Why I Am Doing This
I'm off to Olympia for the Giggles Laugh-Off, Finals Week. Now we're into the money round. I want to do the best I can, that's it. To admit that any of the other performers are funnier than I am is to say cake is better than pie. We've been through this. You like pie? Cake ain't gonna cut it. Is cake your thing? Then pie is the Goat-headed firebeast of your post-dining experience! Is it a popularity contest? I don't know. I know that at the end of my set I want to know I just went out and did my thing and did it well. And I'm going to have fun this week.
And I'm not serving up no cake jokes. Filling is in, flour is out. Dig it.
Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Reactionary Management
This is an actual line from an actual company-wide e-mail regarding the Netsky virus that started manifesting on 2/2504.
"If the subject line or body text doesn’t make sense, it’s probably a Netsky email.Any email with an attachment, even one from someone you know, should be regarded as suspicious. If the subject line or body text doesn’t make sense, it’s probably a Netsky email."
This would be true of 75% of the crap I get from co-workers every day. I'm using this as an excuse to delete busy work (a.k.a. "coloring books") from my InBox. Rad.
The Master of Ceremoaning
It's gorgeous out today and I'm inside. I'm stuck at my desk. Ten feet away is the office of a guy who is new to the company, brand new. Brand spanking new personnel in an office (read: meeting-calling lower-middle manager), while numerous peeps have been handed their walking papers. Not me, though. I'm at the level where I'm a fully interchangeable cog in the machine. They're not going to lay me off.
The next sound you hear will be me, full-body sobbing.
Back to the new guy. He's from the East coast, and he's got a pretty annoying habit. Lots of guys do it. Not many women go for it. He's trying to set a record. He whistles. Yep. Puts his lips together and sucks the peace out of the day by whistling non-descript notes into the air. No songs. No symphonies or classical movements. No Strauss. No Wagner. No Chopin. No Snoop. No Dre. No Dido. No Vanilla Fudge. No Moby Grape. No Three Dog Night. No BTO. No Eagles. No John Cafferty and The Beaver Brown Band. Just notes. Just randomly placed notes. Whistled. Just notes strung together in 8 second bursts that lead nowhere. Say this sentence: "Dog and shoe for you and me and tree and go and though we know for cheese is pleasing yay!" That's the verbal equivalent of his whistling.
So WHY whould he whistle? Why whistle at all? We do it for different reasons, I know. This is an environment where, if a person talks loudly at their cube on the phone, they believe they are seen as "motivated." I refer to them as "grossly underachieving." Whistlers must be "jaunty!" BOOOO! This is crap. Something needs to be said. This guy talks loud, whistles loud, leaves his cell-phone ringer on the highest volume and likes to impart as much "Corporate Speech for Dummies" as possible. This includes "matrix management" and "cross-leveraging disciplines to think out of the box in order to force-grow market share potentials." After reading that, did anyone else throw up in their mouth?
This is nothing new, and certainly not office-worthy. Offices only afford people quieted phone conversations and circulating their own flatulence. And the gasbags here are prob'ly frying their circuits from lack of oxygen. Luckily they have a good circulation going from the whistling.
Oh. Now I get it. I'm not cut out for management.
As far as comedy goes I'm on the verge of another break-through. I've been doing my jokes so often these past few weeks that I'm ready for all new stuff. I'm going to take some time off the stage on the weekends throughout March so that I can recharge, write, and watch some buddies do their comedy ha-ha. Comedy is a tough endeavor. It's fun and fulfilling and immediate justice (funny = laugh, not funny = no laugh), but to do it right, with total originality, performance skills, and connecting to an audience requires talents and blessings that a lot of guys will never have. I have them to a point so I need to exercise them to build them up. But people doing street jokes is like whistling "Singing In the Rain" when it's Raining. One, the irony is not funny. Two, it's SINGING in the Rain, not whistling in the rain. Keep it to yourself.
Olympia, here I come.
