As for today's blog I've written drunk before and with a hang over so that's no excuse for not whipping out a witty piece on this or that.  The problem today was the damn electric. In Side where I live (pron. Sea-Day or Seedy depending on my mood) it goes out at least 3 times a week, sometimes 3 times a day.  Today was the pits.  From 1 pm to 7 pm it was going on and off every 10 minutes.  After a 3 or 4 times I shut down the computer cause I didn't want to fuck it up.  Here's a taste of a site that I did 6 or 9 months ago www.whereismyhat.com . The concept of the site is that I meet these famous people and I keep loosing my hat. Enjoy

Where Is My Hat?
by John DAgostino, Eccentric Outsider Artist, a.k.a. John Dog

I miss the John Dog so much.  We were together for a long time.  I met John DAgostino, the Eccentric Outsider Artist after I finished filming "Pulp Fiction"  I was so stressed out from working with Quinton.  I took to painting as a distraction.  John was such an understanding painting tutor.  As we worked together we got closer and closer.  He was so gentle. It wasn't long before we became lovers.  We weren't overly discreet about our relationship, but it never made the press.  We never hid from the media.  It was just that we were secluded in the Paris studio that we shared together.  We passed the days painting, smoking Tiparillios, and making love.  We spent so much time in bed that sometimes the sheets would have more paint on them than the canvases.  John Dog was into his "white" phase.  He was working very minimally using white and one other color.  He did series of huge canvases with simple line work that depicted nature, animals, plants, and the like. 

I still have a few of his canvases hanging in the Paris loft where we lived, loved and worked.  The paintings have become quite valuable since John DAgostino, the Eccentric Outsider Artist's work is in high demand.  I keep them to remind me of the love that we shared together.  But more than the paintings, I cherish the purple cap that he wore while painting and left behind.  It makes me happy because it reminds me of the good times we had and a little sad because he's gone.

I met Nick in a very strange place.  We met in the women's room of a downtown Istanbul hotel.  I was a struggling artist so I took all sorts of odd jobs to make ends meet. Well, I had run up my bar tab at the hotel and didn't have the cash to pay it. I agreed to work off the debt and found myself cleaning the bathrooms. After I entered the door marked Bayan (woman) I heard a noise. I opened a stall with my mop in hand and found a scruffy Nick writing on the wall with a black marker. He was writing- For a Good Time Call Nick at (phone number). He was dressed in a maroon leather jacket and had a red bandana tied around his neck. I think he was humming the Tom Waites tune - The Heart of Saturday Night, as he scribbled his message there. I brought the mop up and started to swing, but he shouted, "No! Wait! Let's talk about this."  He was embarrassed as hell to be caught in the lady's room and he was eager to offer me a deal.  I told him my situation at the hotel bar and he quickly took care of the bill and then invited me around the corner to a sidewalk cafe-bar.   

He ordered a bottle of Raki, ice, water and a bag of sunflower seeds.  We began to talk.  He wanted to explain why he was writing on bathroom walls. I was busy sucking down the lion's milk and pealing sunflower seeds. I wasn't paying much attention, so I really don't remember much of what he said or for that matter the whole afternoon. I got pretty plastered.  I do remember that at one point I grabbed his red bandana and tied it to the stupid stove pipe hat that I wore in those days. That hat is long gone now- lost in some Taksim dive or Beyoglou alley. Nick and I hung out for a few more days drinking and checking out the hot Istanbul babes. And, yes, if you were wondering, he did get a phone call or two.

This site has 7 pages now, I want to add a couple more pages and also publish a small book. Hard copy is nice sometimes.

Later Dudes and Dudettes, John