Blogs are to be written in. And some of these "writers" around here haven't written so much as their name on a sure-to-bounce check lately. I'm thinking it's because they haven't had internet access. I'm hoping that's what it is. It's SO HARD to get internet access these days, idn't it?
I'm not going to mention anybody by name, because then I'd have to link them and frankly, I don't feel like I have to give any more to these suckbags. But I, dear reader, I, Geoffrey Lott, will not fail you in the "something to read at work" department, besides the crap not being churned out by Blaine, Doug, or Tony, who all seem to be talented... Dammit, they have TRICKED ME AGAIN. Hang in there with me as it gets better and I find my natural or at least easily-forced "style." Damn, you look... SO fine.
And if you gots any funny internet videos, send 'em my way. Something funny means something out of the ordinary. Cats singing Bob Marley aren't funny, they're posessed and should be eaten promptly.
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
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, January 06, 2005
CES Report: Cheaper Technology Breaks Faster!
The Consumer Electronics Show has kicked off in Las Vegas this week. With all the booze, gambling, debauchery, late nights, blinking lights, and whores whores whores that Vegas offers, it is a choice both perfect and forehead zit-obvious to be overrun with geeks & nerds. But hey, the geeks and nerds deserve a shot at Vegas without their Klingon, Stormtrooper, Xylon, or Tron togs. Expect plenty of camera-phones at the Spearmint Rhino to capture what eyes behind fogged tri-focals cannot.
The biggest upload at the CES has been anything that can be slapped into a mobile telephone. Ten years ago the "brick" phone was seen as the way to go with high-rollers. There was the car-phone, afforded only by the wealthiest of people who really could use a little more time talking to clients, patients, and... who? Friends? NO BEEPING WAY! Those calls cost byte-loads back then, no WAY was anybody in the car killing time on the topic of which actress is going through "the new rehab" (a.k.a. career-resurrecting weightloss).
But things change. As a member of the cell pusher regime, I can't believe how far and how fast phones have come. When I started in this industry in 1998, I was issued a phone the size of a dryboard eraser/small cheese block that weighed around 12oz (that's a full can of glorious PBR, Billy). Within a year I had a phone the size & weight of a checkbook, then a wallet. My latest phone is approximately a bar of soap in the last 2 weeks of it's life span. Silver, sleek, and just as suds-slipping hard to handle. I've dropped that phone more in the past 2 months than any other 3 phones combined. Incoming call from "Engineered Replacement Design," is what I'm calling it. The phones is designed to look one way, but actually functions completely the opposite. I want my old phone back. When I dropped the previous one, about the size of a Clif bar, the LAST thing it would do is call my ex girlfriend and call her a Czech whore. Yeah, this one's got a bad chip. She's not Czech.
But the chip, the brain of the phone, computer, MP3 player, watch, flat-screen, DVD player, and pretty much everything else with a power source... the chip is getting smaller. SMALLER. About 15 years ago my dad told me "Geoff, mark my words, America loves ethnic comedy." He was so right. He also told me that technology, on all fronts, would be about making everyday objects portable, smaller, and they'd leapfrog each other year after year. He may have been joking around a little, because we were running by Field Day for The DeVito-Pearlman Acadamey, but he was right. Jokes have truth.
The big feature being touted and developed with the phone now is MultiMedia Services, or MMS. Also known as MobileMedial Services, as well as the reason the 19 year old in step-mommy's Lexus keeps swerving the F into your lane. Downloadable Ringtones, games, Text Messaging, internet access, access to company e-mails; all are features on 95% of today's new cell phones. This is enough to distract anybody from the boredom that is a million car traffic jam, as we are surrounded by potential disaster. BO-RING. People would rather talk to someone they're going to see at the Rock Bottom in 15 minutes than rock out to a Mudvayne hotstack or fire up the 5:20-Funny on KMTT. Or God Forbid, we be alone with our thoughts for a few moments, ya know? For Bill's Sake, the LAST thing you want to do is be quiet and think for a second. I've tried it a few times. And all I got were a bunch of answers to my issues and a balanced budget and a sense of being independent of technology. Useful? Yes. Fun? Not at all! I was like MAD.
So what's the "next big thing" for your phone? Television! How does that bag your groceries? During Bill Gates' keynote speech and new toy masturbatory display, he had numerous glitches that froze PCs and displays. Thank you Wizard, I'll just rent something near the Oz 'burbs. TV on a phone, Gatesdolf the Bland shorts-out, and I'm supposed to be excited about being able to watch TV anywhere I want? Well by golly, I IS! Everytime I'm in public I want to interact a little, but people are always on their phones, staring intently like Pres. Bush into his Magic 8-Ball (which is actually a real 8-Ball from the Nixon Bunker). I get bored at home in front of the TV. Now I can get OUT of the house, and take the TV with me! Because there's a Real World FULL of great things to watch.
