Hey, how's it going?
Cool.
First off, to my friends who posted in the previous blog about not liking jazz, it's okay that you're not into it. So far, out of a million records that Killorn has posted as being the "best CD to makeout on the toilet while listening to over PBRs," the only one I liked was Coheed & Cambria. That rocked. Space rock for those who can't shake Motley Crue. Brousseau on the other hand, well he got me into Millencollin and Alkaline Trio, so he's good with me. Killorn likes a lot of music, as long as it's big. She's got only the one ear, ya know. The other's packed with boogs and most of a beer.
Jazz is about not getting in the way of the music, like good comedy: Don't let your mouth get in the way of the funny, let it flow.
Classical, well, I can't convince you one way or the other. Just imagine writing music for 15 instruments while subsisting on nothing but snuff, unleavened bread, and syphillis. Is it "The Firebird" or "Sticky Fingers?" I DON'T KNOW! P. Greyy, chime in, please.
It's not like I was giving props to those fruits from the Baroque. Chill.
I went to the doctor yesterday for some tests, and things are looking okay. My doctor was a little concerned, however. I've been having some trailing spots in my vision, like I look to the left, mine eyes affix to a spot, and a split-second later a ghost-image crosses my vision. It's dark gray, and concerns me a little, because it's chasing a PacMan-image with no magic pill to eat! So easy! No, really, my doctor is wondering what's up, so I have to go back in and get some tests done today. Then I have to hight-tail it outta town. I'll tell you more about that another time.
I'm looking forward to this weekend. Last weekend was amazing. My girlfriend and I took a trip over to Langley on Whidbey Island, stayed at The Inn, which was kickass, and just chilled out. It gave me perspective, again. When on the road doing comedy, at this level, one must stay in smaller places like the Budget Inn, or Crammit Inn, or the EyeHerpes Inn Your Eyes Inn. So when I have hit a couple of those places, I can fully appreciate the luxury of a mini-bar (best $2.50 can of Diet Coke I ever did have), a giant shower with no door, and watching gray whales play in the Sound while lounging in the jacuzzi tub, with only the bottom-half of the bottle of wine to go.
This weekend I'll be comedying in Estacada, OR and Oregon City, OR (slogan: "Come Enjoy Our Creativity!") with the phenomenal Dwight Slade. It's my first time working with Slade, who is as good a comic as is out there. Plus I get to see my friend Russ (slogan: "Seriously man, crack a window."), and Tracy Tuffs (slogan: "Mmhmm. YEAH YEAH YEAH YEEEAAAH!") at Harvey's Comedy Cloob. I'm looking forward to doing some new material and revisiting some old bits I have not done in a long time. I'll be audio taping, and will post some clips in the next week or so. New bits: Steroids For Oil, Where Are The Heroes?, and America: The Greatest Idea In The World.
So this wasn't very entertaining, but I have to go get an oil-change, and call in sick to work, cough-cough. My boss' are - get this - "passionate about providing (root cause analysis) for the director level and up." You just heard the sound of my ass not caring.
Have a fun sandwich and wash it down with a GetSomeActionSmoothie.
Laters,
LOTT
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 15, 2005
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Wed Nes Day
AIn't got much time nor mind for blogging. So here are some random thoughts.
My new addiction is "Band Of Brothers." I found this the other night while watching The History Channel. Actually, I was F'ing around and hoping to find something that didn't retard my thought patterns. This actually was inspiring. Adrenaline rush, galvanizing scenes, like "Saving Private Ryan" with a backstory.
I thought of the phrase "Bi-furious" the other week and it makes me laugh every time it comes to mind. Instead of wondering open-mindedly about a dalliance, perhaps it reflects a person's frustration with not having the option.
I'm going to have to give it up to Comcast cable for their late night programming run. Spread out over Cartoon Network, the History Channel, and TNT, I could very well be F'ed for sleep for a while. IT starts at 10pm with Band of Brothers. That's one for 2 hours. 12am kicks off AquaTeen Hunger Force (thankfully they've been repeats and I have the first 3 seasons on DVD. Next up is "Mail Call" with R. Lee Ermey, recounting the advancements of military weaponry (note: America is fuggin' LOADED with sweet firearms). Then, at 1pm we've got a hotshot of "The X-Files" on TNT. That's unhealthy.
