December

"Look for some stories published in actual print in SO NEW MEDIA and the new international Magazine, TCHAD. Plus, some good upcoming fun in the following places:

Deek Magazine
Noo Journal
Wonkavision

And

Greetings all,
From me and Fresh Yarn

Another Christmas parade marches into town,
we’ll all rejoice,
will be reminded,
of the evening upcoming,
and if it's anything like last year,
whilst I’m tucked away snugly in my cozy bed,
an obese and jolly Norwegian drifter
will shimmy and sweat down my chimney;
this vodka-swilling derelict tramp will leave me
an avalanche of unwanted not-my-size underwear,
a macramé man-purse stuffed with melted Toblerone,
plus a good half dozen, half open miniature Baileys bottles.
He’ll pillage and plunder my Cookie and Snack department and
stumble into the tree after sampling my wet bar.
This stinker’s not done leaving his tidings of merriment, one last gift;
the constellation of horrifically foul-smelling pooh from the chorus line of stolen reindeer atop my roof.
Just who’s WISH LIST I got, I can’t say.
I’m guessing some underwearless, homosexual alcoholic with a sweet tooth and perverted dishonourable reindeer pooh tendencies in need of carry-on luggage. The whole scene rubs me the wrong way,
not to mention eats away grimly at the fragile non-stellar,
self-esteem I’ve worked so hard at building back up this year.
The season of buying off youngster’s affection with material goods and broken commerce raises issues that a dozen specialists in Zurich couldn’t begin to map out. The mind reels.
The whole parade scenario pushes me to the very edge of jumping ship, if you want to know the truth.
But at least I can get a good story out of it.
This is where my unselfish need to share with you comes in:
I give you,
 
* * * Off the Charts in Tears * * *

So rejoice, won’t you, in the miracle of chubby, obese chimney hopping Europeans on their way to your town on overworked and underfed antlered beasts.

* * * Here’s wishing you a shiny season. * * *

Sincerely, and as toasty as ever,

Tiny Tim

NOVEMBER

Fresh Yarn

This weekend,
another Christmas parade will march into town,
we'll all rejoice,
will be reminded,
of the evening upcoming,
and if it's anything like last year,
whilst I'm tucked away snuggly in my cozy bed,
an obese and jolly Norwegian drifter
will shimmy and sweat down my chimney;
a vodka-swilling derelict tramp will leave me an avalanche
of unwanted not-my-size underwear,
a macramé man-purse stuffed with melted Toblerone
and a good half dozen, half open miniature Baileys bottles:
he'll pillage and plunder my Cookie and Snack department
and stumble into the tree after sampling my wet bar.
This stinker's not done leaving his tidings of merriment, one last gift;
the constellation of horrifically foul-smelling pooh from the chorus line
of stolen reindeer atop my roof.
Just who's Wish List I got, I can't imagine.
I'm guessing some underwearless, homosexual alcoholic with a sweet tooth
and perverted dishonorable reindeer pooh tendencies in need of luggage.
The whole scene rubs me the wrong way, not to mention eats away grimly at the fragile non-stellar, self-esteem I've worked so hard at building back up this year.
The season of buying off youngster's affection with material goods and broken commerce raises issues that a dozen specialists in Zurich couldn't begin to map out.
And what of my sense of urgency surrounding bran?
The mind reels.
The whole parade scenario pushes me to the very edge of jumping ship, if you want to know the truth. But at least I can get a good story out of it.
This is where my unselfish need to share with you comes in: www.freshyarn.com/16/essays/masterson_off1.htm

So rejoice, won't you, in the miracle of fat and sweaty chimney hopping Swedes on their way to your town.
FRESH YARN presents: Off the Charts in Tears
 
Here's wishing you a shiny season.
 
Sincerely as ever, T. Masterson

P.S
 
There's also a new story that So New Media has accepted and will actually be coming out in print (!) which is a feather in my cap, I guess. What is the story behind feathers in the old cap anyway? I guess it dates back to England (most things do, or Africa) and the aristocracy and Amadeus-like gents who wore expensive silky tailor-made duds. The more actual feathers that one had in their chapeau, supposedly, showed just how high up in society and just how far from mediocraty, they were. From what bird did they disembowel for such feathering? I've got an editorial team on it as we speak.

Friday, June 17th

Hello, there good people, what's the scoop?