Geoffers
This is an actual line from an actual company-wide e-mail regarding the Netsky virus that started manifesting on 2/2504.
"If the subject line or body text doesn’t make sense, it’s probably a Netsky email.Any email with an attachment, even one from someone you know, should be regarded as suspicious. If the subject line or body text doesn’t make sense, it’s probably a Netsky email."
This would be true of 75% of the crap I get from co-workers every day. I'm using this as an excuse to delete busy work (a.k.a. "coloring books") from my InBox. Rad.
The Master of Ceremoaning
It's gorgeous out today and I'm inside. I'm stuck at my desk. Ten feet away is the office of a guy who is new to the company, brand new. Brand spanking new personnel in an office (read: meeting-calling lower-middle manager), while numerous peeps have been handed their walking papers. Not me, though. I'm at the level where I'm a fully interchangeable cog in the machine. They're not going to lay me off.
The next sound you hear will be me, full-body sobbing.
Back to the new guy. He's from the East coast, and he's got a pretty annoying habit. Lots of guys do it. Not many women go for it. He's trying to set a record. He whistles. Yep. Puts his lips together and sucks the peace out of the day by whistling non-descript notes into the air. No songs. No symphonies or classical movements. No Strauss. No Wagner. No Chopin. No Snoop. No Dre. No Dido. No Vanilla Fudge. No Moby Grape. No Three Dog Night. No BTO. No Eagles. No John Cafferty and The Beaver Brown Band. Just notes. Just randomly placed notes. Whistled. Just notes strung together in 8 second bursts that lead nowhere. Say this sentence: "Dog and shoe for you and me and tree and go and though we know for cheese is pleasing yay!" That's the verbal equivalent of his whistling.
So WHY whould he whistle? Why whistle at all? We do it for different reasons, I know. This is an environment where, if a person talks loudly at their cube on the phone, they believe they are seen as "motivated." I refer to them as "grossly underachieving." Whistlers must be "jaunty!" BOOOO! This is crap. Something needs to be said. This guy talks loud, whistles loud, leaves his cell-phone ringer on the highest volume and likes to impart as much "Corporate Speech for Dummies" as possible. This includes "matrix management" and "cross-leveraging disciplines to think out of the box in order to force-grow market share potentials." After reading that, did anyone else throw up in their mouth?
This is nothing new, and certainly not office-worthy. Offices only afford people quieted phone conversations and circulating their own flatulence. And the gasbags here are prob'ly frying their circuits from lack of oxygen. Luckily they have a good circulation going from the whistling.
Oh. Now I get it. I'm not cut out for management.
As far as comedy goes I'm on the verge of another break-through. I've been doing my jokes so often these past few weeks that I'm ready for all new stuff. I'm going to take some time off the stage on the weekends throughout March so that I can recharge, write, and watch some buddies do their comedy ha-ha. Comedy is a tough endeavor. It's fun and fulfilling and immediate justice (funny = laugh, not funny = no laugh), but to do it right, with total originality, performance skills, and connecting to an audience requires talents and blessings that a lot of guys will never have. I have them to a point so I need to exercise them to build them up. But people doing street jokes is like whistling "Singing In the Rain" when it's Raining. One, the irony is not funny. Two, it's SINGING in the Rain, not whistling in the rain. Keep it to yourself.
Olympia, here I come.
Geoffers
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Meta-Post-It Note: Just Be
1: Is anybody actually reading this thing?
2: Holy crap, what is singing to me on the new Quizno’s commercials? Nothing Pavlov’s my dog for a hoagy like a yodeling tumor. Too bad it’s memorable. “Hey babe, let’s grab Quizno’s for dinner. I want a Southwest Fire-Grilled Turkey and Cyst.”
3-whenever: I revisited another important lesson last night: Just Be. It’s been a while since I felt like I could Just Be. The past few weeks have entailed a comedy competition, I have a tooth that needs a little work, I turned 30, I went to Las Vegas, I was violently ill in Vegas, I’m not going to Open Mics, I learned about the Prayer of Jabez, and I’m spending time on the phone instead of in the company of “M,” which is good for pacing but bad for expression of attraction. If you know not what I mean by that, stop reading now. To Just Be: Apply no pressure to myself to apply pressure to any other situations, allowing things to build of their own accord. Have wine. Sleep.
