Currently, I am playing catch-up with work due to the fact that an e-mail I should have received yesterday afternoon came through about 10 minutes ago.
That e-mail asked me to set aside the work I am supposed to do today, and play Data Entryman with old data to a new sheet that will confuse most of the people looking at it.
I was already 1/4 done with the work I am expected to do when I got that email, so now I've asked the guy who people say is my boss to prioritize for me: Work that matters now, or work that is old news.
In the meantime, my cube neighbor is debating the reasons as to why there are baked beans and tomato slices on the plate of an Irish Breakfast. I'm here to tell you that after eating those nearly every day for a couple weeks in Ireland in 1999, those two items aren't always there, unlike my desire to yell "ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME?!" to nobody in particular.
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, April 01, 2005
Careening
Today is the first day of the month, so I'm in the office for the first time all week. I worked from home the other days and got a lot done.
The drive to work wasn't any more treacherous than any other normal drive
SANDIE the retard is already laughing... are you shitting me?
Anyway, here's a blow-out.
My productivity has suffered because my boss can't communicate and rolls over when asked to do something.
My stress level is higher than it has been all week thanks to my being in the office.
Sandie just laughed about "rebooting, that's what it needs! UNH UNH UNH UNH!" She is my daily dose of Larry The Cable Guy. KOOOONT!
Dear God, I'm serious, I really need a break today. This place is not for the sane, the adjusted, the unmedicated.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The drive to work wasn't any more treacherous than any other normal drive
SANDIE the retard is already laughing... are you shitting me?
Anyway, here's a blow-out.
My productivity has suffered because my boss can't communicate and rolls over when asked to do something.
My stress level is higher than it has been all week thanks to my being in the office.
Sandie just laughed about "rebooting, that's what it needs! UNH UNH UNH UNH!" She is my daily dose of Larry The Cable Guy. KOOOONT!
Dear God, I'm serious, I really need a break today. This place is not for the sane, the adjusted, the unmedicated.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Mitch Hedberg, Dead At 37.
As of last night when this was originally written, the passing of Mitch Hedberg had not been confirmed. This morning, sadly, it has been. Mitch Hedberg, well known and loved stand-up comic, is dead. He was 37.
Mitch is one of the most-quoted, most-copped comics of the past 10 years. The rest of this entry will cover that topic. Heart failure is being noted as the cause of Mitch's death. Apparently he was born with a defect in his heart.
Mitch had is own way of doing things, especially in the past few years. Mitch was famous for less than 10 years. Less than The Dave Matthews Band. Less than Snoop. And he's gone now.
Nobody will ever see Mitch again. That is what really stinks, on many levels. He was talented. He was a good person, from all I'd heard. He was a phenomenal comic. I hope this will begin the downstroke of people copying Mitch's style of drawling, simplified, peripheral brilliance. I hope it will begin the outpouring of stories of what a great guy he was. Appreciate his work and his life. I have removed some of the stuff I had on here about Mitch's personal life, out of respect for a Person, and because he could have died with a cup of green tea in his hand, or a turkey-baster full of smack in his veins, neither would matter to how much he meant to comedy and to what kind of person Mitch was.
My condolences go out to Mitch's family and his real friends. He had a talent so recognizable that we won't see it again until an open-mic'er steals his persona and nicks his material.
To those who stood by while Mitch destroyed his body and career, my middle finger goes out to you. He was your bank account, your dealer, your hook-up, and you can look forward to an eternity in Hell, where every night you host an endless open mic where everyone goes up and "does Mitch."
Terry Schiavo also died this morning. That's for another time, but I really wish politicians and people in tank tops would leave her alone. The question here: If you were Terry Schiavo, would you want to die with dignity, or be kept alive to keep your parents from feeling bad?
===============
(Now back to the original blog)
In my quest to find out who is and is not dead (IS: Johnny Cochrane, Nietzche, Comedy. IS NOT: You, Me, Comedy) I happened upon an exchange of words in the alt.comedy.standup newsgroup in the Usenet world. To spare you the boredom, it's where comics get together and let their egos go wild as they post messages while doing what comics love to do best: Not be interrupted. Perhaps only the comics who read this blog will get any joy out of this, but I figure it's worth sharing.
