White man's hope

So I'm taking this opportunity to personally bash the upcoming movie "Last King of Scotland". Why you may ask?


This movie, "Last King of Scotland", is about Idi Amin the man who lead a military coup in Uganda during the 70's. Upon achieving the goal of taking over Uganda he promptly titled himself "His Excellency President for Life Field Marshal Al Hadji Dr. Idi Amin, VC, DSO, MC, King of Scotland Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular" and then set out on a campaign of terror.

Administered by the State Research Bureau, a death squad with an odd name, Idi Amin oversaw the deaths and torture of 250,000 fellow country men, along with the forced deportation of 50,000 Asians residing in Uganda at the time of his coup. The movie will star Forest Whitaker as Amin, and Simon McBurney as Nigel Stone, a white doctor who didn't really exist.



Why does this piss me off to the point where I don't want you, the reader, to watch the movie? Because, it's a retarded thing that Hollywood does over and over. They say "This Idi Amin sure was a nasty guy!" and some other suit says "Yup, terrible. We should make a movie about what an awful guy he was."

Then some other suit interjects "Yeah, but nobody wants to watch a movie about black people in Africa... how can we tell this story and make it interesting?" And lastly, another suit says, "Let's put a white person in it to make people care!" And so another historical drama is ruined by some bullshit Hollywood idiots, or in this case an adaptation of a book that's potentially as stupid, in which all the horrors that Idi Amin committed are made into backdrops for the harrowing story of how a white guy got caught up with a bad black man, and how he escapes that crazy, mean old black man's vengeance.


I mean, who wants to see a movie that just shows how Idi Amin turned a popular revolt against his own people and showed himself to be just like every other dictator out there? Why would someone pay a good twelve dollars to see a story told from the perspective of a Ugandan who at first is happy Amin overthrew the corrupt Prime Minister Obote only to become disillusioned as his personal freedoms are removed and his friends, family and his own life are put in jeopardy?

Wouldn't we rather see something along the lines of "Seven Years in Tibet", the pale imitation of Scorsese's' "Kundun", in which the story of the Dalai Llama is told through the eyes of a white Brad Pitt? Isn't it better to address the issues facing young black youths in America by telling the story of a prim white teacher going to "the hood" like Michelle Pfiefer does in "Dangerous Minds"?


Seriously, what's next? The story of Huey Newton as told by a precocious white teen growing up in the hood played by Jonathan Lipnicki? How about Pol Pot's reign of terror in Cambodia seen through the eyes of Anne Hathoway, who accidentally got lost on her way to Burma?

It's a bunch of bullshit. If you want to tell the story of Idi Amin tell the story, use Forest Whitaker... stop adding white people to the mix.

I'm writing this from Rikers Island

Well, as most of you know by now, last night... in a fit of anger... I did something bad to Dan McCoy. It's easy to point the finger at me and say "John, you were overreacting". You might be right, but I like to look at it like this: That dirty low down mother fucker took the bread out of my mouth. I'm supposed to do the music news. That's my fucking job, not some self styled "Comedian". I took that position seriously, and to be replaced by a comic stings more than a little.

But it goes deeper than that. Dan and I have a history of animosity going back to the Goldwater campaign and culminating (before last night that is) with the taping of Tanner '88.

Some say that Goldwater lost because he had weak standing with the American public, but in '64 when I was working the campaign I'd say Mr. Goldwater represented a shift back to America for Americans. Dan, on the other hand, saw Goldwater as a hawk, the kind of voice we needed in office to show the commies who was boss. I think it was Dan's inflamatory speaches he wrote for Mr. Goldwater that lost us the election. Below is a segment of one of those speeches:

"I accept your nomination with a deep sense of humility. I accept, too, the responsibility that goes with it, and I seek your continued help and your continued guidance. My fellow Republicans, our cause is too great for any man to feel worthy of it. Our task would be too great for any man, did he not have with him the heart and the hands of this great Republican Party, and I promise you tonight that every fiber of my being is consecrated to our cause; that nothing shall be lacking from the struggle that can be brought to it by enthusiasm, by devotion, and plain hard work. In this world no person, no party can guarantee anything, but what we can do and what we shall do is to deserve victory, and victory will be ours... us rich whites that is."