The Governor of Wisconsin has rejected a bill that would allow the hunting of feral cats. This proves that government works, and that when you want something done, it's best done quickly, quietly, and with a submachine gun or flame-thrower from the window of a moving car. Me-ouch.
Even with all the empirical evidence stating the negative, men are still wearing pony tails, Birkenstocks, and products containing "Body Spray" in the name. Thus proving that artsy, outdoorsy guys enjoy a good roofie/fondle combo as much as their pot dealer.
No Blood For Oil! Not for trade, not as a substitute in my Vinaigrette. Keep your laws off my body! And into my car! SMILEY
In waiting for the Rapture, I have been run-over by a meth addict on a Harley, shot with a BB-gun, shot with a paintball gun, and endured 6 years and 6 months of no upward mobility in my current place of employment. There has to be a Heaven. If this is it, I am going to be really pissed, and even more pissed for not acting upon it.
Rap music is the ButtRock of the New Millenium. Repetitive themes, look-alikes, sound-alikes. Dr. Dre is the GodFather of good hip-hop. The Chronic is the Old Testament. Anything by Common or Talib Kweli is damn near like listening to a Message. It's not Rap. It's much more. For the most part, I don't listen to rap. I'm getting more into Classical Music and Jazz. That's some stunning stuff when you think of it. Arranging music for 17 instruments to be played in unison for hours on-end? And then Jazz, opening your mind and flowing through it. There's something to be learned from the soul of music that Dr. Phil will eventually put a flavor to and sell as a breakfast drink.
Dr. Phil is a walking a-pipe.
When I see somebody who is particular about having things a specifc and certain way or their very existence will collapse in on itself before lunch... I can't help but sneeze on their door handle or leave one little green "~" on a whiteboard after erasing it.
I am hoping the misguided angst in the Seattle Comedy Scene is over. In an art form where the word "hack" is thrown around like cigarette smoke at an open mic, nothing is more Hack than bitching about the act of some guy who has no affect on your career.
But it can be fun, so... ya do what ya do.
Well, it's time again for ATHF. Laters.
=========================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
My new addiction is "Band Of Brothers." I found this the other night while watching The History Channel. Actually, I was F'ing around and hoping to find something that didn't retard my thought patterns. This actually was inspiring. Adrenaline rush, galvanizing scenes, like "Saving Private Ryan" with a backstory.
I thought of the phrase "Bi-furious" the other week and it makes me laugh every time it comes to mind. Instead of wondering open-mindedly about a dalliance, perhaps it reflects a person's frustration with not having the option.
I'm going to have to give it up to Comcast cable for their late night programming run. Spread out over Cartoon Network, the History Channel, and TNT, I could very well be F'ed for sleep for a while. IT starts at 10pm with Band of Brothers. That's one for 2 hours. 12am kicks off AquaTeen Hunger Force (thankfully they've been repeats and I have the first 3 seasons on DVD. Next up is "Mail Call" with R. Lee Ermey, recounting the advancements of military weaponry (note: America is fuggin' LOADED with sweet firearms). Then, at 1pm we've got a hotshot of "The X-Files" on TNT. That's unhealthy.
The Governor of Wisconsin has rejected a bill that would allow the hunting of feral cats. This proves that government works, and that when you want something done, it's best done quickly, quietly, and with a submachine gun or flame-thrower from the window of a moving car. Me-ouch.
Even with all the empirical evidence stating the negative, men are still wearing pony tails, Birkenstocks, and products containing "Body Spray" in the name. Thus proving that artsy, outdoorsy guys enjoy a good roofie/fondle combo as much as their pot dealer.
No Blood For Oil! Not for trade, not as a substitute in my Vinaigrette. Keep your laws off my body! And into my car! SMILEY
In waiting for the Rapture, I have been run-over by a meth addict on a Harley, shot with a BB-gun, shot with a paintball gun, and endured 6 years and 6 months of no upward mobility in my current place of employment. There has to be a Heaven. If this is it, I am going to be really pissed, and even more pissed for not acting upon it.