I should say, that I simply cannot contain my glee AND am driven out of my mind with excitement, as well as star power. Just yesterday, I was inducted into the 'C. Monks Utter Wonder Hall of Fame' (one notch shy of being awarded a Pulitzer Surprise at The Kennedy Centre, some say). There is an insouciantly pretty and radically self-centered picture of me – complete with diabolically seductive promise in my eyes – and hair that looks to be carved out of feldspar. Well worth alittle look.

http://www.utterwonder.com/archives/2005/06/the_39th_induct.php

I don't think it's an accident that, coincidentally, just this morning, 2 offers have found there way to this office: a high-gloss-HUGELY respected motorcycle-and-naked-lady magazine is considering me to write a weekly column, AND (!) I've also been offered the coveted position of Guest Host for the Midwestern Uphill-Bowling-for-Dinnerware competition on The Home Shopping Network.

On tomorrow's platter? Hey, it's pretty much up and down these days around the old Timber Media compound...and those damn cherubic but sweaty-and-leathery Laguna Beach Hippies that've journeyed thousands of miles just to peer in the windows here, to maybe get a glance of a writer consuming a beer or maybe a cheese sandwich, well, it's kind of off-putting and a little creepy, but one has to take admiration where one can get it, I suppose.

Regardless, I guess I can take pride in my 100% true story of 'Concocting Potions in Dumpty-Shaped Brian Dennehy's-Basement-So-That-He-May-Solve-Crimes-in-a-Sexy-Shroud-of-Invisibility' piece, got finished today, just in time for Father's Day.

Let me also mention that, despite rumors to the contrary, I, myself, do not have any sort of Down Syndrome thing happening, I'm really more of a Tourette's sort of fellow. I'm just glad that I lived to tell the genuinely frightening 'Dennehy-Hollywood-Schlock-inviso-suit' story.

As always, I'd love to hear back from you, feel free to let me know just how silly all this is...I welcome ideas...and emails. Now, you'll have to excuse me, as I must return to jumping through terrifyingly numerous hoops for this 'Toronto Arts Council Writing Grant Application' thing for my novel, that I stand a pretty good chance of NOT be awarded.

Most Sincerely,
Timber

Monday June 13th, 2005

Dear Magazine/Agent/Publishing people that I've been corresponding with for a good couple of years now:

I am writing to you to see if you might have some ideas, or know an entity on this planet, that would be able to assist with actually getting some of my stories published, like in a real forum.

When I returned from California, I worked pretty much full time on my mammoth creative non-fiction memoir, based primarily on my struggle as an actor in New York and Los Angeles, heartbreak and addiction in Vancouver, and the return as a broken prodigal to a childhood home and an estranged mother.

In the past year I have approached select agents and publishers in Canada and the U.S. and while we've received some inspiring and positive responses, saying that the novel has an "original voice", it's become clear that the text, "TimFoolery: Tales of a Third Rate Junkie" is nonetheless, somehow unmanageable or unsaleable in its present form. I've concluded that the work may best be served as a compilation of essays, perhaps in the style of say a 'David Foster Wallace - but way less smart - dipped in a sort of Kerouwackian mixed-up syntax engine, stewing about in a David Sedaris / Mark Leyner Milkshake Machine', but I digress.

During the same period, while building a kind of community through correspondence with agents, editors, and authors of similar temperaments and while organizing our interactive literary salon, Word Substance Spatula, I have had some success publishing with respected on-line journals. Most of my tales were re-edited into short story format, to make them appropriate for those sites.

In this new format, they remain funny and original and are more accessible to a larger readership. Consultation with the staff here at Timber Media has led to the conclusion that my tales have basic ingredients that stand up well when reworked into both short story and essay format.

This is exciting because what is unique and characteristic of my work, the facility with language, the complex imagery, the subtle and playful social commentary, can be retained, if tamed, within forms more immediately apprehendable to a wider sensibility and intelligence. The project I propose is a collection of the published articles from this past year, plus a few others, not yet released. Also, there will be pictures, maybe some graphs, a chart or two, but more than likely just stick figures: imagine perhaps a Scratch 'n Sniff book- the first one for young adults or those in mid-life crisis.

We recently hosted McSweeney's at Word Substance Spatula in Toronto and one of the things that www.mcsweeneys.net has taught us is that there is a wide reception for texts which emphasize playful and imaginative high quality graphic design. The other very real possibility that my work lends itself to is that of a graphic novel. Visual representation of the more imaginative elements of my work may be just the bridge needed between my mind and that of my potentially VAST readership. I am currently in search of a comic illustrator.

The published stories can be viewed here, on another area on my
website: www.timbermedia.com/link.html

So, maybe you'll have some ideas. I'm open to pretty much anything, provided it makes contact with reality here and there.