So here's looking at you, taking your picture, e-mailing, calling, text messaging, and singing your favorite song, all into a TELEPHONE. I sure hope it has x-ray features to show me where my eye tumors are!
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The biggest upload at the CES has been anything that can be slapped into a mobile telephone. Ten years ago the "brick" phone was seen as the way to go with high-rollers. There was the car-phone, afforded only by the wealthiest of people who really could use a little more time talking to clients, patients, and... who? Friends? NO BEEPING WAY! Those calls cost byte-loads back then, no WAY was anybody in the car killing time on the topic of which actress is going through "the new rehab" (a.k.a. career-resurrecting weightloss).
But things change. As a member of the cell pusher regime, I can't believe how far and how fast phones have come. When I started in this industry in 1998, I was issued a phone the size of a dryboard eraser/small cheese block that weighed around 12oz (that's a full can of glorious PBR, Billy). Within a year I had a phone the size & weight of a checkbook, then a wallet. My latest phone is approximately a bar of soap in the last 2 weeks of it's life span. Silver, sleek, and just as suds-slipping hard to handle. I've dropped that phone more in the past 2 months than any other 3 phones combined. Incoming call from "Engineered Replacement Design," is what I'm calling it. The phones is designed to look one way, but actually functions completely the opposite. I want my old phone back. When I dropped the previous one, about the size of a Clif bar, the LAST thing it would do is call my ex girlfriend and call her a Czech whore. Yeah, this one's got a bad chip. She's not Czech.
But the chip, the brain of the phone, computer, MP3 player, watch, flat-screen, DVD player, and pretty much everything else with a power source... the chip is getting smaller. SMALLER. About 15 years ago my dad told me "Geoff, mark my words, America loves ethnic comedy." He was so right. He also told me that technology, on all fronts, would be about making everyday objects portable, smaller, and they'd leapfrog each other year after year. He may have been joking around a little, because we were running by Field Day for The DeVito-Pearlman Acadamey, but he was right. Jokes have truth.
The big feature being touted and developed with the phone now is MultiMedia Services, or MMS. Also known as MobileMedial Services, as well as the reason the 19 year old in step-mommy's Lexus keeps swerving the F into your lane. Downloadable Ringtones, games, Text Messaging, internet access, access to company e-mails; all are features on 95% of today's new cell phones. This is enough to distract anybody from the boredom that is a million car traffic jam, as we are surrounded by potential disaster. BO-RING. People would rather talk to someone they're going to see at the Rock Bottom in 15 minutes than rock out to a Mudvayne hotstack or fire up the 5:20-Funny on KMTT. Or God Forbid, we be alone with our thoughts for a few moments, ya know? For Bill's Sake, the LAST thing you want to do is be quiet and think for a second. I've tried it a few times. And all I got were a bunch of answers to my issues and a balanced budget and a sense of being independent of technology. Useful? Yes. Fun? Not at all! I was like MAD.
So what's the "next big thing" for your phone? Television! How does that bag your groceries? During Bill Gates' keynote speech and new toy masturbatory display, he had numerous glitches that froze PCs and displays. Thank you Wizard, I'll just rent something near the Oz 'burbs. TV on a phone, Gatesdolf the Bland shorts-out, and I'm supposed to be excited about being able to watch TV anywhere I want? Well by golly, I IS! Everytime I'm in public I want to interact a little, but people are always on their phones, staring intently like Pres. Bush into his Magic 8-Ball (which is actually a real 8-Ball from the Nixon Bunker). I get bored at home in front of the TV. Now I can get OUT of the house, and take the TV with me! Because there's a Real World FULL of great things to watch.
So here's looking at you, taking your picture, e-mailing, calling, text messaging, and singing your favorite song, all into a TELEPHONE. I sure hope it has x-ray features to show me where my eye tumors are!
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
eBay Soon To Auction Off... eBay?
The former CIO of AT&T Wirelisp, Chris Corrado, was recently hired as CTO by eBay. Corrado's main job at Weinerlash was to "lean out" the operations in IT. That is, cut where he could, and he got to determine where the cuts would happen. During his tenure the AWls family lost over $300,000,000 in fines due to an IT project for Local Number Portability (LNP). That's where you get the number everyone totally knows to call you at, and then you want a cuter phone and totally get to take your number to a totally new company. Mass! The project was mismanaged by Deloitte Consulting, a company that was chosen by Corrado, among other Officers. Deloitte, at the time, had in its employ a manager who was once a cronie of Corrado's at Merrill Lynch. Deloitte also had a large sum of money liened against them for previously mismanaged projects, but they were handed the keys anyway. See how they 404'ed their brains here?
