The other day my horoscope told me that my current situation of creativity is one of sifting through monotony to find the gold, the shimmer, the heaviest of elements to mold something out of, and warned me that I'm gonna be bored with it for a while. I believed my horoscope, which I usually do when it's good, or at least isn't telling me
You STILL haven't had that looked at? Hope you have a back-up, 'cause that thing is South of cheese as of lunch.
Some comedy co-horts of mine have had some great opportunities lately, which I'm happy for them to have. I'm not saying through gritted teeth or using finger-quotes around Happy; these guys have put in some great work.
First off the bat is Tony "Yeah, I Farted Again" Moser. Tony recently got booked for a sweet gig in March that I'm not going to say much about, but let's just say that if you dig Chop Suey, you should have Hope that Stan has Doug it, too. Tony got hired by a guy named Stan to work at a noodle house in Stanwood. Nice Work, Tones.
Second up is archcomic and recently unblogged, Blaine Reeder. Blaine has been performing for just under 2 years, and spent the dates of February 10-13 as the Feature Act at the Reno Hilton. Blaine is one of the most dedicated comics I know, writing and staging his material on a consistent basis. He puts up with more Open Mics than anyone I know, and hasn't had a drink since the Reagan administration. Big deal that he was paid with a $9 buffet and hot-stone massage from a Dominican tranny, which is twice what you make on most runs around these parts. Congrats Blaine!
Lastly is Gabriel Rutledge, winner of the 2004 Seattle International Comedy Competition and Road Rally Of Seattle. One of the funniest and coolest people I've ever performed with, Gabriel recently performed in front of more than 17 people at the Moore Theater at the Lovers Of Life Ball And Promise Keepers Weekend. Actually, it was like 1,400 people, which is more than 17, true? Okay, so shut up. I wish the best for Gabriel and his wife and child as Gabriel branches off into acting and improv troupes. KUDOS, Good Sir.
Sooner or later we'll all get a piece of the pie, if we have earned it, and we know someone who owes someone a favor and is trying to pay it forward. These guys all have talent. A lot of people in comedy who make it to TV do NOT. TV appearances are not the litmus of talent. Host an awards show, call the viewers "homos" and divide the races consistently, now THAT is talent!
Don't spend time worrying about how big somebody else's pie slice is. While you're looking over there, someone's like clearing your plate, taking your perfectly untouched slice of the pie. A la MODE, you buttcrease!
==========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Thursday, February 17, 2005
What's All Up In A Name? & Pie In Your Pocketbook
Well HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY everybody! Thanks for hitting up the Geoff Lott Blog Machine, where I'll be playing the blog until the blog drops its blog on it's girlfriend's brand new blog! SPLOOOOSH!
Tag, You're Jolanta!
Last night I stopped into a gas & grab, throwing down a couple Washingtons on a Lo-Carb Monster and some nicotine cookies. It's true, you can gain weight when you quit smoking.
The on-duty employee was a blonde gal who was pretty soft-spoken, until I realized that her "spoken" was not English. She spoke in those tones of "I think this is what I'm supposed to say, American big head male." Fine, she's not from here, that's cool by me. Somebody has to work the jobs I don't wanna get held-up at gun point for.
I glance at her name tag to see if she's got a lot of C's and Z's and out of place Y's or L's. Nope. Her name tag read "Jolanta M."
It was all I could do to hold in my laughter. Jolanta M. HA! See, NOW I'm laughing, but fawk... Jolanta M.
I thought "Jolanta M? Is the M necessary? Does the Rose Hill Pump & Dump have more than one Jolanta under surveillance here?"
Disgruntled Patron: I wanna make a formal complaint against that Jolanta that can't speak English!
Fat Manager Thing: Good Luck, Miss. We have like four Jolantas that can't speak English. Did you get a last name or initial?
Disgruntled Flustomer: No... but she couldn't speak English... and she was a white gal...
Fat Manager Lumps: OH! The WHITE Jolanta... she's from another country, miss. Phew, I thought this was gonna turn into a race thing!
