Secretary of State Donald Rumsfeld interviews me

The following are excerpts from an Interview I did at the home of Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld:

Donald Rumsfeld (DR): John.
Me: Don... hah! Don and John. Cute.
DR: Don't call me Don, it's Donald or Mr. Secretary.
Me: Mr. Secretary... hah... like Mr. Mom.
DR: Do you want to do this interview or not?
Me: Yes sir, I do. What's first?
DR: You've been doing this blog now for nearly a year. You started out on Friendster Blogs, but switched to Blogger at the beginning of August. Why the change?
Me: Well Donald, Friendster kind of annoys me. I'm not much into doing this blog for other people's benefit, mostly because I'm bored at work...
DR (interrupting): At Clinique?
Me: Yes, at Clinique... Friendster was too visible, I wanted a place to hide my thoughts away... like a diary.
DR: Why didn't you start a diary?
Me: What am I? A twelve year old?
DR: No. I keep a diary.
Me: I'd like to see that.
DR: You and everyone else.
(Laughter)
DR: You work at Clinique. How did you end up there?
Me: I've always loved makeup. Ever since I was a kid I've been fascinated by makeup, the compacts and tubes, the women who wear it. It's always played a huge part in my life.
DR: Is it true that you had no previous experience with makeup before going to work at Estee Lauder, Clinique's parent organization?
Me: No... Yes.
DR: So you had no experience. Do you even care about makeup?
Me: No.
DR: So I ask again, why did you end up at Clinique?
Me: I don't know. It's a job, my friend Heather (Huber) worked at Estee Lauder and said she could get me in. I took it.
DR: Is it true that in 1983 you were in Iraq pledging support from the US government to Saddam Hussein?


Me: I'm pretty sure that was you.
DR: Oh, right.
Me: Are you okay? You seem distracted.
DR: It's just all this criticism towards George (Bush, Jr.) is really getting me down. I mean, how can these media people calling for withdrawal not realize it's the same as appeasing Nazi's in the 30's?
Me: Because it's not. If our presence in Iraq had any discernable effect on terrorism then yes, you'd have an argument. But seeing as neither Saddam or the Iraqi people had any connections to September 11th, the bombing of the USS Cole, or any other act of terrorism against the US it's pretty ridiculous to say that they're responsible. It's like going to war with France in the 30's and then saying that we're giving in to the Nazi's if we withdraw.
DR: Hippie.
Me: Fascist.
DR: Interview's over.
Me: Fine by me (under breath) asshole.
DR: What did you say?
Me: Castle.
DR: Oh... why did you say castle?
Me: What?
DR: What?!?
Me: Nothing, I thought you called me an asshole.
DR: Interview's over.
Me: Right.

God Don't Make No Mistakes

People are always telling me "You can't sell slick to an oil can". I don't know if they mean that I personally can not, or if one in general is incapable of doing so... either way I'm not selling any slick to oil cans... whatever that means.



But I will tell you some things. First and foremost, don't go see "Idlewild". Many of you know that I love Outkast more than I love the three children I've fathered. They had a profound impact on my life, so it came as no surprise that I was at "Idlewild" on opening night.

Now, to be fair, recently Andre's been getting on my nerves. I know everyone's all up on his shit, saying he's so brilliant and creative... and it's true. But I didn't get into Andre because of his grand Pop sensibilities.

I got into Outkast, the duo, because they wrote some fucking great rap albums... not "Hey Ya'". Andre, for all his need for musical expression and "artistic" "freedom" needs to check himself before he wrecks himself. I like him as an actor, and I like him as a pop star, but he's one half of something amazing and he better recognize that. But back to the movie.



So, aside from some problems maintaining historical accuracry (Cab Calloway was not a rapper, and rap did not exist in the 30's... nor did modern Coke machines) the movie was fun. I mean, sure there was some weird stuff, Big Boi's talking flask or Andre's best friend the cat, but one learns to expect that kind of thing from Outkast, they're experimental. But what was this movie about? Andre and Big Boi are barely in it together, and when they are their characters hardly know each other, except for some tangential "boyhood friendship".


(who didn't like Macaully Culkin in Saved? Nobody, but having him play a young Andre? Weird... just plain weird)

Was it a story about 1930's bootlegging in Atlanta? Was it a musical about a gifted pianist, a cocky entertainer, and a beautiful dame with a great pair? Who knows, certainly not Dre, Big Boi or Brian Barber.



In the end it felt like a 2 hour rap video, and not a particularly good one at that. Maybe my expectations were too high, but I wanted something along the lines of Pink Floyd's "The Wall"... only with Outkast. Brian Barber may be a great music video director, but he's not much of a screenwriter. Also a musical to an album released three years ago might not be a good idea to then name after a brand new album that's barely featured in the movie.



And lastly, what's the guy from Zoobilee Zoo doing playing Andre's father? Is Andre just trying to explain why his character would befriend a talking cat? Is it because his Dad used to be a cat?


I need to stop Robotripping (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robotripping) before movies.

So with all the hub bub around Outkast, the constant "Is Andre leaving" and Big Boi consistently stating that everything's fine, I'd just like to take this opportunity to point out that I am a rapper. So if you're Big Boi, and you're reading this blog... which I think is likely, know that I could completely take Andre's place... though we'd have to rename Aquemini to Aquancer or Cancarious.