Not only were his shortcomings on display for everyone, being a short man who had his new Ferrari delivered to his office just days after announcing 1,800 layoffs (rumor has it that the car was keyed soon after, amen). $300,000,000 paid in FINES to the FCC due to a project having massive seizures and slow-downs. This crippled, beat, then set-aflame what was left of the AWls esprit de crap and in swept Cingular to buy it up. The men responsible for the loss of thousands of jobs in the Puget Sound area alone were handsomely compensated for their titles, in the A-list Actor range, millions if not tens of millions. For ruining a company.
A fair estimate is that 40% of the people who used to work for Careless have found new employ through contracting... at Cingular. Yeah, Cingular's paying a crapton more to Contracting Firms to have the same people doing the same jobs. Why? Well, for one reason, it cuts Cingular's responsibilities to pay for their insurance. No health, dental, or vision. Whatever that saves the company, it is worth this knowledge to me:
I want more than anything to work for myself, in my own business, running my own show.
Corporate America is a pimp, and they'll keep from lettin' fly the back of a 4-ringed hand as long as the whores keep quiet and keep hittin' the corners. I've had three great managers, and the rest (5, after this last re-org) have all been either so-so, or just absolute crap, as people and thus as managers. Everytime I see a dye-job's roots paired with colored contacts I want to throw a sleeper-hold on a spray-tanned ho-tard. At the very least, I know what NOT to do in a myriad of situations, and having the bad side become so apparent is a perfect perspective. I'm basically playing golf here: Stay quiet, keep my head down, and follow through.
There's a general malaise that's lifting from me, I'm pretty sure it's the weight of the number I've been tagged with when I unintentionally was sucked under by the Rat Race. I'm ready to do something else. Maybe I'll book comics. That seems easy, except for the part where I'd have to deal with comics, some of whom are total whores. Oh great, now Tony Moser's gonna think I'm talking about him.
I am.
I wonder how much comics would cost on eBay?
There's a question to ponder. If one comic could do the same job/material as another comic, but for less money, who should be hired? Sooner or later, we'll see Cover Comics making a Ferrari-load of cash off it. Get ready for it. Impersonators have already started it. But NOTHING, can fake the fact that I love the Black Angus wrap on flatbread at Quizno's.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Not only were his shortcomings on display for everyone, being a short man who had his new Ferrari delivered to his office just days after announcing 1,800 layoffs (rumor has it that the car was keyed soon after, amen). $300,000,000 paid in FINES to the FCC due to a project having massive seizures and slow-downs. This crippled, beat, then set-aflame what was left of the AWls esprit de crap and in swept Cingular to buy it up. The men responsible for the loss of thousands of jobs in the Puget Sound area alone were handsomely compensated for their titles, in the A-list Actor range, millions if not tens of millions. For ruining a company.
A fair estimate is that 40% of the people who used to work for Careless have found new employ through contracting... at Cingular. Yeah, Cingular's paying a crapton more to Contracting Firms to have the same people doing the same jobs. Why? Well, for one reason, it cuts Cingular's responsibilities to pay for their insurance. No health, dental, or vision. Whatever that saves the company, it is worth this knowledge to me:
I want more than anything to work for myself, in my own business, running my own show.
Corporate America is a pimp, and they'll keep from lettin' fly the back of a 4-ringed hand as long as the whores keep quiet and keep hittin' the corners. I've had three great managers, and the rest (5, after this last re-org) have all been either so-so, or just absolute crap, as people and thus as managers. Everytime I see a dye-job's roots paired with colored contacts I want to throw a sleeper-hold on a spray-tanned ho-tard. At the very least, I know what NOT to do in a myriad of situations, and having the bad side become so apparent is a perfect perspective. I'm basically playing golf here: Stay quiet, keep my head down, and follow through.
There's a general malaise that's lifting from me, I'm pretty sure it's the weight of the number I've been tagged with when I unintentionally was sucked under by the Rat Race. I'm ready to do something else. Maybe I'll book comics. That seems easy, except for the part where I'd have to deal with comics, some of whom are total whores. Oh great, now Tony Moser's gonna think I'm talking about him.
I am.
I wonder how much comics would cost on eBay?
There's a question to ponder. If one comic could do the same job/material as another comic, but for less money, who should be hired? Sooner or later, we'll see Cover Comics making a Ferrari-load of cash off it. Get ready for it. Impersonators have already started it. But NOTHING, can fake the fact that I love the Black Angus wrap on flatbread at Quizno's.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I'd Rather Be Blogging
Thankfully, this blogging thing is becoming a minor obsession of mine. It's reminding me of old writing habits and why I loved them so much. It's so much more prodcutive than the laboring I do with Excel and Remedy Reporting all motherdusting day.
