I told Dr, Grasso that the University of Miami did not work out and also said I didn’t realize how good BCC was until I left. The state mandated that all comp classes be fewer than 21 students, so she’s been forced to add on 12 sections as of Monday. “You’re hired,” she told me, and I felt ecstatic.
I’ve been assigned to be some professor’s research assistant. One TA told me he often expects sexual favors from male RA’s. Not from this one, he doesn’t! The woman who told me this is so stupid that when I mentioned that I was gay, she replied, “Oh, then you shouldn’t mind at all.” Is everyone at the University of Miami crazy?
Today I began my career as a graduate teaching assistant at the University of Miami. The loss of status is a bit jarring. When I arrived at the meeting, the composition program director, Kathy Bell, mistook me for the janitor and started telling me to clean up the room before I explained who I was.
I bet lots of people suppose I’m a spoiled, pampered brat. Am I? I don’t think so. . . On the whole, I’m not a bad guy. My biggest faults are self-pity, self-consciousness, and an insatiable need to be noticed, along with a tendency to gossip and to be a little too cute.
I went back to North Miami Beach down University/NW 27th Avenue and along 163rd Street, about a 40-minute drive. At home, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself until I opened one letter, from Ed Hogan: “Paydirt! The Times Book Review is scheduled to review your book August 14th.”
I was finally falling asleep around 1 AM when the phone rang. “Hello?” I said, trying not to sound incoherent. A raspy whisper: “I…want…to blow…you…” Deciding this was no one of my acquaintance, I said, “Yeah, well, we all want something,” hung up, and pulled the plug out.
On his way in, Clay said, “Ah, my favorite class,” and on the way out, he smiled and said, “You’ve made my day.” He’s so cute and intelligent and friendly – as I see it getting hopeless, I find I’m just liking him that much more.
I’ve just been outside by the pool, marking papers through great force of effort. That redheaded guy was in the pool with (I assume) his girlfriend, and they were surprisingly friendly, telling me to jump in. I said I had too much work to do, and he said, “It’s Saturday night!”
I went to the South Florida Gay Pride Festival, held at the Hollywood Sportatorium. Almost immediately, I saw a familiar face: an ex-student of mine whose name I couldn’t remember. Hand in hand with his boyfriend, and wearing an “I’m Proud to Be Gay” button and a huge grin, the kid had dignity.
Todd dropped me off at the subway stop at 14th Street before he and Josh drove back to Brooklyn. I decided to get off at 79th rather than 86th so that I could take one last walk down Broadway. Teresa and Juliana were in their bathrobes, chatting and drinking coffee, when I got home.