Thanks to the M, now it never will!
==========
Coming Up Later...
The relationships between Politics, Government and Tax Payers via Pie,
and Why You Aren't Calling Him Again.
==========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tag, You're Jolanta!
Last night I stopped into a gas & grab, throwing down a couple Washingtons on a Lo-Carb Monster and some nicotine cookies. It's true, you can gain weight when you quit smoking.
The on-duty employee was a blonde gal who was pretty soft-spoken, until I realized that her "spoken" was not English. She spoke in those tones of "I think this is what I'm supposed to say, American big head male." Fine, she's not from here, that's cool by me. Somebody has to work the jobs I don't wanna get held-up at gun point for.
I glance at her name tag to see if she's got a lot of C's and Z's and out of place Y's or L's. Nope. Her name tag read "Jolanta M."
It was all I could do to hold in my laughter. Jolanta M. HA! See, NOW I'm laughing, but fawk... Jolanta M.
I thought "Jolanta M? Is the M necessary? Does the Rose Hill Pump & Dump have more than one Jolanta under surveillance here?"
Disgruntled Patron: I wanna make a formal complaint against that Jolanta that can't speak English!
Fat Manager Thing: Good Luck, Miss. We have like four Jolantas that can't speak English. Did you get a last name or initial?
Disgruntled Flustomer: No... but she couldn't speak English... and she was a white gal...
Fat Manager Lumps: OH! The WHITE Jolanta... she's from another country, miss. Phew, I thought this was gonna turn into a race thing!
Thanks to the M, now it never will!
==========
Coming Up Later...
The relationships between Politics, Government and Tax Payers via Pie,
and Why You Aren't Calling Him Again.
==========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
And Another Thing
The Strangler is officially the most thematically incestuous publication in the history of print. The only entertainment to be derived from the paper is Celebrity I Saw U, Savage Love (usually), and Police Beat.
Okay, we get it... Seattle and it's unoffical SceneRag are Gay Friendly to the point of ejaculating rainbows.
Okay, the skinnier the lead singer, the more likely the band will knock my mismatched (on-purpose!) socks out of my Chuck Taylor's (on methadone!).
Got it, Republicans want me dead and the Monorail is going to stop the spread of Sudden Infant AdoptedByStraightParents Syndrome.
Part of being hip, cool, with-it, and/or down is that there is no "scene," which is what people who want to seem hip, cool, with-it, and/or down call whichever place they stand around looking bored. You can spot them while they ask the bartender if they have Sumatran Ginger Wine or if the DJ could play the latest EP from the Thomas Fehlman side-project. Unique, great! Pompously peripheral? I SAW U... getting run over and I laughed.
Wallow in your ironically-chosen domestic beers and clove cigarettes, you colon statue of a scene rag, The Stanker.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Okay, we get it... Seattle and it's unoffical SceneRag are Gay Friendly to the point of ejaculating rainbows.
Okay, the skinnier the lead singer, the more likely the band will knock my mismatched (on-purpose!) socks out of my Chuck Taylor's (on methadone!).
Got it, Republicans want me dead and the Monorail is going to stop the spread of Sudden Infant AdoptedByStraightParents Syndrome.
Part of being hip, cool, with-it, and/or down is that there is no "scene," which is what people who want to seem hip, cool, with-it, and/or down call whichever place they stand around looking bored. You can spot them while they ask the bartender if they have Sumatran Ginger Wine or if the DJ could play the latest EP from the Thomas Fehlman side-project. Unique, great! Pompously peripheral? I SAW U... getting run over and I laughed.
Wallow in your ironically-chosen domestic beers and clove cigarettes, you colon statue of a scene rag, The Stanker.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
What... You Had to Click a Link? Troglodyte.
For the better part of the month I have been harangued by a number of bosses who seem to believe that having a bump in title has also boosted their abilities to communicate without words. So far I can tell when they are confused, ignorant, and over compensated for their work, so I guess their new skills are coming in handy.