Dan is also notoriously racist.


By the time I was brought on to consult on Robert Altman's Tanner '88 I'd grown tired of the Republican party. Altman's leftist politics appealed to me, and I appreciated what he was doing with his satire series. It was upsetting to then see Dan McCoy, sitting in Robert Altman's chair, when I arrived on set. I remember taking Michael Murphy (Jack Tanner) aside and saying "what's that dick doing here?" and hearing, my heart dropping into my stomach, that Dan had been brought on to assist me in consultation. I think this too is why Tanner lost the election in the fictional series. I know Dan got a bug in Altman's ear, and I think he convinced Altman that the ultimate payoff for the show would be to have Tanner lose. Really though, I think McCoy just couldn't stand having a liberal, fictional or otherwise, win another election.



It was with great anger that I learned Sara Schaefer, the host and my co-producer on video gaga, had replaced me with Dan. Yes, it's true... I got a little nervous during our rap off last month and I pissed my pants. And yes it's true that my cocaine addiction has started to get the better of me, though saying I'm out of control is ridiculous. I could stop any time I wanted to. I just don't want to. But replacing me with Dan? That's an act that requires swift and brutal revenge. Dan McCoy is my nemisis and I can't even begin to tell you the feelings I was experiencing when I watched him walk on stage during my segment... MY SEGMENT! Yes, yes I can begin to tell you the feelings: Rage.

So I went up there to get my job back, and when that didn't look like it was going to happen I did what any sane and rational person in business would do: I eliminated the competition. Maybe it was wrong to stab Dan three times, but he lived. He's doing very well at Mt. Sinai and the doctors expect a full recovery by the end of 2007. So if that's being wrong, I don't want to be right. Rest up Dan... I'll be visiting you at the hospital real soon...

Hello there Google robot.

Did you know that Google searches are powered by Google robots? My friend Dan, who interned with Google this summer, explained to me once that these robots browse the internet all day long, and then associate words with the sites they were on. For instance, if I wrote the word soup thousands of times on my blog, and then the robots read it, when you typed the word soup in a Google search this page would more than likely come up. Also, pictures that are labled with words will come up on Google image searches, such as cans of soup. That is why the proceeding "article" will contain almost nothing but references to me in a piece I call: John Kingman on John Kingman.


I recently sat on the couch in my apartment with none other than John Kingman to talk about life, love, Cold War History and humor. John Kingman, as many of you know, is the editor and head writer at Toilet Time for Tiny Town, as well as being a contributor on video gaga and the guy who never flushes the urinal at the Roebling Tea Room.

John Kingman: So John Kingman, thanks for meeting with me.
John Kingman: Not a problem, we are the same person after all.
John Kingman: Yes, we're both John Kingman
(laughter)
John Kingman: I heard recently that you've been getting involved in a book club. How's that going?
John Kingman: Great, really great. We started off reading the History of Love by that lady married to that other writer... you know?
John Kingman: Sure sure... that chick. I'm totally with you.
John Kingman: Awesome. It was a great book. The discussion that followed was also really interesting. Lot of talk about different aspects of the plot and characters. Now we're reading the Glass Key by the guy who wrote Maltese Falcon... which was a movie with Humphrey Bogart.
John Kingman: I saw that.
John Kingman: I know.
John Kingman: Speaking of books, you love Cold War history... why is that?
John Kingman: When I was a kid... well, let me quote the popular Minnesota MC, Slug, of Atmosphere, when I say I was "More afraid of nuclear war than bee stings". I was absolutely convinced that I was going to end up living in a post nuclear holocaust world.
John Kingman: Mmm.
John Kingman: As I grew older I sort of calmed down on that, though I still think it could happen. What I found though was that I'd become very interested in how the world had gotten to the point it had in the mid-eighties where everyone was convinced it was going to happen and it would only be a matter of years. I've read extensively on that subject since.
John Kingman: When you say extensively, you mean extensively for John Kingman.
John Kingman: Yes, I mean by John Kingman standards, which is like... an article in Time Magazine, and then a lot of heresay from other people. Did you know that the Soviets had flying saucers?
John Kingman: I heard that somewhere, yes. How's life?
John Kingman: Pretty good... Pretty good.
John Kingman: And love?
John Kingman: I could complain, but what would be the point?
John Kingman: I hear ya'. Well John, it was a pleasure.
John Kingman: The pleasure was mine Kingman, the pleasure was mine.

