So I write. That's me. Jon and I wrote a song together that's being released on a special deal from Amazon or ITunes or something. It's called "Song for Columbus". It was fun to do and we're planning to write some more together in the future when we both get some free time. I write poetry and plays and some freelance journalism usually in the comedy vein of things. But I have lots of stuff in my notebooks that I write on the subways. Sometimes I post it, sometimes I don't.Just for fun, here's a tidbit from my journal. This is how I amuse myself. Writing letters to people or objects that can't or won't write back. Here's two letters to this three year old Max, whom I've never met, but has become good friends with my little buddy, Jack, who is also three. Enjoy. I have a more Jon related story to post soon.
6/1/08
Max,
You refuse to respond so listen, Max, I'm bigger than you. Have you ever seen a kitten? Because you're like the size of a kitten and I'm a pine tree. An angry pine tree that hates kittens. Is that analogy clear? Can you even read these letters? Here's a few other things I can do that you can't.
1. I can open doors.
2. I could eat McDonald's until it killed me.
3. No one wipes my butt. I mean, I wipe it just not other people.
4. I understand the remote.
5. I don't grow out of my favorite clothes. At least not vertically.
Oh, and I'm like 10 times your age which means I'm like 10 times as smart as you. So suck it! Try to compute that, Glutius Maximus. It'll blow that grape you call your thinker.
Here's the deal. You tell Jack you're not best friends anymore. Don't give him a reason, just start taking away toys and slap him or hit him with a Tonka truck. My own best friend pulled down his pants and lobbed his own poop at me. That ended things real quick. But save that for last resort.
You better do this, Max! I don't want any letter from you explaining your feelings. Yeah, I can just picture that:
Dear James, It's me Max blah blah blah I can't write words.
Give Jack up! I mean it!
I really do,
James
6/5/08
Dear Max,
Listen, dumdum. Your best friendship with Jack is doomed. Do you even know what that word means? Probably not. Because you're three.
I may live like 800 miles away but I can drive. A car! Not a Matchbox. A REAL car. And I don't have to sit in a baby seat either. Because I'm not a baby. Like you.
Sure, you and Jack are the same age and have similar interests like wooden trains and Dora and spinning in circles but I have access to money. Do you know what that is, buttmouth? It's what your parents have that keeps you from starving! Do you know what else is great about having money? I can buy candy and toys whenever I want. Boom!
Can you get money? No. A little thing we Americans like to call Child Labor Laws. So don't think about trying to work, Maxie Pad. Because the government won't let you! Think about that while I shove my face full of Milk Duds. Mmmm. Money tastes good.
What's a matter, Max? Are you crying? I don't cry, Max. Because I have a something called communication. And shame. Have you ever tried negotiation instead of crying? No. Of course not. Because you suck at language. What about the word ire? No? Because you deserve mine!
Cry yourself to sleep, little man. I'm going to play X-Box and eat Otter Pops until I'm sick. Because I'm an adult. Sucker!
Awesometown: Population Me,
James