Speaking of old habits, here's a man whose... or is it "who's?" To show ownership, which "WHO"s/e is it? Anybody know? Anyway, remember that 1-ton guy in Nebraska who went into the hospital last year to lose weight? I've pasted an update below to his saga. The part that bugs me about his situation is that Medicare is paying the bills. His habits of overeating, slothful living, and lack of self-care led to his condition, and Medicare is saying "that's okay." Can't he be like the rest of America and just go on a Makeover Show. The only human makeover ever produced by "This Old House."
Medicare better be around for my liver/lung/cock transplant trifecta.
FAT MAN LESS FAT BUT STILL FAT AS ALL GET-OUT!
Enjoy the creme bruleé.
=======
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Speaking of old habits, here's a man whose... or is it "who's?" To show ownership, which "WHO"s/e is it? Anybody know? Anyway, remember that 1-ton guy in Nebraska who went into the hospital last year to lose weight? I've pasted an update below to his saga. The part that bugs me about his situation is that Medicare is paying the bills. His habits of overeating, slothful living, and lack of self-care led to his condition, and Medicare is saying "that's okay." Can't he be like the rest of America and just go on a Makeover Show. The only human makeover ever produced by "This Old House."
Medicare better be around for my liver/lung/cock transplant trifecta.
FAT MAN LESS FAT BUT STILL FAT AS ALL GET-OUT!
Enjoy the creme bruleé.
=======
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Tsunami? You Barely Know Me! (or, "Tsunamis Hate Our Freedom")
As you read this, the White House is listening to chatter on an impending tsunami against any of this great nation's strategic (i.e. economically strong) areas of patriotic (i.e. money grabbing) interest. I'm so far to the right of left, but still left of the Right, that even I think this is a complete snowjob, but with ocean water and boogly-eyed fish tossed up from the deep.
The U.S. had an original aid pledge of $30,000,000 to help Tsunami victims. That was called "STINGY," mind you, by more than a few communist countries, including Hollywood's own Sandra Bullock. American aid to the relief efforts, just from the government, has been pledged at over $350,000,000, and that buys a LOT of towels, mops, sponges, squeegies, and waterproof goats, but it can't bring back anybody who was carried out to sea, including Sandra Bullock in "Speed 2: Sequel Boo-ga-loo."
This is truly a tragedy. Tens of thousands of people are gone, not just dead, GONE. The ocean may some day wash return them, a macabre bottle with a note inside that reads "Have you a warning system yet?" The tsunami's work has orphaned many children, widowed many spouses, and ruined a Zagat's guide-full of vacations. 150,000 people are dead as of today. That's all of Vancouver, WA. That's Kirkland, Redmond, and Issaquah, completely emptied of people. It's most of Tacoma. This doesn't include those who are going to die from infection and injury, that 150,000 is the number lost in the original land-fall. I watched a video the other night of the incoming wave, and it's pretty frightening. The water rushes out in about a minute... and 10 minutes later you can see, in the distance, a wall of water growing taller as the bottom of the incoming water hits the land shelf and forces the volume of it upwards. It's surreal and frightening, and is currently in production for a CBS Movie Of The Week: "Tsunami; The Devil's Bathtub."
Yes, there are fewer people to offshore jobs to, now. But that's not the point... Here are my questions: With $350,000,000 pledged to the relief efforts, have the victims of the Hurricane tag-team that wiped through Florida this year been taken care of? If they had insurance, then of COURSE they aren't taken care of yet. Insurance companies need proof that it was a hurricane before paying you for missing walls. Also, if there's $350,000,000 going to aid the tsunami efforts, why the F*CK can't two of my co-workers throw down $3 for some MF'ing cough drops so I don't have to hear what sounds like impressions of a car in need of some ingnition work?
Paris Hilton Break! Recently, Ms. Hilton crashed a party, CRASHED as in NOT INVITED, and sauntered in like everyone would drop to their knees and sniff her royal heinie. Her eyes weren't the only things turning red, however, when she glanced at the video monitors around the party to see the entertainment was HER VERY OWN X-RATED ROMP VIDEO. No word on whether or not she did a Pornaoke turn.