Really all I wanna do right now is write and perform and hang with “M.” I’m working for a rather poorly-run company, being micro-managed down to the last keystroke… heh-heh, stroke… and told that it’s the “only way to properly run a business.” Who knew that Big Brother was so anal retentive? I never had a Big Brother, but now I see why folks who did are so scarred the rest of their lives. Big Brother ought to just sock me in the arm, not make me feel like I have to clock out when I pray that the voices in my head stop telling me to “go for the hammer.” To Just Be: Plumb the depths of these moments for all the comedy gold there is, panning through detritus for shiny nuggets. Then it’s time for Merlot. Merlot can ya go?
EVERYBODY is stressed here, even the delirious Little House On The Floodplain neighbor of mine. Some people combat stress with drinking, shopping, eating, exercise, creative expression, or nervous energy. I’ve done all of those, mostly shopping, exercise, and creative expression through nervous energy (peed my pants at the store, called it performance art). Floodplain Sally over here combats stress with an overabundance of nervous laughter and a yearning, burning for a life in the hills. To quote the deeply troubled and soulfully pristine troubadour Bruce Dickinson, “RUN TO THE HEEEEEELS!” I will not miss conversations about the family cat’s trust issues, nor the amount of arm hair shed from this month’s eczema flare up. To Just Be: Put on the headphones and listen to Jim Gaffigan.
I think I have Asperger Syndrome. I have a hard time making small-talk with people of lower intelligence. This is a relief. I was worried that I was just another elitist snob who wanted the dumb to die. WHEW.
Urban Outfitters is getting press again for a shirt that says “Voting Is For Old People.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it’s true. Nobody wants to vote because you can’t Text Message it in. I think more people voted for American Idol than the last 5 school levies. If we don’t vote, Ryan Seacrest has already won.
If I could be anywhere right now, I’d be in Florence, Italy on a patio with a local family who wants nothing more than to talk about Life and drink wine. You know why? Because we are short on time and long on stress and that leads to white noise. The world’s problems have never been settled on battlefields or in bedrooms. They are settled at the tables of great minds and brave hearts, half drunk on wine instead of power. Then you retire to your room to make love all frigging night. That’s what Life is. Deny that, and you’re just another non-voting Commie Pinko assneck who gives crank to Quizno's lemur tumor-pups.
Kill Hack Comedy,
Geoffers
1: Is anybody actually reading this thing?
2: Holy crap, what is singing to me on the new Quizno’s commercials? Nothing Pavlov’s my dog for a hoagy like a yodeling tumor. Too bad it’s memorable. “Hey babe, let’s grab Quizno’s for dinner. I want a Southwest Fire-Grilled Turkey and Cyst.”
3-whenever: I revisited another important lesson last night: Just Be. It’s been a while since I felt like I could Just Be. The past few weeks have entailed a comedy competition, I have a tooth that needs a little work, I turned 30, I went to Las Vegas, I was violently ill in Vegas, I’m not going to Open Mics, I learned about the Prayer of Jabez, and I’m spending time on the phone instead of in the company of “M,” which is good for pacing but bad for expression of attraction. If you know not what I mean by that, stop reading now. To Just Be: Apply no pressure to myself to apply pressure to any other situations, allowing things to build of their own accord. Have wine. Sleep.
Really all I wanna do right now is write and perform and hang with “M.” I’m working for a rather poorly-run company, being micro-managed down to the last keystroke… heh-heh, stroke… and told that it’s the “only way to properly run a business.” Who knew that Big Brother was so anal retentive? I never had a Big Brother, but now I see why folks who did are so scarred the rest of their lives. Big Brother ought to just sock me in the arm, not make me feel like I have to clock out when I pray that the voices in my head stop telling me to “go for the hammer.” To Just Be: Plumb the depths of these moments for all the comedy gold there is, panning through detritus for shiny nuggets. Then it’s time for Merlot. Merlot can ya go?