The Importance of being Active

I've decided, in light of all of the horrible things happening world wide, and in my life, to duck my head deep into the sand and ignore it all. Iran next up on Bush's to-do list? Climactic climatic changes happening world wide? I got dumped? Yes, yes, yes! On all counts yes. Do I care? Yes. But what can one man do besides shut out the bad thoughts and think about something happy?

Something happy like writing a play.

Many of you know that as an elementary, junior high, and highschooler I was immersed in the theater community. My Mother thought it was important to foster artistic expression in me (though why she couldn't have pushed me like some of the other theater moms did I don't know. Shit, I could be the next Freddie Prinze Jr. right now). I took summer theater, I auditioned for plays, and when high school rolled around I enrolled in the Central High School Touring Theater.


(This is Jan Mandell, director of the Central Touring Theater)


Now, with this long glorious tradition of participating in, and writing, plays one would ask "what have you been up to lately?" Not plays. That's for damn sure. I discovered, when I was 19, a medium in which moving pictures could be paired with sound to create the illusion of watching a play on a screen. Through careful editing you can condense the "play" or change it up altogether so it's not so much a "play" anymore as it is something entirely it's own. But these moving plays are time consuming and difficult to put together. They require actors, scripts, directors, crew, equipment and money. A play however is the poor mans moving picture (movie).


(Who is this dapper fellow? Why, it's the biggest pimp in playwriting, Oscar Wilde)


Now sure, my heart wasn't broken by the dumping, but it left me confused and rejected. How do I take this bitter no-good feeling and translate it into words? I could go the Neil Labute direction and write plays about bitter men misogynistically ruining women's lives, and how the women really deserve it anyway, but I don't think like that. Yes, I could write something autobiographical that paints me as a charming (true), handsome (true) and devilishly clever (oh so true) man trying to figure out the world, but who would care? You have to keep the people in their seats. Considering most people flee from talking to their friends about "emotions" and "feelings", I doubt putting it into a play would fare well. Instead I think of Shakespear, Wilde and Shepard and their comedies and I feel inspired. Yes a comedy is exactly what's needed. A comedy... of errors!

So over the rest of this summer and well into the fall look for me in your local coffee shop (assuming your local coffee shop is the Verb Cafe on Bedford in Williamsburg Brooklyn) casually sucking on the end of a pen and staring wistfully up at the sky. It may just be a pose to show the girls I'm "deep" but it may also be you witnessing brilliance. You'll know by the signs. If I start writing: Brilliance. If I sigh loudly and then consciously look around the room to see who noticed: Posing.

Heartbrakes (sic)

I've noticed that the summer, a summer that was supposed to be great, is nearly done. What is there to show for it? Heart ache and pain. Not mine so much, my heart died in 'Nam, but it seems like everyone is getting dumped. I have many friends who are pretty/handsome, smart, funny and so on and they're getting shit canned.

What gives? Is there something in the water that's turning the significant others of my homies retarded? I mean seriously it's out of control. If you're reading this (you're not, no one is reading this) and you're single I guarantee I could hook you up with someone awesome. Not me though, I only date models and we all know models can't read or turn on computers.

P.S. If you are a model and want to date a really tall geek, you're in the right place.

Welcome to the Machine

Oh dear gentle reader,

So much has happened since I last wrote lines of digital information to you. I cannot fathom where to begin with you all. Firstly, you may notice that you are not on Friendster. This is because you are not on Friendster. I have moved Toilet Time For Tiny Town to give myself the ease allowed through the wonderful programmers (nerds) at Blogspot. I also moved because I have friends with blogs here and I am a sheep.


Secondly, I am once again single. Some of you may be scratching your heads (or lower) and saying "I didn't realize he'd been off the market". I had, I was, and I am not now. Yes, once again I am on the market. Unfortunetly, due to some cruel Japanese price fixing, I am currently undervalued at being cute and sort of funny. I should, by any standards, be valued at hot and genius. Unfortunetly I have been unable to remedy my standing on the Nasdaq.


Thirdly, Video Gaga has begun to suck up much of my creative life. This is a good thing, as my only other outlet is this blog. Let's face facts people. I couldn't give two shits about any of you, but if I'm up on stage I might get famous. If I get famous I'll finally be able to afford the sycophants I've always deserved.


Fourthly, I recently came back from Minnesota where I saw many dear friends, and Dan Itzkowitz. Yes, my friends back home are doing quite well. Some are home owners, some are in stable loving relationships, some have great jobs.

I ask you, who wouldn't give up all that to move to a city of eight million people, none of whom know your name? Who wouldn't trade loving friendships for backstabbing assholes and emotionally crippling friends? Who doesn't prefer the joy of lonely annonymity to the

careful questions of a caring pal? I'll tell you who, people with no self respect... Certainly not yours truly.





Fifthly, I wrote, recorded and shot a video for Colonel Bastard, my rapper alter ego. I have yet to put it up on Youtube, but mostly because the DVD will not fit through the mouth piece on my cell phone, and unless I can get that fixed I'm out of alternatives.

So that's where I'm at this moment. Back from a trip, loving every moment of work. Looking forward to more of the mind numbing, soul crushing, ass dripping heat that summer in NY brings. Praying for a quick and timely death before anymore angst/pain/tragedy befalls me.

So to you and yours I wish the best. Let's hope this next week sees an end to Lebanese/Israeli hostilities, a less aggressive Iran, and a littly smoochy smoochy for me.