Back to the tsunami stuff. So that's the question, is the U.S. responsible to always handle the world's problems, especially when the problem is the result of a Force of Nature. This is going to be a mess, as relief money gets nicked by however many greedy people exchange it. Every exchange, of anything, be it money or information, leaves less and less of the original product to be delivered. (Sorry Billy, this doesn't hold true for STDs.) The best of people has come forward to help, and that generous altruistic nature is likely to be pilfered by a large number of scumbags wanting a piece of the seacucumber for no effort. The best and worst will happen when people are involved. For proof, see any of my reviews of Open Mic from the last year.
If you can't do it for the people, do it for the trapped dolphins and elephants. I can't imagine the hell that people are being put through there, standing in breadlines next to streets lined with bodies. But we can do SOMETHING. Prayers. Generally good thoughts of recovery for the area. The right people in the right times. Good weather. And if you want to give, here are two places that can use your dough:
Salvation Army
and
World Vision
Okay, I'm off to look at houses now. Wish me luck. And if you'd like to give anything to my mortgage relief fund, please use a plain brown bag tied to the neck of a stoned donkey in overalls. It's code for "Ass, Gas, Or Grass, Nobody Gets Relief For Free." Look for the cost of jeans to drop in the next year.
Quit groaning.
-------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The U.S. had an original aid pledge of $30,000,000 to help Tsunami victims. That was called "STINGY," mind you, by more than a few communist countries, including Hollywood's own Sandra Bullock. American aid to the relief efforts, just from the government, has been pledged at over $350,000,000, and that buys a LOT of towels, mops, sponges, squeegies, and waterproof goats, but it can't bring back anybody who was carried out to sea, including Sandra Bullock in "Speed 2: Sequel Boo-ga-loo."
This is truly a tragedy. Tens of thousands of people are gone, not just dead, GONE. The ocean may some day wash return them, a macabre bottle with a note inside that reads "Have you a warning system yet?" The tsunami's work has orphaned many children, widowed many spouses, and ruined a Zagat's guide-full of vacations. 150,000 people are dead as of today. That's all of Vancouver, WA. That's Kirkland, Redmond, and Issaquah, completely emptied of people. It's most of Tacoma. This doesn't include those who are going to die from infection and injury, that 150,000 is the number lost in the original land-fall. I watched a video the other night of the incoming wave, and it's pretty frightening. The water rushes out in about a minute... and 10 minutes later you can see, in the distance, a wall of water growing taller as the bottom of the incoming water hits the land shelf and forces the volume of it upwards. It's surreal and frightening, and is currently in production for a CBS Movie Of The Week: "Tsunami; The Devil's Bathtub."
Yes, there are fewer people to offshore jobs to, now. But that's not the point... Here are my questions: With $350,000,000 pledged to the relief efforts, have the victims of the Hurricane tag-team that wiped through Florida this year been taken care of? If they had insurance, then of COURSE they aren't taken care of yet. Insurance companies need proof that it was a hurricane before paying you for missing walls. Also, if there's $350,000,000 going to aid the tsunami efforts, why the F*CK can't two of my co-workers throw down $3 for some MF'ing cough drops so I don't have to hear what sounds like impressions of a car in need of some ingnition work?
Paris Hilton Break! Recently, Ms. Hilton crashed a party, CRASHED as in NOT INVITED, and sauntered in like everyone would drop to their knees and sniff her royal heinie. Her eyes weren't the only things turning red, however, when she glanced at the video monitors around the party to see the entertainment was HER VERY OWN X-RATED ROMP VIDEO. No word on whether or not she did a Pornaoke turn.
Back to the tsunami stuff. So that's the question, is the U.S. responsible to always handle the world's problems, especially when the problem is the result of a Force of Nature. This is going to be a mess, as relief money gets nicked by however many greedy people exchange it. Every exchange, of anything, be it money or information, leaves less and less of the original product to be delivered. (Sorry Billy, this doesn't hold true for STDs.) The best of people has come forward to help, and that generous altruistic nature is likely to be pilfered by a large number of scumbags wanting a piece of the seacucumber for no effort. The best and worst will happen when people are involved. For proof, see any of my reviews of Open Mic from the last year.
If you can't do it for the people, do it for the trapped dolphins and elephants. I can't imagine the hell that people are being put through there, standing in breadlines next to streets lined with bodies. But we can do SOMETHING. Prayers. Generally good thoughts of recovery for the area. The right people in the right times. Good weather. And if you want to give, here are two places that can use your dough:
Salvation Army
and
World Vision
Okay, I'm off to look at houses now. Wish me luck. And if you'd like to give anything to my mortgage relief fund, please use a plain brown bag tied to the neck of a stoned donkey in overalls. It's code for "Ass, Gas, Or Grass, Nobody Gets Relief For Free." Look for the cost of jeans to drop in the next year.
Quit groaning.