Rap music is the ButtRock of the New Millenium. Repetitive themes, look-alikes, sound-alikes. Dr. Dre is the GodFather of good hip-hop. The Chronic is the Old Testament. Anything by Common or Talib Kweli is damn near like listening to a Message. It's not Rap. It's much more. For the most part, I don't listen to rap. I'm getting more into Classical Music and Jazz. That's some stunning stuff when you think of it. Arranging music for 17 instruments to be played in unison for hours on-end? And then Jazz, opening your mind and flowing through it. There's something to be learned from the soul of music that Dr. Phil will eventually put a flavor to and sell as a breakfast drink.
Dr. Phil is a walking a-pipe.
When I see somebody who is particular about having things a specifc and certain way or their very existence will collapse in on itself before lunch... I can't help but sneeze on their door handle or leave one little green "~" on a whiteboard after erasing it.
I am hoping the misguided angst in the Seattle Comedy Scene is over. In an art form where the word "hack" is thrown around like cigarette smoke at an open mic, nothing is more Hack than bitching about the act of some guy who has no affect on your career.
But it can be fun, so... ya do what ya do.
Well, it's time again for ATHF. Laters.
=========================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, April 11, 2005
Neighbor in Building E,
No, no, you go back to sleep. That is, if you ever startled awake at the sound of your car alarm.
Ever.
It sounds like a good one. It's one of those fancy 6-sounders, with the full spectrum of schizophrenia-inducing alarms. The "WOOP," the "EEE-AAAH," the siren, the "AYNK, AYNK," and then, my favorite, the "Sounds like a brick through the passenger's window." That was my customization.
I know you are protecting your investment in the 1995-9 BMW M3. As well you should. Apparently this is the kind of apartment complex where a car must be alarmed so that you know when somebody drives near it or happens to lean too far over their balcony railing to find out what in holy Iowa is making so much noise. Good thing you've got it tuned to go off at the slightest rumble. Some day we can use it to detect a forthcoming earthquake... or even a fart!
How is it that your alarm wakes me up, yet rocks you to slumber as though cradled moistly in your mother's gin-swirling womb? Now I know which car is surely unattended-to. Never once have I seen you rocket from the bedroom, which I can only imagine holds the finest black, shiny dresser with gold hardware that can be purchased with weed money by a now-imprisoned older brother, and like, major stacks of Maxim.
Many times in my life, I drop into slumber with an unanswered question. If the solution has not appeared in my dreams, I know I must go forth and find that answer on my own. And from that question sprung forth a mighty answer, which came to me not in a dream, but as I squatted on the hood of your car, Kenmore Gazette in hand. Yes, your car will indeed register a deuce dropped from greater than 24-inches.
My, that's some fine machinery.
========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
No, no, you go back to sleep. That is, if you ever startled awake at the sound of your car alarm.
Ever.
It sounds like a good one. It's one of those fancy 6-sounders, with the full spectrum of schizophrenia-inducing alarms. The "WOOP," the "EEE-AAAH," the siren, the "AYNK, AYNK," and then, my favorite, the "Sounds like a brick through the passenger's window." That was my customization.
I know you are protecting your investment in the 1995-9 BMW M3. As well you should. Apparently this is the kind of apartment complex where a car must be alarmed so that you know when somebody drives near it or happens to lean too far over their balcony railing to find out what in holy Iowa is making so much noise. Good thing you've got it tuned to go off at the slightest rumble. Some day we can use it to detect a forthcoming earthquake... or even a fart!
How is it that your alarm wakes me up, yet rocks you to slumber as though cradled moistly in your mother's gin-swirling womb? Now I know which car is surely unattended-to. Never once have I seen you rocket from the bedroom, which I can only imagine holds the finest black, shiny dresser with gold hardware that can be purchased with weed money by a now-imprisoned older brother, and like, major stacks of Maxim.