Anyway, below are notes on some of the stories published to date:

1. "MAHLER'S EVE"
Halloween time Explored and Deconstructed

Published by ÜBER (October 2004)

Discussed: Disfigured Juvenile Recluses,
Orange Catheters that Dangle from Holsters,
Catching Kid's Tails in Monkey Mobiles,
Clubbing Me Softly with Glowing Jedi Titanium-Didldo-Wands,
Foxy Duos and Their Silver-Spray-Painted-Ski-Doos,
A Shattered Arthur Fonzarelli,
Electric Water Guns Filled with Scalding Lemon Juice,
Tattoos of Super Heroes Share Leg Space with Track Marks On Shapely Thighs

* * *

2. "A MISSED FLIGHT AND STRANGE BIRDS, OR, A HELLISH GIVING OF THANKFULLY MURDERED BIRDS"
Thanksgiving time Explored and Deconstructed

Published by ÜBER (November 2004)

Discussed: Nodding Off Over Hollandaise and Stuffing,
The Cranberry Tray as a Soaking Dish and Imaginary Manicures,
Jealousy Towards the Dressed-Up Oily, Brown and Buttered Bird,
The Still Skeletal Cloris Leachman, The Little Table,
Miniature Ikea-like Croquet Sets, The Box Step,
Bundt Cakes Made from Fennel, Leaks, and Kitty Litter,
The Von Trapp Family Singers, Perambulators & Marmosets,
Stealth Perspiring and Facial Ticks, The Drama of The Gifted Child

* * *

3. "OFF THE CHARTS IN TEARS"
The Christmas Parade Scenario, Explored and Deconstructed

Published by FRESH YARN SALON (December 2004)

Discussed: Eastern Syndicates and Reindeer Slavery,
Travis Bickle, Inside Antlered Outfits, A Beached Turtle,
A Past-Her-Prime Make-Up Artist, Promotional Funeral Flyers,
Accidents with Seniors, Shoddy Floats, A Trimmer Ed Asner,
Balding Hudson's Bay Coated Gentleman Clutching Packages,
Reductions on Caskets, Dickensian Death Camps, Snowball Possession,
Lurking in Back Rooms, MarshMallow-Laden Costume Ladies,
Snowmen and Extremely Odd-Shaped Underwear, Reindeer Syndrome,
Thoroughly-Iced Genetalia

* * *

4. "LONELY IS AN EYESORE"
Exposing What Really Goes On at an AA Meeting

Published by SOMEWHAT.ORG (January 2005)

Discussed: The Consumption of Black Beverages Resembling Caffeine,
Unusual Things Happen in Church Basements, Gratification,
Terrance Stamp with a Face-Life, A Badly Aged Cindy-Loo,
Toilet Wheelchairs, A Shot at Remembering The 12 Steps
Girls Who Iron Their Hair and Compete in the Eye Make-Up Finals,
Trying To Control Sticky Situations

* * *

5. "DOING WHAT I CAN FOR THE MODERN MINOTAUR MIND"
Houseguests and Basements: Recalled and Reconsidered

Published by SURFACEONLINE.ORG (January 2005)

Discussed: Perry Como Records, Cans of ChefBoyardee Beef Ravioli,
The Night a Minotaur Dropped by for an Unexpected Visit and I Had to Deal,
Sport Uniforms of My Youth, Gurgling and Eerie Chomping Noises,
How to Shop in Malls Without Weeping, Cowboy-And-Dinosaur Flannel Pajamas, Devilish
Flying Spider Monkeys, A Challenge for The FootLocker Sales People, Somnambulant Hallmark
Moments, Moisturizing Generously, A Really Tall, Hairy, Stooping Minotaur,
Lego Jungle Gym Sets, The Monster Witness Relocation Program

* * *

6. "WATER SLIP UPSIDE DOWN"
New Methods of Coping Re-evaluated in Light of the Aphorism "You Can Never Go Home Again"

Published by SOMEWHAT.ORG (February 2005)

Discussed and Depicted: Caffeine Psychosis, Duracell Easter Bunnies,
Serpent Eggs, Reviving Near-Dead Writers Who Live with their Mothers,
Very Gay but Chic After-Shave Attaches and Marsupial Pouches,
Shifty Clowns in Recovery Programs, Forgetting where the Kafka Castle Lies,
Multiple Closings of Zellers Stores in the Area, German Funeral Music,
Pretty Paperweights with Snowy Citizen Kane-Like Scenes,
Mouth to Mouth from Suspiciously Effeminate Rabbits,
Lines from an Eva Gardner Film, Unprofessionalism,
Racy Non-Union Rabbit Academy Training Films,
An Unhelpful Viewing of Watership Down
The Crack Cavity Fairy

* * *

7. "FATHER FODDER / SEIZE THOSE SINS"
Spiritual Guidance and the Soul of the Artist Scrutinized

Published by SURFACEONLINE.ORG (April 2005)

Discussed: The Rectory Rumpus Room, Ione Skye, Peter O'Toole,
Participatory Journalism, Losing One's Soul,
A Knack for Distinguishing Turks from Sheiks,
Phil Donahue-Like Guys in Catholic Cloaks,
Swimming for God's Team, Moments on a See-Saw,
Turtle Ponds with Metal Goldfish, Powdered Beverages,
Pilfering Sunday School Pageant Costumes,
Kissing Girls with Extra Large Foreheads,
Actor Ego Sickness, Funeral Hymns Blaring on a Beach,
Monster Mister Softee Ice Cream Trucks

* * *

Publications That Aren't Really Stories, But Exist Nonetheless,
And Are Somehow Relevant...