First off, the topic of Stealing in Comedy. Here are some highlights:
My Blog About My Dad
Mitch is one of the most-quoted, most-copped comics of the past 10 years. The rest of this entry will cover that topic. Heart failure is being noted as the cause of Mitch's death. Apparently he was born with a defect in his heart.
Mitch had is own way of doing things, especially in the past few years. Mitch was famous for less than 10 years. Less than The Dave Matthews Band. Less than Snoop. And he's gone now.
Nobody will ever see Mitch again. That is what really stinks, on many levels. He was talented. He was a good person, from all I'd heard. He was a phenomenal comic. I hope this will begin the downstroke of people copying Mitch's style of drawling, simplified, peripheral brilliance. I hope it will begin the outpouring of stories of what a great guy he was. Appreciate his work and his life. I have removed some of the stuff I had on here about Mitch's personal life, out of respect for a Person, and because he could have died with a cup of green tea in his hand, or a turkey-baster full of smack in his veins, neither would matter to how much he meant to comedy and to what kind of person Mitch was.
My condolences go out to Mitch's family and his real friends. He had a talent so recognizable that we won't see it again until an open-mic'er steals his persona and nicks his material.
To those who stood by while Mitch destroyed his body and career, my middle finger goes out to you. He was your bank account, your dealer, your hook-up, and you can look forward to an eternity in Hell, where every night you host an endless open mic where everyone goes up and "does Mitch."
Terry Schiavo also died this morning. That's for another time, but I really wish politicians and people in tank tops would leave her alone. The question here: If you were Terry Schiavo, would you want to die with dignity, or be kept alive to keep your parents from feeling bad?
===============
(Now back to the original blog)
In my quest to find out who is and is not dead (IS: Johnny Cochrane, Nietzche, Comedy. IS NOT: You, Me, Comedy) I happened upon an exchange of words in the alt.comedy.standup newsgroup in the Usenet world. To spare you the boredom, it's where comics get together and let their egos go wild as they post messages while doing what comics love to do best: Not be interrupted. Perhaps only the comics who read this blog will get any joy out of this, but I figure it's worth sharing.
First off, the topic of Stealing in Comedy. Here are some highlights:
- "Joke-eoke," as in Karaoke. I believe Killorn notified us of this last week, and it's been noted by one comic who started the thread in the forum. He basically was saying that there are so many guys working in comedy these days that you don't even have to be a comic to get work. What is a comic? I can't really define it, but I will say this: If I could get the same pay from comedy that I do from my crappy day job, I would have ass-wiped a signature on my 2 Week Notice a LONG time ago. But Comedy doesn't pay well because, here, catch the 22, there are so many guys working. Question: How do so many guys become funny enough to go on the road? Answer: Who said they were funny?
- Being Unique on stage, being a truth of yourSELF. A quote from the thread:
We need to look at how famous comics selected and developed their personas. Study what "Larry the Cable Guy" did to build his persona. Because jokes come and go, and can't be protected, but a strong, recognizable persona is like a signature and everyone can smell it if somebody tries a forgery.
Basically, as a performer, you are yourSelf, turned up a notch or two. I have heard guys from Portland talk to me in the whitest, most Eddie Bauer'ed tone you can imagine, then go on stage with a slightly Southern-fried accent in order to affect the persona that makes their jokes work. Question: Are they faking it in order to be funny? Answer: Who said they were funny?
- Stealing is addressed in the thread. It goes from the Vaudeville days through to Buster Keaton getting hacked by Red Skelton, hacked by Benny Hill, hacked by whomever. I've heard the freakishly popular Larry The Cable Guy (Dan Whitney, doing a character) do twists on street jokes (those are the ones you get in your e-mail from the official workplace funny guy/gal!) And it's rampant. Here's another quote from one JJay Boyd:
Hell me and the 2 comics I am on the road with had 2 off nights in the
pacific northwest.... we did some open mic nights.. EVERY comic from
this town? Was stealing.. (short of ONE tall girl who had the guts to
do her own stuff and was very promising).. One guy was doing Andrew
Dice Clays Nursery Rhymes but as Jimmy Stewart... so I guess in his
mind thats DIFFERENT. (sic)
pacific northwest.... we did some open mic nights.. EVERY comic from
this town? Was stealing.. (short of ONE tall girl who had the guts to
do her own stuff and was very promising).. One guy was doing Andrew
Dice Clays Nursery Rhymes but as Jimmy Stewart... so I guess in his
mind thats DIFFERENT. (sic)
Does anybody know if JJay Boyd has been through Seattle? First off, saying "EVERY comic" in "This town" of the Pacific Northwest (narrowed down nicely, thank you JJay) steals is a very broadly sweeping statement. However, at an open mic I'm betting a fair amount of the personas seen on stage were direct lifts of well-known acts. And the open mics around here are usually testing grounds for people getting their rocks off without the intent of pursuing stand-up, and/or a few actual working comics either working out a few new bits or getting their rocks off with the intent of pursuing chicks in the audience. The ONE Tall Girl may very well have been the inimitable (it's a good word, relax) Lizzy Pilcher. Just giving props where props be due.
