still a pig.

Did I tell you all that they added 75 questions to this sessions exam. They did. Three hundred and twenty five questions like:

12CFR9.7a7requires,

a) annual reviews

b) annual audit every calendar year within 15 months of previous audit

c) the creation of a trust audit committee

d) a Chinese wall

I’m so totally fried that you could serve me with biscuits and gravy. I might have passed. I might not have passed, I don’t give a damn either way.

Bitch!

I wasn’t the only person in the class stupid enough to come and try to take this test without attending the previous two, classes. The other person, a fat and dowdy woman from Tacoma was quick to inform me that ‘they told me that we wouldn’t graduate’. I therefore avoided the class picture. Boy was I surprised when I had to walk in front on the assembled Cannonites at the Loews Santa Monica Hotel to get my diploma and class picture. Bitch.

I have nothing witty to say tonight, Tomorrow I’m on a plane and incipient anxiety has me near paralyzed. Bye .