EVERYBODY is stressed here, even the delirious Little House On The Floodplain neighbor of mine. Some people combat stress with drinking, shopping, eating, exercise, creative expression, or nervous energy. I’ve done all of those, mostly shopping, exercise, and creative expression through nervous energy (peed my pants at the store, called it performance art). Floodplain Sally over here combats stress with an overabundance of nervous laughter and a yearning, burning for a life in the hills. To quote the deeply troubled and soulfully pristine troubadour Bruce Dickinson, “RUN TO THE HEEEEEELS!” I will not miss conversations about the family cat’s trust issues, nor the amount of arm hair shed from this month’s eczema flare up. To Just Be: Put on the headphones and listen to Jim Gaffigan.
I think I have Asperger Syndrome. I have a hard time making small-talk with people of lower intelligence. This is a relief. I was worried that I was just another elitist snob who wanted the dumb to die. WHEW.
Urban Outfitters is getting press again for a shirt that says “Voting Is For Old People.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it’s true. Nobody wants to vote because you can’t Text Message it in. I think more people voted for American Idol than the last 5 school levies. If we don’t vote, Ryan Seacrest has already won.
If I could be anywhere right now, I’d be in Florence, Italy on a patio with a local family who wants nothing more than to talk about Life and drink wine. You know why? Because we are short on time and long on stress and that leads to white noise. The world’s problems have never been settled on battlefields or in bedrooms. They are settled at the tables of great minds and brave hearts, half drunk on wine instead of power. Then you retire to your room to make love all frigging night. That’s what Life is. Deny that, and you’re just another non-voting Commie Pinko assneck who gives crank to Quizno's lemur tumor-pups.
Kill Hack Comedy,
Geoffers
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Elbow to the Earhole
The current menu: Grande Light-Ice Nonfat Latte and Low-carb Cheese Puffs. Good thing I’m secure with myself. The latte tastes as if it’s been curdled, really very bitter, I’m gonna take it back because $3 worth of coffee and milk should not taste like $0.72 worth of coffee and underwear elastic. Should it?
Someone two rows away is coughing like they’re iller than a Run-DMC rap, and I’m tired of hearing them hack to the point of wretching, yet they haven’t the strength to go for water. YAY, now we all get to hear it. If it happens again I’m Heimliching them until they either hork into their supply drawer or throw me a $50, because I hear enough hack at open mics. Don’t I>
There’s a guy I work with who is, to say the least, an eclectic personality. We’ll call him Toolio. A really wonderful mixture of Junior High Wise-ass and Wendy’s swing-shift assistant manager, total charmer. He truly believes he’s both riotously funny and socially capable of greasing the hinges of the door on the Friendly Buddy Boy board room. He’s going through a divorce, which I know only because he has overly loud telephone conversations with his estranged (very fitting word) wife and/or her lawyers. He also has a child, which reinforces my desire for an enzyme in Mt. Dew that causes people who drink more than 2 liters a year to auto-sterilize themselves. They don’t cater Nobel Prize Ceremonies with Code Red. Do they?
So I get back from Trader Joe’s shoppin’ and I have a large bag with me that has a number of items to be refrigerated. I brought the whole bag in because it’s raining outside and I didn’t feel like standing in to grab and balance 5 cold items then run inside and blah blah. As I get to the kitchen area, where the freezer be, Toolio is standing in the door way, back to the door, stirring and staring into a cup of work-sponsored coffee. I pardon myself past him, as he saunters, sort-of, sideways so I can get by. I’m twice his size, it’s all I can do to not hip-check this plasma waster into the wall-mounted First Aid tackle box. Isn’t it?