There is a push to communicate faster, quicker, now NOW TOO LATE! in our society. Your movies, food, messages, e-mails, gossip, and insulin cannot be delivered fast enough, until it is automatically downloaded into your cerebral cortex and the chip in your spine releases the hormones that signal you just ate, watched yet another Ben Stiller movie, and found out who's been stealing your Us Weekly from the mailbox.
It's moving faster, sure, but it's running down-hill, too. Anything moving downhill reaches a speed at which the acceleration of gravity down the plane surpasses the ability to maintain control of the physical object. It usually takes force from a brake pad, a sail, a rubbery band, some good strong thighs, netting, a creek, rocks, or a bouncer to halt or slow the descent. But until that force kicks in, it's all flailing arms and whitening knuckles in hopes of surviving the crash without being all gross and lizard-looking.
Technology is on that slope, and slippery it is. You don't know you want the next iPlod, which will have songs your favorite artists haven't ever recorded, until you see and read and hear about the next iClod, which has the power to destroy the cellular structure of Ashlee Simpson's vocal chords. You see it and say "YES, that is what I want, and I will have it by next HOLY Lincoln Logs, is it really $675? I better eBay my 2 month-old iBlob ASAP so I can get this new fangled one." Faster. Now. Come on... you're waiting.
Working in the mobile communications industry, I see this all the time. It's one of the factors that leads to burnout in this industry: TECHNOLOGICAL CHURN. That phone you just got, the one with the camera, web access, downloaded ringtones, and for-shit reception? Yeah, it's out of date already. But you got it for like $3 and a decent rate plan, so why not, it's all you need right now, huh? Wait until you see the Nokeepa ON-X1!
It uses the electrical currents in your brain to dial people. You think of someone's name or face, your phone reads it and calls them immediately! It will help you solve so many problems, because even if you hate the person, it will send them death threats, and there's no end to what it can do with the amount of porn it accesses from the internet to send to people you're fantasizing about. A record is kept and sent to you at the end of the month, showing everyone you thought of, what you thought of, and how often they were contacted by your new phone you didn't know you needed until 2 minutes ago. It's already activated, you activated it by thinking of it. You are now running headlong into the future... a Future of Telepathic Communication, interplanetary waste storage, and loss of body hair and functional genitals. Welcome aboard.
Every point of communication filters out some of the original message. Throw in a language barrier, loud music, 2 drunken frat boys, and sprinkle it with some ego, you are missing a fair amount of the message. Few people truly appreciate subtle and intelligent humor anymore, because they are conveyed with a look or a pun or nod. TV is dumbing people down instead of pushing the envelope of mental evolution. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to e-mail a video of Ashlee Simpson getting gang-Cleveland Steamered by the roadies for Slayer.
But you already knew that, because you sent it to me last night.
===================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
There is a push to communicate faster, quicker, now NOW TOO LATE! in our society. Your movies, food, messages, e-mails, gossip, and insulin cannot be delivered fast enough, until it is automatically downloaded into your cerebral cortex and the chip in your spine releases the hormones that signal you just ate, watched yet another Ben Stiller movie, and found out who's been stealing your Us Weekly from the mailbox.
It's moving faster, sure, but it's running down-hill, too. Anything moving downhill reaches a speed at which the acceleration of gravity down the plane surpasses the ability to maintain control of the physical object. It usually takes force from a brake pad, a sail, a rubbery band, some good strong thighs, netting, a creek, rocks, or a bouncer to halt or slow the descent. But until that force kicks in, it's all flailing arms and whitening knuckles in hopes of surviving the crash without being all gross and lizard-looking.
Technology is on that slope, and slippery it is. You don't know you want the next iPlod, which will have songs your favorite artists haven't ever recorded, until you see and read and hear about the next iClod, which has the power to destroy the cellular structure of Ashlee Simpson's vocal chords. You see it and say "YES, that is what I want, and I will have it by next HOLY Lincoln Logs, is it really $675? I better eBay my 2 month-old iBlob ASAP so I can get this new fangled one." Faster. Now. Come on... you're waiting.
