Don't Dream It's Over

“No one thinks about the bigger picture anymore, just his own gain.”

-Olen Steinhauer
THE NEAREST EXIT, a novel

Twenty-five years ago today:

May 13, 1987
Wednesday

It is so damn busy at work right now. Ugh!

I thought Danny Garcia and I were going to see a flick but plans didn’t work out. He did call me after I left two messages on his recorder. We may just meet up tomorrow for dinner.
Danny said, “Yeah, there’s a grand opening at this new Mexican restaurant in Alamo.”

Steve Flander returned my call. We may meet up at SPENGER’s in Berkeley next Wednesday. I hope he’s not getting delinquent with his Yellow Page advertising again. I need to review his payment arrangement to be sure he’s on-target.

I did call Jeff Sombat and gave him the details of my arrival to Honolulu on July 4th. He seemed to show some excitement about my returning to the island.

I tried giving Eileen a call but there was no answer at 9PM. It’s strange. The folks she knows are visiting from New York and I can’t believe she took them out at such a late hour. Or could it be that her phone was unplugged? Why can’t she just ‘play ball’ with me?

Paul Margolis listened to two of my incoming phone calls with customers today. How degrading. He’s such a jerk!

Laverne Butler called me from Pacific Bell. She’s going to apply for a Customer Service Representative job in Pac Bell Directory’s CSO-Customer Service Office. I encouraged her.

I said to Laverne excitedly, “That sounds like a good idea if you want to get into Yellow Page sales eventually!”

Of course, Rachelle has not called me. I’m giving up on her.

I like getting out of work at 4PM. I just need to halt the naptime scene once I get home. I did some aerobics last night for about an hour. That was all I did though.

I wrote to Jeff in Hawaii and sent him a check for twenty-three dollars for his 23rd Birthday. I really like the song by Crowded House called DON’T DREAM IT’S OVER. It was relaxing to write to Jeff as that song played.

Say what one will, words rarely capture the immediate emotional assault of a piece of poignant music, which allows the composer to say not “It felt something like this,” but rather “Here is the unnamable emotion I felt, and even my obsession with structure, proportion, and time, inside of you.”
-Diane Ackerman
A NATURAL HISTORY OF THE SENSES