My 忍者 problem

Well, as many of you have heard me comment before, nothing skeeves me out worse than 忍者s. Sure, I hate cockroaches, I think all New Yorkers do, and mice as well. 忍者s? I'd rather burn my apartment down than have to put up with them. So I admit I was freaked out last weekend when I woke up in the middle of the night, got up to get a glass of water and found one. As I opened the refrigerator door I felt a presence to my right, and sure enough, in the cupboard was a 忍者... eating my raisin bran.

I tried to catch him, but he was too quick. I threw out the raisin bran (I'm not eating 忍者 tainted raisin bran) and went back to fitful, night terror filled, sleep.

The next morning I decided that once was enough. You have to stop these things when they start, like when Sollozo tried to have Don Corleone killed, or when CBS started airing Two and a Half Men. I went to King's Pharmacy and bought a bunch of 忍者 glue traps.

The instructions said to place them in key 忍者 spots in my home, namely near food, food preparation, chests full of gold, or Shoguns that may have contracts for their death's. Since I have no Shoguns in my apartment, and my chest of gold is guarded by a Leprechaun, I placed one in the kitchen, and one next to the Xbox... just in case they tried to save over my Grand Theft Auto game.

I must say that knowing the traps were there made it much easier to sleep. One of the worst parts about having a 忍者 infestation is the way you hear them scaling the walls, scurrying down the hallways, and muttering oaths of allegiance in Japanese. The first few days had no pay off, and the traps were bare. But then, this morning, I found one on the trap in the kitchen.

Problematic was the fact that the 忍者 was still alive. When I catch a mouse on a glue trap I drown them, believing that's the most humane way to dispatch it. But how do I drown the 忍者? It's too heavy to drag down to the East river, and my bath tub isn't big enough to fit the 忍者 and the glue trap. I didn't want the 忍者 to die of starvation and I didn't have the heart to bash it to death with a hammer (just think about the mess!).

So I did the only thing I could think to do: Using a knife duct taped to my broom, I carefully cut the fabric away from the 忍者's right arm. I then told the 忍者 it could choose between starvation and the honorable way out, 切腹 (Seppuku, or stomach slicing). And can you believe it?!? The 忍者 tried to throw the knife at my head! Well this made me mad, so this time I was a little more forceful when I offered the 忍者 the choice between starvation and suicide. I said "listen here mister, I don't how they do things over in Japan, but this is my house and you'll obey my rules. Now, which is it? Starvation or suicide?" The little bastard, he said he'd rather die from starvation than dishonor himself by committing suicide, especially when he'd done nothing to dishonor himself yet and had no fatal wounds. He'd called my bluff.

So now I've got 忍者s all over my apartment. The money I'm shelling out for pizzas and Japanese food is killing my wallet, but I'm too timid to starve them,

and once they start breeding forget about stopping them without an expensive 忍者 exterminator.
So if anyone knows anybody looking for a room mate, I need to get out of my place. Also, if you're looking for an apartment, mine is opening up soon (hopefully). It's got a bit of a 忍者 problem, but nothing a karate master can't handle.

Crazy going slowly am I?

I've found that my ability to entertain myself at work has diminished greatly over the last few months.

I mean, how many times can I take my own picture? How many times can I troll Craigslist missed connections? How long can I really hide in the bathroom? Will I not eventually get bored of writing blog entries just for my own entertainment? Yes, I will get bored. Today may have been a cracking point.