I immediately sense his brain whirring to make a comment about the bag I’m carrying. I’ve done it before, myself, in Sarcasm 101. Big bag, near lunch time, why not a joke aimed at the size of the bag, associating it with a lunch-carrying tote? How about “So did you run out of big lunch bags?” or “Anna Nicole Smith’s packing your lunches again, eh?” Toolio offers me this: “Ya know, when I pack my lunches, I, like, usually, uh, like pack it in…” THIS HAS ALREADY TAKEN TOO LONG AND WILL NOT BE FUNNY. Brevity is the bain of twits. He finishes with “… a, uh, smaller sack.” Must he?
This is the same guy who, when someone brings donuts to work, will break them in half with his hands, and take half of one, half of another, and leave the fondled halves behind… We have knives for that. He will go desk to desk to organize a pot-luck, encouraging people to bring enough for 30 people to consume. On the big day, he shows up with a 2-liter of Dr. Pepper, a store-brand bag of “riffled” potato chips, and a seven-layer dip from QFC. This past halloween he organized a day to allow people with kids to bring the kids into work so we could hand candy out to them. I have no kids, so I don’t get 3 hours off to do this, and I’m pretty sure a couple guys in this office shouldn’t be within 200 yards of adolescents. People spend money decorating their desks and buying candy for the kids, all 7, who come by over the course of 3 hours on a FRIDAY, so eveyone has to wait around on a FRIDAY to do basically nothing. Toolio uses the whiteboard next to his cube to draw a scary “jack o’ lantern,” and hands out… ready?... RAISINS. PEOPLE, I CAN GET RAISINS ON THE OUTSIDE. I PONY UP FOR SOUR GUMMI WORMS AND FUN-SIZE KIT KATS, I EXPECT AT LEAST AN ALMOND JOY IN RETURN. Don’t I?
I’m not a violent person. A lot more can be solved by confusing and frustrating your opponent than physically battering them. But gawd, it would feel so good to lower a shoulder and propel myself into the back of chair as he crash-tested his keyboard. Because when I get into other people’s business and have nothing to offer, I deserve to get my come-uppance when I least expect it. Don’t I?
In my mind, he's icing a knot on his head from where he hit the wall-mounted First Aid kit. In reality, I'm happy he's not hurt. He's getting divorced, he's got years of that coming to him.
Next stop, Latte Retribution.
The current menu: Grande Light-Ice Nonfat Latte and Low-carb Cheese Puffs. Good thing I’m secure with myself. The latte tastes as if it’s been curdled, really very bitter, I’m gonna take it back because $3 worth of coffee and milk should not taste like $0.72 worth of coffee and underwear elastic. Should it?
Someone two rows away is coughing like they’re iller than a Run-DMC rap, and I’m tired of hearing them hack to the point of wretching, yet they haven’t the strength to go for water. YAY, now we all get to hear it. If it happens again I’m Heimliching them until they either hork into their supply drawer or throw me a $50, because I hear enough hack at open mics. Don’t I>
There’s a guy I work with who is, to say the least, an eclectic personality. We’ll call him Toolio. A really wonderful mixture of Junior High Wise-ass and Wendy’s swing-shift assistant manager, total charmer. He truly believes he’s both riotously funny and socially capable of greasing the hinges of the door on the Friendly Buddy Boy board room. He’s going through a divorce, which I know only because he has overly loud telephone conversations with his estranged (very fitting word) wife and/or her lawyers. He also has a child, which reinforces my desire for an enzyme in Mt. Dew that causes people who drink more than 2 liters a year to auto-sterilize themselves. They don’t cater Nobel Prize Ceremonies with Code Red. Do they?
So I get back from Trader Joe’s shoppin’ and I have a large bag with me that has a number of items to be refrigerated. I brought the whole bag in because it’s raining outside and I didn’t feel like standing in to grab and balance 5 cold items then run inside and blah blah. As I get to the kitchen area, where the freezer be, Toolio is standing in the door way, back to the door, stirring and staring into a cup of work-sponsored coffee. I pardon myself past him, as he saunters, sort-of, sideways so I can get by. I’m twice his size, it’s all I can do to not hip-check this plasma waster into the wall-mounted First Aid tackle box. Isn’t it?