"IN REGARDS TO THE ADVISABILITY OF JIGGING WHEN IN PURSUIT OF SEASONAL EMPLOYMENT"

Published by GIRLS WITH INSURANCE (March 2005)

Discussed: Cautionary Notes, Charmingly Eccentric Art Forms,
Bouts Of Flight And Fancy, What's Often Too Alarming For Secretaries,
Endlessly Elusive Potential Work Fronts,
Never A Kilt, Knowing Full Well You Want To Impress,
How You're Not There To 'Jiggle'

* * *

"5 VERY IMPORTANT, YET UNNERVING, INQUIRIES FROM AMERICAN CITIZENS"

Published by ÜBER (April 2005)

Explored and brought up in This Particular Forum:
Rental Cassettes of Gross, Below-Board, Mind-Numbing,
Soul-Violating, Carnage-Like Entertainment,
Weekend At Bernies II on DVD, The Bicycle Thief,
Spiraling South Of Sea Level Culture,
Girl's Pink Tricycle With Full-On Loopy Banana Seat,
Conjuring Bob Newhart's Earlier Comedy Routines Whilst
Engaged in Sexual Play, Courage As Bourbon in a Bottle,
Darryl Hannah Mermaid-Like Sexed-Up Specimens,
Ominous and Tragic Figures Looming,
Male Ego Crap That Machismo X-Chromosomers Drag Around,
Jumbo-Thighed Amy Sedaris-Like Flying Squirrels,
The Debris in The Door of Society's Unconscious,
Jimmy Connors' 1970's Ultra American Red, White And Blue Fuzzy Sweatbands

* * *

“ONE SENTENCE STORIES”

Published by YANKEE POT ROAST (February 2005)

A Few Areas Touched-Upon: My Frisky Cousin, The Cyclops,
Earsplitting Charlie Brown Christmas Music, Other Planets,
A Talent-Free Ninth Grade All-Brass Band,
Not Being The Man I Used To Be Without My Down Fleece
And Flannel Thingamies, Left Unsupervised,
The Shoe Tree People In My Chaotic Closet,
Plastic Pool Chairs Drenched in Dew,
Forgetting My Addictions, The Infinite Splendou

* * *

Sunday May 22th, 2005

Just 7 Days to Go!

The reason for me writing to you, is to personally invite you to a special event next Sunday evening, May 29th at 8:00. I think you'll appreciate just these kinds of like-minded creative and artistic souls gathered within an eclectic literary context. Yes siree. There is, miraculously, no cover charge to hear the brilliance of Paul La Forge, Salavador Placencia and Eli Horowitz, who've traveled thousands of miles from the McSweeney's base camp, no charge to view the short animated film about Al Purdy by Bruce Alcock, brought to the stage by the over charming Michael Redhill of Brick magazine. Amidst the decadent backdrop of candlelight and cozy seating, ain't nothing required of you but your presence to enjoy the jazz interludes of Big Rude Jake. The very talented, funny and original MC Fraser Young will be opening the evenings' festivities with a few moments of his off-the charts, free-Associative Methamphetaminic comedy. So, here's what I mean: www.wordsubstancespatula.com.

Preparation for the next installment of WORD SUBSTANCE has now, unmistakeably, reached it's full-on emotional zenith. And, I'm sure, after viewing this phenomenally- colourful informative and electric website: www.wordsubstancespatula.com you'll agree that nobody with a nervous system would want to miss being at this show of shows, would want to miss the delicious quality of harmonious concordance of elegant audio, video and verbal forms with vigorous function. For sure, way more fun than playing Rock-Paper-Scissors with yourself. Sincerely.

I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't be cosmically thrilling to see you out at the absurdly charming and sparkly Drake Hotel on Sunday May 29th at 8:00. I admit, I'm almost afraid to set in motion mechanisms of near-insanity-producing good times that seem, at this juncture to be potentially overwhelming.

* * *

There's more, which I won't go into here. Well alright, you twisted my arm. We have booked - just this afternoon - a beautiful mystery warehouse space for an intimate celebratory afterparty gathering, not 2 blocks away from The Drake Hotel. There will be a real live disc jockey in attendance playing records. (I think the kids call them "DJ's" these days).

