ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?

To compete in anything that is subjective is a farce. Whether it's Iron Chef, Dairy Cattle, or a Comedy Competition, there's no way to properly judge anything based on perception. Or, is perception the only way to judge anything? OR, if you're not reaching 'neath your futon in hopes of finding my point, is perception proper only when judging, though it is vital we separate JUDGING and SCORING. How can you score points when it's a solo performance with no measurement? All competitive runners are timed. Discus throwers are measured. Atkins Dieteers have their Before & After & Regression & Really After photos!

I cannot say what good comedy is, I can only say what I like. It's like trying to define a person's coolness. They either got it or they don't, and what's "Cool" to you may be "Dad-hating sociopathic credit card stealing Hell-strumpet" to me, no that I've had experience with one of those ever. 'twas not "cool," I assure thee.

This is where any expression through artistic endeavors becomes a metaphor of Life. Expressions of art can be judged but should not be scored. How can a painting of an eye be better than a blank canvas, entitled "Yet Empty Everstill" which shows the artist's rendition of their heart after their girlfriend left them for a local coven of Joan Osborne fanatics? Because the guy with the eye at least TRIED, okay? Blank is blank. No apologies, regardless of your emotional bankruptcy, you still gotta produce in this world, and if you have no artisitic ability then stick to motorsports, but do NOT tell me that what I do is not good, because you haven't stared down the wire of a microphone in front of 300 people and made them laugh with one look. You haven't walked off a stage and been hugged by fraternity pledges and high-fived by 80 year-old women. Until you've been in somebody elses shoes, you have no clue as to how those shoes go with the outfit.
Sometimes the shoes aren't for the outfit.
Sometimes the shoes are for the mood.
Sometimes the shoes are to keep the feet dry and warm.
Sometimes... no shoes at all.

Let he who hath no shoes walk lightly in the glass house.
Put that on a T-shirt and E-Bay it, baby.

I'm Geoff Lott, thank you and Maude bless.

The First of The Rest of the Last

Apparently I have more money than Mike Tyson right now. I knew this day would come.

Last night I did 2 sets, one at the Comedy Underpants, then a surprise (to me) set at Pegasus Pizza in Kirkland. I did well enough to have someone give me a free beer, send me a shot of Jack Daniel's Old No. 7 , and get to meet some people I work with, but had never met before. They seemed unaffected by the forthcoming layoffs . One woman was also ridiculously attractive, and she BOOO'ed when I touted Road Rage as a healthy outlet to anger. I guess things just work out better when you're gorgeous. Ask Tom Cruise about that. He can't even read. It's a condition the medical industry has dubbed "scientology."

Tonight's the first night of the Jiggles Comedy Laff-Off-A-Thon For the Alcholically Incapacitated 2004: "It's For the Kid's Kids!" contest. The first night for MY week, anyway, the others went last week. I'm not too hot on comedy contests because some guys think it shows who the better comic is, but what is good comedy? Depends on who you are, what you think is funny, and how many friends you brought to the club so you could go long on an open-mic night. Am I funny? I think so. Many crowds think so. I guess that's enough to move it along.

So why put myself through a process that grades and degrades comedians? Because I get to do 5 sets over the next 3 nights that actually mean something. I get to perform with some guys who swing the microphone like they are the king of FunnyLand and we'll get to see how it all plays out. I'm not looking to show anyone up. That's the wrong idea for doing comedy. I want to do the best I can, and when I do the best I can, people have a reeeeeeallly good time. That means, in the end, enough people laughing and liking me turns into me winning some mony-mony. The winner gets an eventual headline set at Giggles and a fight with the club owner over the use of the F-word somewhere between July 4th and Labor Day. WOO HOO!

Also, I get to hang with my peeps, two of whom are America-bound at the moment after a few days Canadia (motto: "Keep It Down, We're Drinkin', Eh!"). I want all of them to do really well in the contest, and I think one of them will be a sleeper pick, getting in to the second round. I hope so. At least we're not road-doggin' it all over the state for 5 minutes of stage time. I'm gonna encourage everyone, but really now, I want my money, and if anyone else is sniffin' for it, I'm throwin' comedy elbows. Dig it.

What are YOU doing, laying out tomorrow's outfit? Remember THAT when you're 55 and staring into the bottom of a bottle of ripple, asking where your life went. You wanna know where? To the back of your sock drawer, nicely folded, waiting for a special occasion. Live, now. Unfold that Life, wrap it around your glistening torso, and strut proudly into the streets, ignoring all snickers and bounds of proper fashion etiquette. Be you. That's enough a job for anyone.

I hate comics who get jokes off the internet or from books, however. I'll verbally face-fork the next one I see. INTEGRITY, my friends. It's still an art form, make it look like you know what the horse should look like without Paint By Numbers. I'm out for coffee.

Hallmark is a Cult created by Homecoming Queens who peaked in High School, and devout women who've only layed with a man for the purposes of pro-creating. But dang, Shoebox cards are FUNNY.

No, YOU are sexy,
Geoff

Back At It

The past 5 days have been awesome. I had 5 days off from work. I celebrated my 30th birthday. I rocked with my friends, I dined and joked with my family, I got some nice gifts, drank a lot, and wrapped it all up with a wicked-good double-down. I went on a date, where-in which we hit a casino and I won $67 dollars. You top THAT.

I put down $25 for chips, hesitantly. After dropping a couple $5 hands, I started winning back, understanding the rules, doubling down on a couple of 11s and winning once on that.

Yep, 30 years old, no kids, no ex-wives, nothing but a great life and great friends nearby to share it with. There’s an unwritten code of happiness in this country that holds near the top the duties of Spouse and Parent. Most people my age, for whatever reason, feel that combining those duties will equal sudden Happiness and Contentment. Well it seems to lead to divorce, mostly, but hey, why not go in with blinders? I’m neither an Ex nor Expecting, and many folks try to make me feel like an alien for being single and happy. I don’t need a book or a “very special episode of Friends” to show me that relationships take work. I think it’s alien to expect daily perfection from another human just because they can’t legally walk out on you, just because you got dressed up and repeated something someone else wrote for millions to recite every weekend. That’s not special.

So after 5 days off I'm back at work with very little sleep but many good feelings and memories to keep me going. I am also sitting here staring at a tempermental database, and listening to a co-worker's ironic ringtones emanating from his cellular communication device. Ironic because it’s the five-note dirge from “Close Encounters Of The Third Kind.” In the film, the notes represented a beacon sent far away to an advanced race. Humans sat in anticipation, hoping for resolution or revolution, disillusioned with the ways of today, hoping for a Utopian tomorrow.
It was Bill in accounting.
I knew that guy was an alien.

This is awesome...

My Name's Geoff Lott, Thank You and Good Night!