Many times in my life, I drop into slumber with an unanswered question. If the solution has not appeared in my dreams, I know I must go forth and find that answer on my own. And from that question sprung forth a mighty answer, which came to me not in a dream, but as I squatted on the hood of your car, Kenmore Gazette in hand. Yes, your car will indeed register a deuce dropped from greater than 24-inches.
My, that's some fine machinery.
========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
That's Friggin' Ludacris, Word?
Yesterday I accidentally left the TV on MTV for .3 seconds and a Ludacris video came on. It was #1 in some sort of countdown, likely the "Now That's What White Kids Are Listening To!" top-10. Ludacris, for those who are lucky enough to not know, is a rapper, an "MC" for those in tha know of the lingo. More on Ludacris when he writes his own blog.
As we know, rappers sing songs of stealing and jackin' and various crimin' and rhymin', when they're not layin' down lyrics of candyshopping, drugs, cars, platinum, and whatever the cheese "crunk" is. It sounds like a huge moneymaker to me. Put the word "CRUNK" on any kind of jersey, pair it with a backwards baseball cap, and y'all're ready to walk the meanest food court in the mizzall.
So while I embrace my decidedly uncrunkalicious demeanor for something for more sardonic yet lovingly honest, I hear the music from the catch-phrase heavy late-90's phenomenon "Austing Powers." Just a few strains, the "Doot-deet-deet-doot-doot," the horns/organ combo that was all over every local news magazine show in 1999 whenever they dressed in '60s-mod gear to hip up a story about a local kid who had a Biblical case of the trots. I didn't even turn around to see the screen... then I heard Ludacris start-to-rappin'.
Not only has this "artist" run out of colors on his pallette, he's started chipping off of other artist's work from 6+ years ago. In stand-up, we call that "needing to update your references." Andthe guy is a multi-millionaire. To that I say, Great Job, Luda. I'm ready to make that kind of money, too. I'm open to the idea of creating for wealth by creating, especially if I don't have to work that hard at it. I would like to get her done.
Hey.... I think I'm on to something here...
Y'ever think that Religion is actually a fence, and not a conduit, between the human spirit and God, the Creative Energy of the Universe? As if it started as a way to connect, but became, instead, a way to create wealth for a few under the guise of poverty and celibacy? I guess it's all in what you believe, how you practice, your ability to deny guilt, and loving the dichotomous nature of your perfect spiritual being existing within a human lifeform.
Thank you, I'll be here all week, enjoy the airline food.
Be good to yourselves and your elves.
=============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
As we know, rappers sing songs of stealing and jackin' and various crimin' and rhymin', when they're not layin' down lyrics of candyshopping, drugs, cars, platinum, and whatever the cheese "crunk" is. It sounds like a huge moneymaker to me. Put the word "CRUNK" on any kind of jersey, pair it with a backwards baseball cap, and y'all're ready to walk the meanest food court in the mizzall.
So while I embrace my decidedly uncrunkalicious demeanor for something for more sardonic yet lovingly honest, I hear the music from the catch-phrase heavy late-90's phenomenon "Austing Powers." Just a few strains, the "Doot-deet-deet-doot-doot," the horns/organ combo that was all over every local news magazine show in 1999 whenever they dressed in '60s-mod gear to hip up a story about a local kid who had a Biblical case of the trots. I didn't even turn around to see the screen... then I heard Ludacris start-to-rappin'.
Not only has this "artist" run out of colors on his pallette, he's started chipping off of other artist's work from 6+ years ago. In stand-up, we call that "needing to update your references." Andthe guy is a multi-millionaire. To that I say, Great Job, Luda. I'm ready to make that kind of money, too. I'm open to the idea of creating for wealth by creating, especially if I don't have to work that hard at it. I would like to get her done.
Hey.... I think I'm on to something here...
Y'ever think that Religion is actually a fence, and not a conduit, between the human spirit and God, the Creative Energy of the Universe? As if it started as a way to connect, but became, instead, a way to create wealth for a few under the guise of poverty and celibacy? I guess it's all in what you believe, how you practice, your ability to deny guilt, and loving the dichotomous nature of your perfect spiritual being existing within a human lifeform.
Thank you, I'll be here all week, enjoy the airline food.
Be good to yourselves and your elves.
=============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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