That's a joke.
ANYwho, here's a "blog war" of sorts, a thread flaming if you will. Two guys get into it with each other, and it's really really dumb. Not only do they keep saying "Go away" or "I win," THEY KEEP RETURNING TO THE POST. Insecurity is that voice that tells you to check, one more time, to make sure the door is locked. It's a minor form of insanity, and it's a great lesson in growing up.
Stand back and watch them windmill at each other. I'm really embarrassed to say I ever got involved in that shit.
Anywho, I'm off to bed now. I've been writing for over an hour.
The Moral Of The Story Is This:
If you're going to steal someone's act, and that person's on-stage persona, instead of trying your hardest to be original, make sure you also cop their off-stage habits.
In the corporate world, stealing someone's ideas is called "Middle Mangement."
Good night, get home safely, and remember to tip your cows.
Take Me Home
- Currently bored as shit with that thread (read it yourself) I summarize the stealing thread with this: I always want to be told if something I do on-stage is a lift. There is something called "parallel development" where a topic is viewed in a similar light by different people. A bit I wrote the 2nd month I'd been on-stage is pretty similar to one done by Greg Giraldo (no more links for now, look him up) so I dropped it. I will write more. Other than that, and this goes for any situation in life, don't be afraid to protect what is yours, and don't be afraid to be classy in doing so. You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, that's what my gramma used to say. She always had very crunchy honey. (see, writing Hedberg is easy)
That's a joke.
ANYwho, here's a "blog war" of sorts, a thread flaming if you will. Two guys get into it with each other, and it's really really dumb. Not only do they keep saying "Go away" or "I win," THEY KEEP RETURNING TO THE POST. Insecurity is that voice that tells you to check, one more time, to make sure the door is locked. It's a minor form of insanity, and it's a great lesson in growing up.
Stand back and watch them windmill at each other. I'm really embarrassed to say I ever got involved in that shit.
Anywho, I'm off to bed now. I've been writing for over an hour.
The Moral Of The Story Is This:
If you're going to steal someone's act, and that person's on-stage persona, instead of trying your hardest to be original, make sure you also cop their off-stage habits.
In the corporate world, stealing someone's ideas is called "Middle Mangement."
Good night, get home safely, and remember to tip your cows.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Imagine That
REPEAT, for those of you who ain't gone to vote yet:
My friend Ryan Hamilton is a finalist in the Sierra Mist "Next Great Comic" contest, and after listening to the other dudes, he's got a really great chance at winning. Please check out that site and vote for Ryan. I entered that contest, and didn't make it to the finals. I am really freaking happy that Ryan did. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, myself included.
ALSO, imagine this:
You have been hired to write a tell-all under a fictional name. The story you tell will be close to real life, but you get to embellish it here and there. So you mine the core hell of your daily existence, even if it's small, and deliver some work that weakens some people's knees. They read it and say "You dated someone who called you THAT?" or "You had a boss who wanted to do what?"
Now imagine that either of those people steps forward to sue you for slandering them. Not only did they out themselves as the a-pipes in question, you never mentioned their names so they can't really lay claim to anything you've earned. Why can't they just be happy to be famous and leave you out of it?
I've had a wicked-sweet stomach flu for a good 29 hours now. I'm holding on to food longer, so by this weekend I should be able to leave the house for more than 45 minutes with the confidence that I won't need to be within shouting distance of a restroom.