Working in the mobile communications industry, I see this all the time. It's one of the factors that leads to burnout in this industry: TECHNOLOGICAL CHURN. That phone you just got, the one with the camera, web access, downloaded ringtones, and for-shit reception? Yeah, it's out of date already. But you got it for like $3 and a decent rate plan, so why not, it's all you need right now, huh? Wait until you see the Nokeepa ON-X1!
It uses the electrical currents in your brain to dial people. You think of someone's name or face, your phone reads it and calls them immediately! It will help you solve so many problems, because even if you hate the person, it will send them death threats, and there's no end to what it can do with the amount of porn it accesses from the internet to send to people you're fantasizing about. A record is kept and sent to you at the end of the month, showing everyone you thought of, what you thought of, and how often they were contacted by your new phone you didn't know you needed until 2 minutes ago. It's already activated, you activated it by thinking of it. You are now running headlong into the future... a Future of Telepathic Communication, interplanetary waste storage, and loss of body hair and functional genitals. Welcome aboard.
Every point of communication filters out some of the original message. Throw in a language barrier, loud music, 2 drunken frat boys, and sprinkle it with some ego, you are missing a fair amount of the message. Few people truly appreciate subtle and intelligent humor anymore, because they are conveyed with a look or a pun or nod. TV is dumbing people down instead of pushing the envelope of mental evolution. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to e-mail a video of Ashlee Simpson getting gang-Cleveland Steamered by the roadies for Slayer.
But you already knew that, because you sent it to me last night.
===================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, February 14, 2005
Valentine's Day: When You Care Enough To Give A Rip
It's Valentine's Day. An antiquated day that is perpetuated by lovesick secretaries and the Hallmark's and Yankee Candle Companies they split time between on Friday nights.
Love is not now nor should ever be a once-a-year thing. You should be showing people you love and care for them every Tuesday if not twice a week. What's your problem? You want some ass, don't you? Get in the game, but be subtle. Raising an eyebrow when asking, "So... wanna, you know... see a movie?" is the '05 equivalent of flashing. People have gotten lazier, so you have to go one notch over that. Still waters run deep, but so do a big girl's drawers. I've learned so much from my Grampa. Grampa The Butt. Grampa Bay F*ckaneer. The Gromper! Beer me!
You're not out of love, you're not lost without me.
You wanna know what love is, you want me to show you.
First off, you have to love yourself. If you don't love yourself, you're not going to be able to share it with anyone else. Do you love yourself? You should. Because if you don't love yourself, then nobody does, and that's a sad life to live.
Second, do you even WANT to be involved with someone? When I met my girlfriend, I didn't have a choice, I was going to be with her whether or not she had pepper spray left. But sometimes you get taken by surprise in that you have spent the last 3 evenings hanging out with someone. You didn't realize it until someone pointed out to you "Hey, that's a really gross hickey." So if you are enjoying the company of someone, don't get rattled. Just make sure you are fed and rested and properly bathed and groomed in the event there is a need to box your truffles.
Thirdth, get that hickey looked at, gaack.
Fourdth, identify and write down what you absolutely will NOT put up with in a relationship. Count them up. You're really picky, huh? Now toss that and pass your "interest" some of your biscuits on the second date, Maude. Is it going to get weird? What, like you don't know, after all the havoc you've wrought in people's love-lives? Yeah, it's gonna get weird, especially when you suggest "Why don't you put this on?" (reaching for the Lando Calrissian mask)
Fifth, get so drunk that you hallucinate about crapshack rats and call it a night. You're a mess, you hickey-ripened Billy Dee Williams ho-bag.
=======
Happy Valentine's Day.
===========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Love is not now nor should ever be a once-a-year thing. You should be showing people you love and care for them every Tuesday if not twice a week. What's your problem? You want some ass, don't you? Get in the game, but be subtle. Raising an eyebrow when asking, "So... wanna, you know... see a movie?" is the '05 equivalent of flashing. People have gotten lazier, so you have to go one notch over that. Still waters run deep, but so do a big girl's drawers. I've learned so much from my Grampa. Grampa The Butt. Grampa Bay F*ckaneer. The Gromper! Beer me!