Amazing, eh?

Most Sincerely,
Timber Masterson

Tuesday March 3, 2005

Had a great time courting our 30-something, Jewish-Writer-folk in from New York this past weekend - Elise Miller, Allen Salkin and Peter Hyman. - for our monthly Word Substance event. It was super cool to mix, mingle and mange (*note* 'mange' is French for "to eat") with some real writers. Weíre still moving in to our new abode: phones, computers, cable and the seemingly endless setting up of stupid stuff...boxes all around us....it's nutty. Anyway, right now I'm going to check out a boxing gym called Sully's. I picture a large man named Carl smoking a cigar, t-shirt riddled with burger grease and his training of me, involves him barking orders at me from behind a desk, his feet soaking in a tub and yelling at me One more lap around the track, kid! in kind of an Italian-Burgess Merideth-Bergmanesque-nightmarish tone. Though, you know, I could be going into it with a negative attitude. I'll let you know. Have to tell you, I just bought this CD by a cat named Michael Buble. He does a duet with Nellie Furtado ("Quando, Quando, Quando") and she is so gigantically eloquent, sultry and smooth, that it is alarming and re-awakens that part in you that makes you appreciate vocals again. I think it is the first time that I've ever purchased a CD that was so commercial ly popular. (It's number one on the charts here at HMV in TO). I've succeeded in sickening myself, my rebel days clearly disintegrating, perhaps for the better though. The other CD I purchased was by Esthero, who has an angelic divine voice. Both are worth picking up. You'd like them. I feel like an old man when I walk into music stores these days, which I don't like very much.

Warmth and Sincerity,
T

Saturday December 11th, 2004

So, I've decided to publish posthumourously, and then return to collect residuals. I have a plan, it's complex, I can only say it involves Life Insurance, falsifying documents and something about shabbily-made-pine caskets constructed in Mexico that may fall off the back of a truck while in transit, but I really can't say anymore. Somewhat.Org is posting another one of my stories, (actually slightly revamped chapters from my yet-to-be-released mammoth personal memoir saga) "Watership Upside Down", about some nasty and foul rabbits that come over one day, wrestle me into the manicure position and recite lines from Eva Gardner films. It's good old creepy heebeejeebeeville fun for the whole family. That is I suppose if the family lives on some dementia cul-de-sac.

The first Word Substance Spatul a event in January couldn't have gone much better, everyone was very impressed with the atmosphere and general overall ambiance provided for us, the authors, to read our work. Working on putting up some photos and possibly video on the website. For now, check out www.WordSubstanceSpatula.com to see coverage of that evening. Kind of let down after so much work having gone into that night. Months of solid research and contacting media, countless emails and promotion, the whole deal was draining but worth it, but as I said, after such a build up, it's easy to feel a little down. I don't know what I was expecting to have happen: maybe mountains to crumble, my career to suddenly skyrocket, somewhere' Perhaps there's something to be said for "Expectation". Have gone back to reading Colin Wilson's "The Outsider". So many excellent passages, all to do with that gross numbing isolation, and feelings of ostercization from general society. He uses other authors to get his point across, commenting on the works of Hesse, Barbusse, to illustrate, talks of what happens with characters in their novels and how they dealt with their own "Outside" issues.

Saturday December 26th, 2004

Ho Ho Ho I'm in the Belle Jar of this here Boxing Day, me having to ward off ravenous relatives, that are swarming at me in sweaty woolen bunny boxing mittens. Yuck. Good tidings to you, friends, I just wanted to wish you the greatest, most joyful and ulmost unbearably relaxing 'Eternal Present-and-Draidel~ish~Woosy~Coosy~Cosy~ Day~of~absurd~Comfortability. (YOU'VE EARNED IT) Ah, to bask in sloth, immobile, sitting prettily plumped 'round the din din table with those relatives who've been drummed up (dug up?) and dusted off for the grand outing of 'Obscene~Ingestion~of~Gargantuan~Holiday~Food~Stuffs'. In-between the grand inhalation, some nifty little jiffies I've sent along are meant for your mind's consumption, though they'll not add to making you feel fat, or out of shape OR overly concerned just where it is you placed your table napkin. These carefully prepared websites are good, clean fun, well worth clicking on, thus discovering a 'Visually-Pleasing-and-Soul-Refreshing-Magical-Land' the button will open up for you. *Note to self* Make good and sure that your placemat setting is not anywhere close to "THE LITTLE TABLE". No successful, confident adult has ever returned to that Drastic, Evil Nutsy~Nursery~Rhyme~like~lonely~miniature~make~shift~card~table~ish~queer~too~far~away~from~where~the~main~meal (and conversation) is-being-digested,' arena of repeated nightmares. Brilliant concept though, I'll give the adults that one. Also,