The more you advance at anything in life, the more you will be accosted by people who are trying to cut you down. That is their jealousy, envy, and ugly green hat to wear. Keep walking. Don't miss your appointment getting into a shouting match with somebody who only knows how to shout. You got a life to live. Now go be the best ClownHooker this town's ever seen.
I am outta here.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
My friend Ryan Hamilton is a finalist in the Sierra Mist "Next Great Comic" contest, and after listening to the other dudes, he's got a really great chance at winning. Please check out that site and vote for Ryan. I entered that contest, and didn't make it to the finals. I am really freaking happy that Ryan did. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, myself included.
ALSO, imagine this:
You have been hired to write a tell-all under a fictional name. The story you tell will be close to real life, but you get to embellish it here and there. So you mine the core hell of your daily existence, even if it's small, and deliver some work that weakens some people's knees. They read it and say "You dated someone who called you THAT?" or "You had a boss who wanted to do what?"
Now imagine that either of those people steps forward to sue you for slandering them. Not only did they out themselves as the a-pipes in question, you never mentioned their names so they can't really lay claim to anything you've earned. Why can't they just be happy to be famous and leave you out of it?
I've had a wicked-sweet stomach flu for a good 29 hours now. I'm holding on to food longer, so by this weekend I should be able to leave the house for more than 45 minutes with the confidence that I won't need to be within shouting distance of a restroom.
The more you advance at anything in life, the more you will be accosted by people who are trying to cut you down. That is their jealousy, envy, and ugly green hat to wear. Keep walking. Don't miss your appointment getting into a shouting match with somebody who only knows how to shout. You got a life to live. Now go be the best ClownHooker this town's ever seen.
I am outta here.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, March 28, 2005
Because It Matters To Some
Wow, we finally got past Easter! I always go so crazy with the shopping and the parties. Lots of my friends are way into Easter, the whole dressing up and traditional feast and what-not. You probably have no idea what a pain it is to coordinate a re-creation of The Last Supper, costumes and all, but the majesty is something else. Some of the people to Dan "Jesus '05" Crandall's left got snarky when I missed a line. Say what you will, Geoff The Baptist asks for little, but if I want unleavened bread, Stacey "Iscariot," I will fuggin' ask for it. Biznatchalacka!
Saturday night was a fun evening out. Killorn O'Neill, Tony "Man Handy" Moser, Queen Alicia, and The Geoff Lott Experiment all tripped Cap Hill-ward to catch Tony opening for Doug Stanhope. It was a disjointed affair, but overall, an entertaining evening. We arrived 45 minutes prior to the doors opening. The normal conversations started up, namely, the problem with the Homeless in Seattle. Not the Homeless Problem (i.e. we can see them), but the reasons that people become and remain homeless. Is it lethargy? Apathy? Scurvy? Perhaps they aren't taking advantage of the many programs designed to help people without homes rectify their situations. The flip side is that if every homeless person DID, there wouldn't be enough room, nor caseworkers, since the business of helping people who need it pays turds, unless you're a doctor. And no, insurance companies don't help people.
So the crowd files in and one dickwad is wearing sunglasses. Saturday night it was raining that sideways, sidewalk-clearing, eye-poking rain. But he's "in costume" to party. At the bar he ordered a "really tall, uh.... dude... Red Bull-Vodka." The bartender held up a small rocks glass and said "this is as tall as we go here." Shades McBallhair says "Yeah, I'll take three." Perhaps you're seeing the kind of crowd that was on-hand. Yes, there was at least one guy with a bandanna, West Coast Choppers jacket, and goatee yelling "Git 'er Done!", which continues to cement it's place in the entertainment world as the new "FREEBIRD!" I think if anybody yells it, as a comic, you HAVE to do 3 street jokes everyone's heard as punishment.
After the show I talked with Doug for a second. I MC'ed a show for him two years back at the Underground, and he was very cool to me. That was the consensus opinion, how laid back and cool Doug was the other night. Two years ago I watched a drunken Doug nail down 75 minutes of hysterical comedy at that show. The other night he wasn't drinking much, turning away shots and espousing the fact that he needs to give his body a rest after 20 years of debauchery. He did a pretty masterful job of wrangling the crowd, which had gotten sauced and rowdy. As he told one beer-farting frat hump in the first row "You have to be a special kind of douchebag to be that f*cked up at 8:20 on a Saturday night." I spend a lot of time watching comics for different reasons. I'm still learning a few things. I learned a lot about how just remaining calm and calling the situation for what it is will eventually sink in with people. I don't think many of the people knew that Doug had been a comic long before The Man Show or the Wild Girls thingy started. 80% of the crowd was there to see what was gonna go down, the others just kept looking around for an appearance by Joe Rogan or a tit, but I repeat myself. I wonder if people pull that shit at Henry Rollins' spoken-word shows. Once they went with Doug, it was easy as pie.
