House Cleaning

So I've decided to take a little time to address those of you that read my little blog... because usually I'm writing only for the sake of myself. I've got a few things to go through, so sit back and relax.


One: I've decided to start a mailing list. That's right! Everytime I post a new entry you can get an email telling you that I did that!!! All you have to do is write an email to

ToiletTimeForTinyTown@Gmail.com

and say "I want to be subscribed to your blog" and I'll put you on the list. What could be easier? Who knows, maybe I'll start having contests and shit, with prizes!


Two: In an effort to get the Google Robots to realize how important I am, I've found that I need links to my site. Otherwise that British jerk "Sir" John Kingman will continue his unwholesome reign over the Google list of John Kingmans. So please feel free to link to me, and I in return will link to you (provided I don't find the content of your site offensive).



Three: I'm so glad today is election day! If I had to watch one more slam ad from one ass to another ass both running for the same seat I swear I could have gone nuts. I mean, I want to watch commercials where fat middle aged men belittle their wives so they can watch football and eat pizza uninterrupted. I want to see super heroes do dances about having stomach upset and diarrhea. I don't want to hear how Tom Kean Jr. Supported Bush's war or how Menendez is linked to some huge corruption scandal. They both sound like dicks.

Bring back the where's the beef lady and let's get on with our lives.

All Hallows Eve and my possesion

Greetings folks,

Today, as you all should know, is Halloween! Boo! Are you scared? No? Fine. So, anyway, today is... BOO! Still not scared?!? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you robots?

So today is Halloween and this year the holiday has forced me to realize some things about myself. This year, instead of going out and partying like a mad man, I got the sniffles and stayed in watching my stories. With trick or treaters out on patrol tonight, instead of going to a bar and finding some drunken nurse/flower/vampiress I'm contemplating sitting in front of the window with a hose and dousing any of the little bastards that come near my home. I don't know how or when it happened, but my body was possessed by the spirit of an old timer. It's true. I didn't grasp it until Halloween rolled around either.



Sure you say, maybe I'm just anti-Halloween. That doesn't necessarily mean that I've been possessed by a man called "Gramps" who died in 1954. Well let me further blow your minds by saying that since this possession took place I've been carrying butterscotch candies in my pockets... The pockets of my cardigan!!! I tried to join the AARP in a drunken stupor one night, and when I go to the Kellogg's diner I tip in change, and only 5%.



It's not all fun and games either. I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I have to pee, and then realizing I don't. I've been having a horrible sense of loss from my wife passing... except I was never married! And I've been having flashbacks to the Great War... but I never fought in it!!

Boo!!! Are you scared yet? Jesus Christ!! You goddamn kids with your Poltergeist movies, and your video arcade games! Nothing scares you anymore... no... you think you're all so damn brave. Try going over the top to run 100 yards of no man's land under heavy machine gun fire from every damn angle and your goddamn lungs are so full of mustard gas you're coughing up baseball sized pieces of soft tissue! That's scary... Boo!!!

Happy Halloween.

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.

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.