You're not out of love, you're not lost without me.
You wanna know what love is, you want me to show you.
First off, you have to love yourself. If you don't love yourself, you're not going to be able to share it with anyone else. Do you love yourself? You should. Because if you don't love yourself, then nobody does, and that's a sad life to live.
Second, do you even WANT to be involved with someone? When I met my girlfriend, I didn't have a choice, I was going to be with her whether or not she had pepper spray left. But sometimes you get taken by surprise in that you have spent the last 3 evenings hanging out with someone. You didn't realize it until someone pointed out to you "Hey, that's a really gross hickey." So if you are enjoying the company of someone, don't get rattled. Just make sure you are fed and rested and properly bathed and groomed in the event there is a need to box your truffles.
Thirdth, get that hickey looked at, gaack.
Fourdth, identify and write down what you absolutely will NOT put up with in a relationship. Count them up. You're really picky, huh? Now toss that and pass your "interest" some of your biscuits on the second date, Maude. Is it going to get weird? What, like you don't know, after all the havoc you've wrought in people's love-lives? Yeah, it's gonna get weird, especially when you suggest "Why don't you put this on?" (reaching for the Lando Calrissian mask)
Fifth, get so drunk that you hallucinate about crapshack rats and call it a night. You're a mess, you hickey-ripened Billy Dee Williams ho-bag.
=======
Happy Valentine's Day.
===========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Good Morning Class
Your nation has 100,000 coins.
You owe another nation 200,000 coins, and they want it back. Like before breakfast last Thursday.
So you have to mint more coins in order to pay off some of the debt AND keep coins in circulation. More coins, however, means that they aren't as valuable. Printing another 100,000 coins makes 1 coin worth only half as much as before the coin supply doubled.
Now your currency is devalued, BUT you get to start paying off your debt. But the goods your citizens must buy in order to live haven't changed in price, and your government is not about to drop the prices, because they already gave breaks to the companies selling those goods, and damnit, Government needs it's money to buy more ninja stars and smoke-screen bombs.
Costs seem to go up, but it's mostly because the coin you pay with is worth only half as much because of the doubled supply and the lack of interest in coins with pictures of citizens and stars from syndicated sit-coms on them. Costs aren't up, the coin is down in worth. And holy crapsadillas, that debt! THAT FRIGGIN' DEBT!
So 100,000 coins go to the debt, but they're worth only 50,000 of the original debt, so another 50,000 is owed, and more coins get printed, and we all know what happens when a market is saturated with people who think they're funny... I mean, saturated with coins. The value of comedy, excuse me, golly-polly! The value of CURRENCY drops. The currency isn't worth much, the goods they use to buy aren't being purchased, jobs are lost in the manufacturing sector, and then people get checks from the government. Checks they can exchange for the worthless coins they weren't being paid.
Before the society begins to crumble, there are a few things that can happen to save it:
1 - the debt is forgiven by the creditors, thereby freeing the debtee to generate goods that can be sold and build up their reserves, or feed their hungry, or buy some ninja stars
2 - the nation is weakend to a point that a wealthy benefactor can despotically take the reigns through force or through politics, depending on the community's fear factor when it comes to being hit face-wise with a ninja star, or being told that other nations want to throw ninja stars at its face and its up to the nation to choose a ninja star-shielding superexpert to protect, all while the ninja star-shielder continuously throws ninja stars at other nations faces
3 - Jose Canseco injects steroids into the nation to make it's currency stronger, yet more volatile in a bar fight
4 - the nation quits manufacturing anything of worth and starts getting booked out as a feature comic without knowing what the hell it's doing, and taking any gig it can get for any amount, thereby killing the market price for good comics
5 - the nation spends a weekend at Neverland Ranch, drinks some Jesus Juice, gets its Gross National Product checked out, sells a script deal to USA
6 - the nation allows a tsunami to hit it, thereby taking care of its population control AND financial rebuilding efforts all at the same time
And that's how James Brown beats women and still gets applause on the Grammy Awards Show.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Last year I went to a Halloween Party for Cats. It was thrown by a cat, in an apartment paid for by a couple of cats, who apparently are doing quite well for not being able to speak English or drive or open a nail salon.