I immediately sense his brain whirring to make a comment about the bag I’m carrying. I’ve done it before, myself, in Sarcasm 101. Big bag, near lunch time, why not a joke aimed at the size of the bag, associating it with a lunch-carrying tote? How about “So did you run out of big lunch bags?” or “Anna Nicole Smith’s packing your lunches again, eh?” Toolio offers me this: “Ya know, when I pack my lunches, I, like, usually, uh, like pack it in…” THIS HAS ALREADY TAKEN TOO LONG AND WILL NOT BE FUNNY. Brevity is the bain of twits. He finishes with “… a, uh, smaller sack.” Must he?
This is the same guy who, when someone brings donuts to work, will break them in half with his hands, and take half of one, half of another, and leave the fondled halves behind… We have knives for that. He will go desk to desk to organize a pot-luck, encouraging people to bring enough for 30 people to consume. On the big day, he shows up with a 2-liter of Dr. Pepper, a store-brand bag of “riffled” potato chips, and a seven-layer dip from QFC. This past halloween he organized a day to allow people with kids to bring the kids into work so we could hand candy out to them. I have no kids, so I don’t get 3 hours off to do this, and I’m pretty sure a couple guys in this office shouldn’t be within 200 yards of adolescents. People spend money decorating their desks and buying candy for the kids, all 7, who come by over the course of 3 hours on a FRIDAY, so eveyone has to wait around on a FRIDAY to do basically nothing. Toolio uses the whiteboard next to his cube to draw a scary “jack o’ lantern,” and hands out… ready?... RAISINS. PEOPLE, I CAN GET RAISINS ON THE OUTSIDE. I PONY UP FOR SOUR GUMMI WORMS AND FUN-SIZE KIT KATS, I EXPECT AT LEAST AN ALMOND JOY IN RETURN. Don’t I?
I’m not a violent person. A lot more can be solved by confusing and frustrating your opponent than physically battering them. But gawd, it would feel so good to lower a shoulder and propel myself into the back of chair as he crash-tested his keyboard. Because when I get into other people’s business and have nothing to offer, I deserve to get my come-uppance when I least expect it. Don’t I?
In my mind, he's icing a knot on his head from where he hit the wall-mounted First Aid kit. In reality, I'm happy he's not hurt. He's getting divorced, he's got years of that coming to him.
Next stop, Latte Retribution.
The Torrent
I’m miffed. Nay, I’m angered. Nay, just annoyed be I, but quite so. This is okay. Anger is NOT a bad emotion. That’s a natural reaction to a situation. It’s a bizzarro happiness, a reflection of acceptance in a crack’d and blood-caked mirror under a nearly-shorted lightbulb.
Why are we so down on anger in this country? Anger Management was not only a (moderately decent) movie, it’s a multi-million dollar industry now. Like anything good and healthy, Anger has a bad reputation because it was mis-used. Same thing happened with firearms, marijuana, and Paris Hilton’s audition tape. Someone did wrong with it, and now we all must suffer.
This is perspective. This is where we have a view of what we MIGHT have, were it not for idiots ruining it for us. The Government playing a backwards Robin Hood, (see: “trickle down economics”), cutting taxes for the wealthiest Americans while at the same time cutting welfare benefits to those at or under the poverty line. While I don’t agree that the wealthiest folks should have giant tax cuts, I also don’t feel they should be penalized for having the where-with-all to make that kind of dough.
Just because they can afford to pay 50% in taxes doesn’t mean they should have to. I can afford a Jaguar S-Type yet nobody forces me to buy and drive one. But if we didn’t have to pay taxes, none of us would. Sales tax would be 30% across the board, so they government would get it one way or another. It’s not like the government’s track record for spending is stellar. It’s like a redneck 4th Of July: Got some extra cash, gonna get some cheap beers, throw a BBQ, and blow the crap out of a stump or two. The neighbors, meanwhile, stare in amazement as the young’uns find their only nourishment suckling what’s left of their BBQ sauce-dipped rat-tail. At what point does a wealthy neighbor help out? When the poor neighbor volunteers to clean up his yard, mow the lawn, and paint the house. Love thy neighbor, got it. But I ain’t coddling thy neighbor.