-------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, January 03, 2005
The Definition of A Screw Up
I am fully aware that our globe is in upheaval lately, politically, violently, and summarily seismic to capture all of the above. It's pretty frightening, and of course, any comic worth their salt is trying to write jokes about it without writing jokes about "it." But this is a story that I just cannot bypass as 2005 kicks off.
Yesterday the Seattle Seahawks were playing for the rights to host at least one home-field playoff game. 16 weeks of football behind them, at least 2 more to go, as of kick-off yesterday. And a very talented player was inactive for the game. Deactivated from the roster, Koren Robinson missed the team's Saturday practice, citing car trouble. Now, I've been on my way somewhere and had a car go narcoleptic on me, I understand that those things happen. But on Saturday, or New Year's Day as it were, Koren Robinson's car wouldn't start.
A 24 year-old multimillionaire with most of a college education, 3 years of professional football under his belt, on the backside of a 4-game suspension for having violated the NFL's policy on abusing controlled substances, and his car will not start. I don't believe he only has one car. I don't believe NONE of the cars would start. I don't believe he used all of his options (teammates, cabs, limos, police escort, magnificent white stallion, Segway scooter, etc.). I believe he was likely not home or just so F'ed up from the night before that he couldn't practice and would have been tested again for a controlled substance resulting in another hit to the wallet and loss of playing time.
He played 10 of 16 games this season. 6 games missed because of behavior problems. His teammates, bruised and battered and bullish to win against a much-better Atlanta squad showed up Saturday, priorities in check, helmets on, cobwebs working themselves out. To quote Steve Kelley in this morning's Seattle Times, Robinson is a "serial knucklehead" and a "lousy teammate."
So what lessons can I take from this?
First off, the guy's 24, so there are some maturity things happening here. Understood, I was a friggin' gooner nutlog when I was 23-24, more-so than now, mmkay? But I worked when I had to, for a hell of a lot less fun and compensation than Robinson's weekly haul.
Second, I've only ever had one car at a time because that's all I could barely afford, and I took care of it. Dead batteries happen in '86 Buick Skyhawk's; not in the likely H2, Escalade, or Benz driven by a former First Round draft pick. I'm positive he's got one of those, if not all.
Third, it's a little reminder that I am sometimes responsible to other people, coming through when I am expected to, and because of that, I may have to reign in something I want. This won't be every day or probably not even a weekly occurrence, but when somebody's counting on me arriving and helping a cause, the least I can do is show up as ready to work and fully-trousered as possible.
When someone screws up as much as Koren Robinson has this year, it makes me think aloud "4 game suspension, 2 games out with behavioral problems, is this guy high or drunk or both?"
In a world where I'm not on a lot of teams, at my job and in my performing, I'm still responsible for not letting myself down, at the very least. This means trying to be better at what I do, whatever "Better" entails on personal, physical, mental, creative, financial, and animal husbandry levels. I have work to do if I want to reach my next tier of goals, one of which is being paid a daily stipend as Koren Robinson's personal chauffeur. Cirrus don't fail me now!
Happy New Year, and lay off the drugs.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Yesterday the Seattle Seahawks were playing for the rights to host at least one home-field playoff game. 16 weeks of football behind them, at least 2 more to go, as of kick-off yesterday. And a very talented player was inactive for the game. Deactivated from the roster, Koren Robinson missed the team's Saturday practice, citing car trouble. Now, I've been on my way somewhere and had a car go narcoleptic on me, I understand that those things happen. But on Saturday, or New Year's Day as it were, Koren Robinson's car wouldn't start.
A 24 year-old multimillionaire with most of a college education, 3 years of professional football under his belt, on the backside of a 4-game suspension for having violated the NFL's policy on abusing controlled substances, and his car will not start. I don't believe he only has one car. I don't believe NONE of the cars would start. I don't believe he used all of his options (teammates, cabs, limos, police escort, magnificent white stallion, Segway scooter, etc.). I believe he was likely not home or just so F'ed up from the night before that he couldn't practice and would have been tested again for a controlled substance resulting in another hit to the wallet and loss of playing time.
He played 10 of 16 games this season. 6 games missed because of behavior problems. His teammates, bruised and battered and bullish to win against a much-better Atlanta squad showed up Saturday, priorities in check, helmets on, cobwebs working themselves out. To quote Steve Kelley in this morning's Seattle Times, Robinson is a "serial knucklehead" and a "lousy teammate."
So what lessons can I take from this?
First off, the guy's 24, so there are some maturity things happening here. Understood, I was a friggin' gooner nutlog when I was 23-24, more-so than now, mmkay? But I worked when I had to, for a hell of a lot less fun and compensation than Robinson's weekly haul.