At this Halloween Party for cats, I was surprised at how many of them were dressed like unattractive secretaries.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Once I decided to stop dating girls, I met a woman. I highly recommend that.
=-=-=-=
I can't believe a guy from Klamath Falls was almost able to organize a Mass Suicide over the internet. Just invite them to Klamath Falls and let 'em work it out on their own.
Point B, was anybody going to miss this guy, besides whomever he borrowed the Lord Of the Rings box-set from?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
You owe another nation 200,000 coins, and they want it back. Like before breakfast last Thursday.
So you have to mint more coins in order to pay off some of the debt AND keep coins in circulation. More coins, however, means that they aren't as valuable. Printing another 100,000 coins makes 1 coin worth only half as much as before the coin supply doubled.
Now your currency is devalued, BUT you get to start paying off your debt. But the goods your citizens must buy in order to live haven't changed in price, and your government is not about to drop the prices, because they already gave breaks to the companies selling those goods, and damnit, Government needs it's money to buy more ninja stars and smoke-screen bombs.
Costs seem to go up, but it's mostly because the coin you pay with is worth only half as much because of the doubled supply and the lack of interest in coins with pictures of citizens and stars from syndicated sit-coms on them. Costs aren't up, the coin is down in worth. And holy crapsadillas, that debt! THAT FRIGGIN' DEBT!
So 100,000 coins go to the debt, but they're worth only 50,000 of the original debt, so another 50,000 is owed, and more coins get printed, and we all know what happens when a market is saturated with people who think they're funny... I mean, saturated with coins. The value of comedy, excuse me, golly-polly! The value of CURRENCY drops. The currency isn't worth much, the goods they use to buy aren't being purchased, jobs are lost in the manufacturing sector, and then people get checks from the government. Checks they can exchange for the worthless coins they weren't being paid.
Before the society begins to crumble, there are a few things that can happen to save it:
1 - the debt is forgiven by the creditors, thereby freeing the debtee to generate goods that can be sold and build up their reserves, or feed their hungry, or buy some ninja stars
2 - the nation is weakend to a point that a wealthy benefactor can despotically take the reigns through force or through politics, depending on the community's fear factor when it comes to being hit face-wise with a ninja star, or being told that other nations want to throw ninja stars at its face and its up to the nation to choose a ninja star-shielding superexpert to protect, all while the ninja star-shielder continuously throws ninja stars at other nations faces
3 - Jose Canseco injects steroids into the nation to make it's currency stronger, yet more volatile in a bar fight
4 - the nation quits manufacturing anything of worth and starts getting booked out as a feature comic without knowing what the hell it's doing, and taking any gig it can get for any amount, thereby killing the market price for good comics
5 - the nation spends a weekend at Neverland Ranch, drinks some Jesus Juice, gets its Gross National Product checked out, sells a script deal to USA
6 - the nation allows a tsunami to hit it, thereby taking care of its population control AND financial rebuilding efforts all at the same time
And that's how James Brown beats women and still gets applause on the Grammy Awards Show.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Last year I went to a Halloween Party for Cats. It was thrown by a cat, in an apartment paid for by a couple of cats, who apparently are doing quite well for not being able to speak English or drive or open a nail salon.
At this Halloween Party for cats, I was surprised at how many of them were dressed like unattractive secretaries.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Once I decided to stop dating girls, I met a woman. I highly recommend that.
=-=-=-=
I can't believe a guy from Klamath Falls was almost able to organize a Mass Suicide over the internet. Just invite them to Klamath Falls and let 'em work it out on their own.
Point B, was anybody going to miss this guy, besides whomever he borrowed the Lord Of the Rings box-set from?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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