Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Monday, March 25, 2013

Okay, this is a stretch, but it IS a personal favorite

One of my favorite movies since I was very very young has been the Graduate. In that movie, there is a scene where Ben (Dustin Hoffman) is scene trying to write a letter over and over. Thanks to youtube, here it is:
The Graduate Letter Scene (start at 1:37)

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Something for the fun of it, because I love the late Mitch hedberg

Okay, so maybe this is not letters, BUT it IS handwritten. The notes look like they are written in a letter form, but the fact that they are handwritten just makes them feel so damn personal. It is a shame that he died from a heroin and cocaine overdose. I did some stand-up comedy as well as group improvisational comedy. It is a difficult art form where those who have tried it revere those who who excel at it, as we know the pain of failing up there.

A beautiful person now gone. Thank you Mitch.

The Mitch Hedberg Writings

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Sorry for the delay/Gratitude/update/Airmail

My deepest thanks to all the amazing people who came to the Seminar at the Long Island Pen Show this past Sunday. All of you were great and I just want to say it meant a great deal.

I will be in a whirlwind of activity for the next few months and am hoping to do the DC seminar again this year. Please e-mail Mr. Johnson and show your support for my seminar and ask him to include it. Here is his email

I am very very very busy with things, such as writing letters and completing the audio book of my new book "Not the Yearbook You Expected" so posting will be spotty, but I will do my best. Here is my song "Airmail" from my albums "sacred" and "Writing on Water Part II"

Airmail by Michael Kovacs

Here are the words:

My dearest friend,

I just received your two letters and tape in the mail. They were awaiting me at my old address in the northern part of town. As I read your words, the sun is just beginning to set upon the hills that border the village and the sky beams with yellow and violet.

Thank you for writing me as you do, as we have shared so much during our time apart, it seems as though our trust is genuine and special. It always makes me feel good to know that there is someone out there who cares about my life.
I've just awoken from a nap because I spent the whole night on a hoot doing the rhumba. I showered and came down to the tiny terrace bar, one of two which flank my building door. The one I've always frequented is filled with families, tiny four year old girls in pink and purple print cloth and exquisite 1920's hair bobs, scrounging about in the dirt together while their grandparents expertly let the world go by as their beers glow topaz. Moms with leather jackets, plucked eyebrows, smoking. Older women with sweaters on their shoulders soothing the inevitably ruffled feathers of the pink printed dolls. Slick black haired men in jeans, sunglasses and white espedrilles giggle laughing babies. Inside the two bars from my outside vantage point, I hear the stereo roar as the Madrid soccer team makes a goal.

The other bar is the scary one filled with the young harder people who are known as "the heavies." Both men and women have long feathered hair, tight pants, black skirts, and interesting necklaces in their open buttoned chests, leather jackets and fringed boots. Then, on the other side are the night brood, the wild ones. Every night they gather and listen to tapes and drink liters of beer with a dog or two, leaning on a fence that faces the garden. Of course the bar group is more splendid and scruffy in their low class finery. But the wild children were the first I saw months ago from my fourth floor window. They gathered like dried leaves in the windy late winter nights, and disappeared before dawn.
Their circle kept its back towards me the nights I waited outside for Herman. I watched them, envious, dreaming of the Lost Boys, wanting to pass the beer bottle around and be accepted into their ring of arrogance and ease with each other. The long hair, the occasional horseplay, the generosity... I guess we'd have little in common. It was more glamorous from four flights up.

My favorite character has just appeared: a baby about ten months old, Deborah. Her mother is the only local I've talked to who doesn't own a bar or a shop. She is often in the hands of Christina and Carlos, the bar owner's kids. They are delightfully bright and extroverted. The baby laughs and laughs when I play with her. As she sits on someone's lap, she chews on a pack of Fortunas. You know she is going to be wonderful when she is older.

I love you. Your subtlety and irony, even when you are down is dear to me. I'm sorry you've been in so much pain lately. I'm helpless except to reach across the Atlantic with an embrace. And remember, you make me laugh like no one else can.
Well, I must leave you now. The sun has almost completely set and places the cafe under the gentle blessing of the night sky. The bartender has just lit the candle on the table, reminding me that I do not know when I shall return to your shores. My life here is full, but I cannot call it home. I miss you every day but I know that I must be here for now and look for your words to travel across the oceans and rest in my hands. I shall never abandon you in my friendship and your heart shall for ever remain in mine. I'm not one to make promises, but I know this is one I'll keep.

The night has fallen and I shall walk to my lover's house with memories of us on my every breath. We may drift in time and in space, but I never want to imagine us being without each other.

May the universe cradle you in her arms, and may the wisteria of dreams hang over your head.

Blessings, health, and sweet laughter.
I love you always......

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Rather sad, but an impressive idea.

A dear friend of mine was just diagnosed with terminal cancer. This is not the first time it has been in my life, as it is even in my book, "Not the Yearbook You Expected".  I found this book of letters that seems to be quite moving and unique in dealing with the subject.

Letters from the Land of Cancer

Friday, March 8, 2013

Sorry for the Silence, but Long Island Awaits...

Hey everyone. Sorry I have been out of the loop but things have been very out of sorts here. The flu and the Baltimore Show got me off the radar. Here is a great letter writing site to check out. I gotta respect the love these people have:

and remember, my book "Not the Yearbook You Expected" is available from Amazon and BookTango as a digital download!