Second, I've only ever had one car at a time because that's all I could barely afford, and I took care of it. Dead batteries happen in '86 Buick Skyhawk's; not in the likely H2, Escalade, or Benz driven by a former First Round draft pick. I'm positive he's got one of those, if not all.
Third, it's a little reminder that I am sometimes responsible to other people, coming through when I am expected to, and because of that, I may have to reign in something I want. This won't be every day or probably not even a weekly occurrence, but when somebody's counting on me arriving and helping a cause, the least I can do is show up as ready to work and fully-trousered as possible.
When someone screws up as much as Koren Robinson has this year, it makes me think aloud "4 game suspension, 2 games out with behavioral problems, is this guy high or drunk or both?"
In a world where I'm not on a lot of teams, at my job and in my performing, I'm still responsible for not letting myself down, at the very least. This means trying to be better at what I do, whatever "Better" entails on personal, physical, mental, creative, financial, and animal husbandry levels. I have work to do if I want to reach my next tier of goals, one of which is being paid a daily stipend as Koren Robinson's personal chauffeur. Cirrus don't fail me now!
Happy New Year, and lay off the drugs.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Shit, and What To Do About It. (for Beka Barry)
It's been a month + a few days since I first landed in Cabo, and exactly one month since the marathon that was Friday, Dec. 3rd. It started early and went late, and in the middle was a liver-testing amount of booze. Everything from tequila to margaritas to Tecate y Corona. It was stellar. It also pretty much ruined me for the rest of the trip.
When I say "ruined me" I mean internally. That night I got a bug or something. Whatever it was, I wasn't "right" for the rest of the trip, and haven't been since I returned. Not to be too gross, but I made 3 trips to el baño before 8:30am one morning. Fully juxtaposed was Killorn's problem, where-in she couldn't pass so much as a test. We rountabled her idea for O'Neill relief, that being laying her waist-deep in the surf and dropping a SuperFly on her from the shoulders of a turtle-whistling beach vendor, trying to really horse it out of her. But she balked after my test-Fly necessitated my rolling in the surf to "purify the ruins." I wasn't well. My energy was very low, my steps very nimble, and my eyes eagled any potential restroom. Note the use of "potential."
Tuesday morning found us on a snorkeling adventure. Off in remote-like beach, Santa Maria Bay, everyone was ready to hop in the water and have a grand ol' time before the booze cruises showed up. Those were pathetic, btw. Before I mask and fin the bod here, I had the burn of the Baja Boiler roil inside me, and I HAD to go. I refused to take that into the water, although it may have fended off the Water Pumas. Water Pumas are jellyfish about the size of a button mushroom that attack in legions of 2-5, and are nearly impossible to escape from, unless you decide to turn slowly in your floating and kick to an area that is Puma-safe. They WILL sting you mercilessly, leaving welts and a hot tingling sensation to rival that of a fast spitwad or a good flick.
Before adventuring into the bay I asked the "guide" (i.e. the guy who drove the van to the beach, then handed out beers) where the nearest baño was. His mostly-toothed smile and slight chuckle told me I was shit-out-0f-luck, and would therefore have to shit-out-of-doors. So, with feet turned outward, I headed behind a little outcropping that provided both shade and shield from my snorkel crew's eyes. The decibel level of my gurgling colon told them what I was up to, I'm sure. But hey, when ya gotta go, you may as well tell everyone about it, even if they weren't there. I was able to find some quarter where I was sure I'd be safe. A few seconds after getting into position I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me, but I figured it was either a compatriot or a Mexicanimal in for the shock of its life. Either way, a quick scan of footprints and scattered McDonalds napkins told me I wasn't among the first 50 people to do what I was doing where it was being done. I watched my step on the way out.
Those were the extremes I was driven to with this sickness. I drank a fair 8oz of Pepto, Mylanta, and straight wax in attempts to slow the processes. I know that copious amounts of alcohol, chicken, and beans weren't doing my any favors, but I've never had anything like this that sends me and my sweaty upper-lip doing a tip-toe hop to the can at least twice a day. So I have only one avenue left to heal myself: Colon Hydrotherapy.
I've had two such therapies before, and lemme tell ya what... they're amazing. A literal Fountain of Youth. The reason they work is that they cleanse the body of most of your toxins, or prepare it to do so. The lymph system we all hold onto filters toxins from our system, running them through a sort of liquid filter (lymphatic fluid), and depositing the toxins in our colon for expulsion. If the pipes are clogged, or not running right, then something's amiss. And something is Biblically amiss with me. I feel sluggish and sick and a step behind, more than I normally do. The colonic therapy clears all the toxins out, then kickstarts your liver, which you can feel and will recognize if you've ever drank too much PBR at Dante's. Usually I leave with a bounce in my step and a very clear head... yeah, I know.