Most Sincerely,
Timber Masterson Esquire-ish

Saturday December 11th, 2004

Things are busy. We have bought a house, and now we must sell ours. This means the following: Agents call and ask if they can bring strangers over. You say yes and immediately begin flipping out in an effort to make the home look as though no one lives there. Strangers want to picture their stuff in your house, not try and imagine what it will look like with you still in it. So you hustle some boots on and skedaddle out of there. You walk around the block, like, 10 times, in hopes that will give the group time enough to trounce about and judge you and then decide your home sucks.

In the midst of the wildly unnerving process of stuffing things in drawers and closets all willy nilly in an attempt to sell the home, we're getting together our once-a-month-literary gathering that kicks off Sunday January 16th at The Drake Hotel.

Must pick up Postcards from Adfactor.
Must try to get authors interviews in Now/Eye/Globe/Post/Star.
Must brush my teeth. (Really well)
These are things that one must stay on top of.

My birthday is in a few days. I'll be thirty-something and I don't kn ow what this means. I still feel too childish and immature to be anything like an adult. I still lose important papers, hats, gloves, scarves and can't save money if my life depended on it. Back to the things that I CAN control. I think I'll call the Guinness World Record people. I'm up for eating boxes of those mini tangerines in one go, as 'tis the season to get really acidic and check oneself into an 'Ears, Eyes, Nose and Throat clinic' and have them extract unnecessary gunk that...well, anyway. Thought I should check in and update the old existence.

Also, we're down to the last 40 pages in our final edit of the book. I'll be glad when that chapter is closed. Looking forward to reading and hanging out with Dan Kennedy and Heather Maidat in the new year at WORD SUBSTANCE SPATULA.

Peace.

Friday October 17th, 2004

So, I'm working on a brand new, tender type of ABC afterschool special sort of 'Ted Danson-like "Daddy, don't touch me there" kind of whimsical tale entitled, "How Cauliflower made me mental: the really, really lonesome early years". Of course, this is part of a larger anthology that my office and I have been compiling of late, entitled, "The Purposeful Urinist". The film rights have already been bough t. (Sorry) John Ritter will play the unnerving overly sensitive amputee vet with out-the window, off-the chart gardening concerns, and Adam West will play 'Neb', owner of a dodgy sort of Speedway concern, just off the freeway...though really more of a not-very-well-paved roundabout sort of racetrack that goes from his driveway, through the garage, into a neighbour's backyard (Ritter) and back. No helmets are worn. He charges an arm and a leg. Bad meat and left-out overnight condiments are sold at mind-bendingly gruesome prices. People cry...a hot script, very Kaufman-like, while at the same time not at all. Get the drift? I'm hard at work. So I'm assuming you'll all be wanting me to forward you the story, like as soon as I'm able, right? Right?

Friday October 1st, 2004

September, in recent years anyway, has meant jitterbugging behind the scenes and attended the Toronto International Film Festival with my Special Participatory Investigative Correspondent Extraordinaire hat on. I've li ved to tell the tale. Barely.

After 10 bewildering days, I have seen dog-tired, at times totally baffled, volunteers, almost faint away at the sheer complexity of 'who goes where, and just what's supposed to go on here?' There were the big shots, the entertainment business populace, in rented Maserati machines, cruising around Yorkville in search of wanna-be starlets; the autograph seekers lurking outside the Four Seasons and Bistro 990 waiting to post something on Ebay. Then you've got the astonishingly class and charisma-free comments by clueless yet leggy curvaceous martini-holding Pamela Anderson-like pachyderms, "Have you seen anyone? You know like anyone REAL?"

It's easy to forget that this is really about films, most of which we will never hear of again, and that these festivals began for the unexplored to be explored. People seem to get caught up in the Annette Bennings and Kevin Spaceys taking the spotlight, literally. But there was the rare, honest and original film from the heart that got under your skin and investigated our deep psychic personal damages and afflictions. One that was made with undeniably gut-wrenching genius was RAY, the story of Ray Charles, masterfully played by Jamie Foxx, which comes out October 29th. Another was, It's All Gone Pete Tong, which focuses on a DJ who loses his hearing in Ibiza and how he tunnels his way back to life. Then there was the Canadian contribution, Childstar, which was more than amusing, if for no other reason than Don McKellar fumbling around, looking off-kilter, on some wildly mind-numbing killer halcyon cocktail hayride.