Except for that one really dumb, attention-needing whore-ority sister who kept yelling "EEEEW" when the words "Rubber F*ck My Face" were said. It really astounded me. That many guys who own a volume of "Girls Gone Wild" and not ONE frigging Roofie? BULL'S SHIT! He's trying to close up, quiet her down.
In summation, Seattle clubs seem to be in limbo about promoting comedy as The Hippest Of Entertainment, and when you hear the words "Terry Schiavo," be caller 10 to win tickets to the Pope's funeral.
Open Mic tonight. I pray that I can get up early. Judge not, lest ye be funny and unscripted.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Saturday night was a fun evening out. Killorn O'Neill, Tony "Man Handy" Moser, Queen Alicia, and The Geoff Lott Experiment all tripped Cap Hill-ward to catch Tony opening for Doug Stanhope. It was a disjointed affair, but overall, an entertaining evening. We arrived 45 minutes prior to the doors opening. The normal conversations started up, namely, the problem with the Homeless in Seattle. Not the Homeless Problem (i.e. we can see them), but the reasons that people become and remain homeless. Is it lethargy? Apathy? Scurvy? Perhaps they aren't taking advantage of the many programs designed to help people without homes rectify their situations. The flip side is that if every homeless person DID, there wouldn't be enough room, nor caseworkers, since the business of helping people who need it pays turds, unless you're a doctor. And no, insurance companies don't help people.
So the crowd files in and one dickwad is wearing sunglasses. Saturday night it was raining that sideways, sidewalk-clearing, eye-poking rain. But he's "in costume" to party. At the bar he ordered a "really tall, uh.... dude... Red Bull-Vodka." The bartender held up a small rocks glass and said "this is as tall as we go here." Shades McBallhair says "Yeah, I'll take three." Perhaps you're seeing the kind of crowd that was on-hand. Yes, there was at least one guy with a bandanna, West Coast Choppers jacket, and goatee yelling "Git 'er Done!", which continues to cement it's place in the entertainment world as the new "FREEBIRD!" I think if anybody yells it, as a comic, you HAVE to do 3 street jokes everyone's heard as punishment.
After the show I talked with Doug for a second. I MC'ed a show for him two years back at the Underground, and he was very cool to me. That was the consensus opinion, how laid back and cool Doug was the other night. Two years ago I watched a drunken Doug nail down 75 minutes of hysterical comedy at that show. The other night he wasn't drinking much, turning away shots and espousing the fact that he needs to give his body a rest after 20 years of debauchery. He did a pretty masterful job of wrangling the crowd, which had gotten sauced and rowdy. As he told one beer-farting frat hump in the first row "You have to be a special kind of douchebag to be that f*cked up at 8:20 on a Saturday night." I spend a lot of time watching comics for different reasons. I'm still learning a few things. I learned a lot about how just remaining calm and calling the situation for what it is will eventually sink in with people. I don't think many of the people knew that Doug had been a comic long before The Man Show or the Wild Girls thingy started. 80% of the crowd was there to see what was gonna go down, the others just kept looking around for an appearance by Joe Rogan or a tit, but I repeat myself. I wonder if people pull that shit at Henry Rollins' spoken-word shows. Once they went with Doug, it was easy as pie.
Except for that one really dumb, attention-needing whore-ority sister who kept yelling "EEEEW" when the words "Rubber F*ck My Face" were said. It really astounded me. That many guys who own a volume of "Girls Gone Wild" and not ONE frigging Roofie? BULL'S SHIT! He's trying to close up, quiet her down.
In summation, Seattle clubs seem to be in limbo about promoting comedy as The Hippest Of Entertainment, and when you hear the words "Terry Schiavo," be caller 10 to win tickets to the Pope's funeral.
Open Mic tonight. I pray that I can get up early. Judge not, lest ye be funny and unscripted.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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