Really, this isn't the first time I've ended up this bored. There was that week a few months back when Ted and Rochelle went to Milan for business and Lauren was on vacation, I had nothing to do then. I was so bored I started singing little songs to myself (in my head of course) to stay occupied. There was also the time when I got sent to the hole for trying to organize an escape from the prison camp I was in. I just kept throwing that baseball against the wall and catching it to keep sane. Then I escaped by motorcycle, but the Nazi's shot me to death... Oh wait.

My friend Emily used to write me all the time from Chicago. She too had a job that didn't require the full extent of her ability, but then she got all uppity and decided to go to law school. Sell out. My friend Rachel was in the same camp, but then she got promoted and now she's got no time for inane email chatter.
I've played games at work, not solitaire or anything, made up games. Sometimes I play the same song over and over again for hours to see how long it takes someone to notice. They don't. Other times I'll recite rap lyrics under my breath, my favorite being "Get Low" featuring the Ying Yang Twins. No one notices that either... and probably for the best considering how dirty it is. Aw skeet skeet mother fucker, aw skeet skeet goddamn.

Should I try and get a new job? Should I just give in to the mundane existence I'm living? I'm having to face facts that my life is pretty... dare I admit it... average. I'm no jet setting socialite. I don't summer. I have no wealth of art to claim creation of. Where's the saving grace? Where's my Fight Club? The closest I have now is the Book Club I'm part of.

I'm getting stuck in the middle of being a tall, average white guy in New York City. Maybe I should start wearing alligator shirts tucked into khaki shorts. Should I become a sports fan, so that when I'm bored at work I can obsessively read scores and stats about my favorite squadron of athletes?

No, I think it's time to pony up and take charge of things. If my life is going to be mundane and normal then I guess I have to alter that. I guess I'll pick up an affect. Maybe a slight British accent, or a love of obscure 60's rock bands. Perhaps I'll get really into tea, and talk about different types of tea, and how tea is better than coffee. I could never really do that last one, I can't turn my back on coffee like that.

Oh well, in reality I'll probably just keep working here, going nuts, until my career blows up. Then all of you (Rob, Emily and Charlie... my readers) can say you knew me back when I was working at Clinique, writing blogs and listening to M.O.P.'s "Ante Up" as loud as I think I can get away with at work.

P.s.
Whoever said I was too cute to smell like cigs, ante up. My fragile ego doesn't deal well with anonymity... unless you're a crazy stalker. If you're a crazy stalker I can deal with your anonymity just fine.

They're all going to laugh at you

Ah, fall is in the air. The leaves will soon start changing colors, animals will get fat trying to stave off death from starvation, and I'll get to wear hoodies and pull overs. Yes, the seasons are changing just as they do every year. Autumn in New York is truly a wonderful experience... the season... not the movie... the movie sucked.

So now you're asking yourself, "What's Kingman up to this fall? I'll bet it's something awesome". The answer as to my Fall projects are these. I'm going to make a short, and I'm quitting smoking... again.
Judge all you want bastards, I did quit a long time ago. I made it something like three months without one of those little bastards gracing my lungs. But, as you smokers and former smokers out there know, smoking is hard to quit.

This little cartoon makes it look like fun to quit smoking. It couldn't be farther from the truth. Quitting smoking is like giving up hope. Smoking provides you with a sense of self, a purpose, something to do with your hands. Quitting smoking makes you have to ask tough questions like

"Am I still cool?" "Will women find me attractive now that I'm not a rebel?" and "What would James Dean do?". Now clearly I'm not going to go crash my car and die... because I don't have a car... and I don't want to die. That said I clearly need to quit smoking, since smoking, in no uncertain terms, causes cancer.
So once again I've donned the patch and am trying to keep those little bastards from getting in my mouth and fouling my lungs. What makes this time different?

Absolutely nothing, but if I don't keep trying then I let the terrorists win, because that's what they want, John Kingman dead.