The Drake Hotel and other downtown host venues became nightly companions. Their attempt at treating people well, even the locals, really had to be commended, what with all the folks they had pouring in there for mini Dante-esque debauchery till 4 in the morning, our city's liquor licenses extended so Nick Nolte (or is it Gary Busey ... like there's a difference) can ingest inhuman barrels of lighter fluid and stumble into traffic, only to be saved by an entourage express.

Each time this year, our town gets down all Robert Downey Junior as our metropolis invites the demonic behavior of gifted staggering celebrities, celebrating whatever recent film opportunity they'd recently shot during their day pass from rehab.

But, the only real way to tell anyone apart through the fogginess of cinematic haze and intrigue was for people to either have their job description branded in neon on their forehead (a suggestion of mine the council did not go for), or at the very least everybody sporting their names and positions on gigantic sticky 'Hello My Name Is' tags printed in purple crayon and pasted on their lapel. And after all has been played and replayed and written about and gossiped, my room littered with schedules and business cards, letters and film posters and promo materials from companies I've never heard of or will hear of again, I can safely say, it's more than pleasant to deposit all of this in the back of the filing cabinet and move on to another film - my own life's.

Anyway, now we're reworking the last edit for my Junkie book, so it can finally get out there for the world to digest. I will be starting up a speical once a month literary, urban, edgy (unlike other stodgy and all too predictable, conservative caucasion drab nights) salon-like intimate reading series. We'll feature a few authors - a couple from The U.S probably ... these will be hot characters who are out to shake people with their words, we're talking unconventional and passionate. Duncan at The Drake has given us free reign for the night. Everything will start-up in early January. It's going to be done right. People will come for the candles and inscense and chimes and words that will blow them away. Don't worry, I'll let you know when.

By the way, Charlie Kaufman is a genius. Being John Malkovich, Adaptation and what I just saw last night, Eternal Sunshine...There are no words, not really, to describe the awesome interior dialogue, how he awakens our inner child. Jim Carrey has had pain in his life and Kate Winslet is no slouch. Mark Ruffalo also rocks. Charlie Kaufman is l ike playing MUSICAL HEADS (that's the name of the game, man) with Frederico Fellini, Salvadore Dali and M.C. Hammer (I mean Escher), then listening to them wax on about just what the art of living is all about, all while they sit serenely twisted on the roof of the ice cream/knife sharpening truck while the evil dull chef guy drives at super hi-speeds simultaneously sharpening their skulls with a triple sharp satirical sardonic whipped scoop of wild orange tiger tale brilliance! It knocked me on my ass, if you want to know the truth. There's much going on ...

Sunday July 11th, 2004

Redefining things at present time. Awaiting agents and publishers to make their way through the work. All this, truly a process that requires patience. Patience that I do not have. A move back to the city is in the works ... amidst negotiating, re-evaluating just about everything. Making time for what's deemed important Complex, as this can change daily.

T

Wednesday June 3rd, 2004

Friday morning, I'll be piloting my craft down to the big bad city ("The Seething Cauldron of Infectious Sulk", I affectionatley refer to her as) in a hand-sewn-Super-Hero suit, mainly to solve crimes but also to hunt for vibrant interpersonal relations to amuse my human-interface-pallet.

Thought maybe we could hook up in some capacity, if your schedule allows. I'll be looking for fun and merriment perhaps you'd know of some? (Fun and/or good-natured mirth, that is). Would simply love to hear back from you, on this the day of our lord, Wednesday June 2, 2004. (Tomorrow works also).

I need elaborate unwinding in that special way only a man such as myself can unwind and nor do I know quite what I mean ... maybe just a break from my relentless sharp satirical commentary, turned too often inwardly; the familiar gulit of my participatory jounalistic cannibalism, the jaundiced scrutiny retiring me and my self to a high chair in the pantry once more.

I'll be returning by Sunday afternoon in order to go sailing, watch the season finale of The Sopranos, and of course, tend to Timber's Precious Bottomless Pit of Curried Creepy Senior Stew in the basement that's been gaining momentum (and popularity) with this retirement village I seem to inhabit (Not to mention a monumentally fouler stench with each passing day).

Cheerio,
Sincerely,
T

Thursday May 27, 20004

This is a killer concept that'll for sure get me some work. I'll send it out tomorrow and the offers will come pouring in, I just know it. *Note to self* Where are those pills for self-delusion that therapist lady doled out to me? Must call for refill... "... I've taught tennis in the French West Indies, driven a Cadillac for a New York Mafioso, worked for a Party Monster murderer AND have written columns and articles for mags in The U.S and Canada. I've been invited to guest on Jeopardy, to do the voice of Skeezix in a film adaptation of Gasoline Alley, to write about Madagascar for National Geographic, to serve as honorary chairman of The White House Council on Storytelling, to host a salute to Phil and Don Everly at Carnegie Hall, to serve here and lecture there and write and host and spread the substance of my being like a grease stain across the breadth of North America. I've done advertising copy-writing and recently penned ads for biodegradable incontinence briefs and artificial saliva. And all the while, knowing this was just a patchwork-training-ground for the main event; what I've always had it in me to do: Write Wildly Entertaining Sharp Satirical Commentary and Great Prose for... (insert magazine name here)

Let me know if I could do something for you fine fellas...