And I’m the A-hole for having an opinion? America was built on angry opinions! Taxes were too high! Restrictions on my G*d worship! Arranged marriages! And when the system could not be beat, the founders set sail for a new land, a new time and place, to build a nation from the ground up. Hard work and toil and faith were the ingredients. And we worked VERY hard to dupe the natives out of land and impart slavery so the White Folks wouldn’t have to do any of the actual work, because damn, have you been to Georgia in August? HOOOO boy, that’s HAWT! We’re adept at telling people what to do, it’s just usually wrong for the masses and should be kept to ourselves. And I know that now because of perspective. I’ve worked hard, and I’ve hardly worked. I like them both, and I've rarely had anyone do either of them for me.
More anger to come as I hit the roads.
I’m miffed. Nay, I’m angered. Nay, just annoyed be I, but quite so. This is okay. Anger is NOT a bad emotion. That’s a natural reaction to a situation. It’s a bizzarro happiness, a reflection of acceptance in a crack’d and blood-caked mirror under a nearly-shorted lightbulb.
Why are we so down on anger in this country? Anger Management was not only a (moderately decent) movie, it’s a multi-million dollar industry now. Like anything good and healthy, Anger has a bad reputation because it was mis-used. Same thing happened with firearms, marijuana, and Paris Hilton’s audition tape. Someone did wrong with it, and now we all must suffer.
This is perspective. This is where we have a view of what we MIGHT have, were it not for idiots ruining it for us. The Government playing a backwards Robin Hood, (see: “trickle down economics”), cutting taxes for the wealthiest Americans while at the same time cutting welfare benefits to those at or under the poverty line. While I don’t agree that the wealthiest folks should have giant tax cuts, I also don’t feel they should be penalized for having the where-with-all to make that kind of dough.
Just because they can afford to pay 50% in taxes doesn’t mean they should have to. I can afford a Jaguar S-Type yet nobody forces me to buy and drive one. But if we didn’t have to pay taxes, none of us would. Sales tax would be 30% across the board, so they government would get it one way or another. It’s not like the government’s track record for spending is stellar. It’s like a redneck 4th Of July: Got some extra cash, gonna get some cheap beers, throw a BBQ, and blow the crap out of a stump or two. The neighbors, meanwhile, stare in amazement as the young’uns find their only nourishment suckling what’s left of their BBQ sauce-dipped rat-tail. At what point does a wealthy neighbor help out? When the poor neighbor volunteers to clean up his yard, mow the lawn, and paint the house. Love thy neighbor, got it. But I ain’t coddling thy neighbor.
And I’m the A-hole for having an opinion? America was built on angry opinions! Taxes were too high! Restrictions on my G*d worship! Arranged marriages! And when the system could not be beat, the founders set sail for a new land, a new time and place, to build a nation from the ground up. Hard work and toil and faith were the ingredients. And we worked VERY hard to dupe the natives out of land and impart slavery so the White Folks wouldn’t have to do any of the actual work, because damn, have you been to Georgia in August? HOOOO boy, that’s HAWT! We’re adept at telling people what to do, it’s just usually wrong for the masses and should be kept to ourselves. And I know that now because of perspective. I’ve worked hard, and I’ve hardly worked. I like them both, and I've rarely had anyone do either of them for me.
More anger to come as I hit the roads.
Monday, February 23, 2004
What A Really Great Day
First off, YES, my schedule is out of date. My File Transfer program is having iss-ues, so I can't send updates to the Hosting site to get all my news up. I'll have it fixed before week's end. Let me know if you're interested in the schedule this week, send me an e-mail at geofflottrules@yahoo.com
Ideas shared on the AT&T Wireless Sellout.