So as I prepare to scoot off again to Tony Moser-ize the 2nd floor men's room (I work on the 3rd floor), I recommend that you seek some naturopathic remedies whenever possible. Nature holds a cure for almost every ailment, except childhood and the desire to be a comic. Other than that, Nature's already found a way to heal you. Western Medicine couldn't hold me back. I'm ready to SuperFly through the front door of Mountlake Terrace Acupuncture and Naturopathic Healing Clinic. Note... "HEALING." Not "Doctor's Office." I can attest, nothing ever gets done in an office. Go forth and cleanse thyself of evil. Especially after the holidays. Nobody needs this much nog.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
When I say "ruined me" I mean internally. That night I got a bug or something. Whatever it was, I wasn't "right" for the rest of the trip, and haven't been since I returned. Not to be too gross, but I made 3 trips to el baño before 8:30am one morning. Fully juxtaposed was Killorn's problem, where-in she couldn't pass so much as a test. We rountabled her idea for O'Neill relief, that being laying her waist-deep in the surf and dropping a SuperFly on her from the shoulders of a turtle-whistling beach vendor, trying to really horse it out of her. But she balked after my test-Fly necessitated my rolling in the surf to "purify the ruins." I wasn't well. My energy was very low, my steps very nimble, and my eyes eagled any potential restroom. Note the use of "potential."
Tuesday morning found us on a snorkeling adventure. Off in remote-like beach, Santa Maria Bay, everyone was ready to hop in the water and have a grand ol' time before the booze cruises showed up. Those were pathetic, btw. Before I mask and fin the bod here, I had the burn of the Baja Boiler roil inside me, and I HAD to go. I refused to take that into the water, although it may have fended off the Water Pumas. Water Pumas are jellyfish about the size of a button mushroom that attack in legions of 2-5, and are nearly impossible to escape from, unless you decide to turn slowly in your floating and kick to an area that is Puma-safe. They WILL sting you mercilessly, leaving welts and a hot tingling sensation to rival that of a fast spitwad or a good flick.
Before adventuring into the bay I asked the "guide" (i.e. the guy who drove the van to the beach, then handed out beers) where the nearest baño was. His mostly-toothed smile and slight chuckle told me I was shit-out-0f-luck, and would therefore have to shit-out-of-doors. So, with feet turned outward, I headed behind a little outcropping that provided both shade and shield from my snorkel crew's eyes. The decibel level of my gurgling colon told them what I was up to, I'm sure. But hey, when ya gotta go, you may as well tell everyone about it, even if they weren't there. I was able to find some quarter where I was sure I'd be safe. A few seconds after getting into position I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me, but I figured it was either a compatriot or a Mexicanimal in for the shock of its life. Either way, a quick scan of footprints and scattered McDonalds napkins told me I wasn't among the first 50 people to do what I was doing where it was being done. I watched my step on the way out.
Those were the extremes I was driven to with this sickness. I drank a fair 8oz of Pepto, Mylanta, and straight wax in attempts to slow the processes. I know that copious amounts of alcohol, chicken, and beans weren't doing my any favors, but I've never had anything like this that sends me and my sweaty upper-lip doing a tip-toe hop to the can at least twice a day. So I have only one avenue left to heal myself: Colon Hydrotherapy.
I've had two such therapies before, and lemme tell ya what... they're amazing. A literal Fountain of Youth. The reason they work is that they cleanse the body of most of your toxins, or prepare it to do so. The lymph system we all hold onto filters toxins from our system, running them through a sort of liquid filter (lymphatic fluid), and depositing the toxins in our colon for expulsion. If the pipes are clogged, or not running right, then something's amiss. And something is Biblically amiss with me. I feel sluggish and sick and a step behind, more than I normally do. The colonic therapy clears all the toxins out, then kickstarts your liver, which you can feel and will recognize if you've ever drank too much PBR at Dante's. Usually I leave with a bounce in my step and a very clear head... yeah, I know.
So as I prepare to scoot off again to Tony Moser-ize the 2nd floor men's room (I work on the 3rd floor), I recommend that you seek some naturopathic remedies whenever possible. Nature holds a cure for almost every ailment, except childhood and the desire to be a comic. Other than that, Nature's already found a way to heal you. Western Medicine couldn't hold me back. I'm ready to SuperFly through the front door of Mountlake Terrace Acupuncture and Naturopathic Healing Clinic. Note... "HEALING." Not "Doctor's Office." I can attest, nothing ever gets done in an office. Go forth and cleanse thyself of evil. Especially after the holidays. Nobody needs this much nog.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)