(Dear Diary: Is "Fine fellas" profess ional to say?)

Wednesday May 26, 2004

Dear Friends, I've begun working with a special council designed for the soul purpose of starting up a tr ust fund. Yes, a Trust Fund. For ME.

The funding (primarily) is to support the council that does away with artists who are stuck in mind-bendingly-gruesome and unwanted mise-en-scenes they've carved out for themselves; a sickness awakened by an inner urgency that makes them appear entirely desperate for others approval, validation, and affection sought through personal-web sites with embarrassingly narcissistic pictures, press (and self-praise!) of themselves coupled with all-too-frequent-email-transmissions; mind-boggling Matrix-like-largely-themeless tales of our maudlin bruised world immature wise-ass (at times wildly entertaining) meanderings entombed in swirling mixed metaphors.

So, if you'll just go to the website, you'll find a special-tailer- made-form just for you! It won't take but a jiffy to send your trustworthy funding (a tax deduction at that) so that it will arrive swiftly and safely at my door I mean The Council's door. All I want is what's coming to me. All I want is my fair share. Preferably $50's and $100's. A reimbursement of your postage is not as much promised as it is being looked into.

I must sincerely apologize for my particular neurological make-up this simply manic creative energy stemming primarily (my the ory) from being a prodigious coffee drinker and consummate (but goodhearted) gargantuan goof-ball. I can be a handful, to put it mildly.

I can only imagine all this hullabaloo is as interesting to you as "the-child-as-empiricist-God delusion" horseshit that my analyst and I have FINALLY worked through. The good doctor has since "referred me elsewhere, after confessing that she's always had a "particular longstanding fear of people such as myself." I thought this a frantic justification and more than a little unprofessional.

No matter.

near orgasmic satisfaction of your email reply gives me a cosmically-satisfying, even giddy glow (profoundly pathetic and more than a little creepy, I now realize). It is imperative that I learn to veer away from this limitless capacity, t his seemingly boundless search for validation, affection and complimentary banter I pray that makes it's way back to me by way of electronic vessel. I welcome my emails the way an allergic-recipient-of-stings-from-African-hornets-might-be- receptive-to-antibiotics. (Dear Diary: Is this wrong?)

The near orgasmic satisfaction of your email reply gives me a cosmically-satisfying, even giddy glow (profoundly pathetic and more than a little creepy, I now realize). It is imperative that I learn to veer away from this limitless capacity, this seemingly boundless search for validation, affection and complimentary banter I pray that makes it's way back to me by way of electronic vessel. I welcome my emails the way an allergic-recipient-of-stings-from-African-hornets-might-be- receptive-to-antibiotics. (Dear Diary: Is this wrong?)

Your dollars will be put towards books, classes and tutorials I promise to be in strict attendance with, so that I may get over this life-long chilling and dreadful (but positively animated) affliction.

There is (of course) the m inuscule off-chance that you may enjoy (on a certain Nietchean/Freudian/Faustian level - whomever fellow you follow) the boundaryless flux of such hilarious and upsetting yet sophisticated parodic meditations, these methedrine-pop-pastiches formed with surreal juxtapositions and flash-cut-editing framed with relentless irony designed to make my frantic tone seem mildly irreverent instead of repellent. You might even catch yourself in the beginnings of a smile. Or not.

This blindingly epiphanic realization that has found it's way to you is either an achievement for me or a brand new fucken low. At any rate, it does take a ferociously-good-sport (you) to entertain such self-indulgent, hysterically passionate (though waaaaayyyyyy worthwhile, completely intriguing and fun) borderline-inappropriate-behavior from my end.

Being in kind of escrow at the moment, I may not always have such time to frolic in such an arena...this unshamefully-self-promotional tour de force of nonsense so I will cherish these moments.

Your retort is waa aaayyyyyyy welcome.

P.S Also, let me know if you'd like to be kept abreast of the upcoming PAINTBALL YOGA CLASSES I'm looking to start up this summer.

P.S.S If you find any mistakes on the site, let me know. My office will credit your account with 500 Club Zed Zellers points for being kind enough to point out any problems or helpful changes.

Have yourself a gorgeous and enchanting evening.

Most Sincerely,
T. Masterson
Glad to be working on this ...