I got up late today, like a little before 9am, which is when I should be at work. I was up late talking about all kinds of stuff with a really awesome woman, heretofore referred to as "M," to protect her privacy and spare her the embarrassment of being at all involved with me. Not that she WOULD be, but with the whole "Six Degrees Of Turkey Bacon" or whatever that is, someone else she knows or I know may be an embarrassment to both of us, and it's better left in the dark. "The dark" = Hoquiam.
I had a great weekend. The weather was great, sunny and clear all over the Puget Sound region. I got to see "M" on Friday night for a bit, got to hang with my boy Shoogs and talk about all kind of stuff, and topped it all off with a couple of stellar sets that launched me into the finals of the Giggles Comedy Club Laugh-Off And Tax Return Fund. I really let it all hang out on Saturday night, wallowing in 6th place and had not yet grabbed a set by the short ones and showed it who's Idi Amin in this comedy jungle. The less I care about scores, the better I do. I got back to enjoying my performances, and kaboom! It all turned out the way I paid the owner for it to.
Annoying neighbor laugh. I think I need to replace her cat pictures with the menu of a Cantonese restaurant, chill the "Golly Wally Doodle All Day" happy fun times over there. Life's fun, but not deliriously so.
My gawd, people in general are really NOT funny. Thanks to the miracle of Courtesy Laughter, many of these people will never know of their affliction. I never courtesy laugh. If something doesn't hurt, I don't ice it. If I don't have to use the restroom, I don't push until something comes out. And if it doesn't strike me as funny, hey baby, I don't laugh at it.
Blinking IM bar says I have someone who wants to talk to me. It's Mastermind. It wasn't funny. I'm leaving, going home to watch AquaTeenHungerForce, the best cartoon ever.
I love you, you love me, now it's time for us to fight,
Geoff
First off, YES, my schedule is out of date. My File Transfer program is having iss-ues, so I can't send updates to the Hosting site to get all my news up. I'll have it fixed before week's end. Let me know if you're interested in the schedule this week, send me an e-mail at geofflottrules@yahoo.com
Ideas shared on the AT&T Wireless Sellout.
I got up late today, like a little before 9am, which is when I should be at work. I was up late talking about all kinds of stuff with a really awesome woman, heretofore referred to as "M," to protect her privacy and spare her the embarrassment of being at all involved with me. Not that she WOULD be, but with the whole "Six Degrees Of Turkey Bacon" or whatever that is, someone else she knows or I know may be an embarrassment to both of us, and it's better left in the dark. "The dark" = Hoquiam.
I had a great weekend. The weather was great, sunny and clear all over the Puget Sound region. I got to see "M" on Friday night for a bit, got to hang with my boy Shoogs and talk about all kind of stuff, and topped it all off with a couple of stellar sets that launched me into the finals of the Giggles Comedy Club Laugh-Off And Tax Return Fund. I really let it all hang out on Saturday night, wallowing in 6th place and had not yet grabbed a set by the short ones and showed it who's Idi Amin in this comedy jungle. The less I care about scores, the better I do. I got back to enjoying my performances, and kaboom! It all turned out the way I paid the owner for it to.
Annoying neighbor laugh. I think I need to replace her cat pictures with the menu of a Cantonese restaurant, chill the "Golly Wally Doodle All Day" happy fun times over there. Life's fun, but not deliriously so.
My gawd, people in general are really NOT funny. Thanks to the miracle of Courtesy Laughter, many of these people will never know of their affliction. I never courtesy laugh. If something doesn't hurt, I don't ice it. If I don't have to use the restroom, I don't push until something comes out. And if it doesn't strike me as funny, hey baby, I don't laugh at it.
Blinking IM bar says I have someone who wants to talk to me. It's Mastermind. It wasn't funny. I'm leaving, going home to watch AquaTeenHungerForce, the best cartoon ever.
I love you, you love me, now it's time for us to fight,
Geoff
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)