For The Men, Mostly

I just read this list on the Mens Health website, that website that makes looking at a man's muscular, lean body as hetero as possible outside of a mixed martial arts match.

I think this list sums up a lot about what it is to grow into a Man. Perhaps, many guys move seamlessly into these roles, but I have made conscious decisions to do these things, to grow up and out of my ways and look for more than the next high or the next date. Lordy, it's tough sometimes, but that's the Growth. The Peaking Of Life, the road to beauty is ugly, know what I'm saying? It has served me greatly, to go that route.

5 Fights You Can't (and Shouldn't) Avoid
By Mike Zimmerman

YOUR SURRENDER Growing up, getting married, and starting a family and a career ends in tragedy for men. We die. At least, the stuff that makes us interesting to ourselves does. Your many bosses (read: parents, wives, in-laws, the senior VP) are trying to mold you into a Gumby who bends to their will. They deserve your best effort, but not your capitulation. You a dude? Be a dude. Screw 'em (after your chores are done).

YOUR PROMOTION That sighing thing you do around your boss on payday is, well, pussy. Your boss hired a bulldog, and a bulldog will force his hand. Oh, and if your new package doesn't include equity, invest in yourself: Start your own company.

YOUR PARENTAL AUTHORITY Are you the "cool" dad? Dumb ass. You've set yourself up for this problem, and, yeah, it will hurt you more than it hurts the kid when you go ahead and fix what's wrong. You must now put your foot down, and, yeah, in the short term, junior or juniette will see only the jackboot that houses it. You're being a good parent by disciplining them. Let 'em hate you for a while.

YOUR FINANCIAL SANITY AS A COUPLE You must state your case to her about cash. Just realize some financial facts about women: First, a haircut (with highlights) runs three figures. Second, it happens every 6 weeks. And third, if you accept this and budget for it, it will no longer burn an acid hole in your stomach so big that half-chewed hunks of pot roast drop to your scrotum.

YOUR CAUSE Most unavoidable fights, like the ones you're reading about here, are selfish fights. But there comes a time in a guy's life when he steps up for something he believes in, though it was never his fight alone. And that's the point. A man makes it his fight.

=0=0=0=0=0=
more to come...

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Welcome Riley Ann Hennessey!

SHE IS HERE!

Riley Ann Hennessey, the daughter of Katie (Lott) Hennessey and Brian Studforth Hennessey arrived December 19th at 10:53pm.

At 19-inches and 7lbs 10oz, blue-eyed, Riley is healthy, squeaky, pink, and happy. From what I can tell, of course I don't really speak "newborn." Last night I was holding her and rubbing her tum-tum, as she was swaddled by her daddy just a few minutes before. Brian is a really good dad, I had no doubt he'd be such.

But last night while she lay in my arms, she started fussin' a bit, ssqueeeealin', a little squawk, then breeeee!, she passed the bubble and immediately quieted down. Yep, we related!

Gramma Lott (Pam) is just eatin' her up. Can't get enough of her. She had plenty of time to gear up with Katie's pups over the past year, so she was beyond ready for Riley. It's very exciting, and this baby's gettin' a lot of love and attention. Must be nice.

There is a lot more to share here, but I'll go to it another time.

She's a beautiful little creation, and I took a big step toward figuring out why people get together and adopt one of their own. So precious!

So here she is, little Grandchild Hennessey/Lott #1... RILEY ANN!



=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

You Can't Write This Stuff

Reality Television.
The spontaneous programs that are made up of people who act how they normally act, whenever they audition for a TV show and then get drunk and half-naked in front of strangers and 3 roaming cameras.

The Writer's Guild is still on strike, aiming for residual payments on digital media. Streaming,
on-line, on-demand, etc. What we watch was acted, directed, produced, and started as words in the air, on a page, written. As media outlets advance with technology, so does the ability to get paid through those

And thus, the Reality Show has taken over. Game shows. Ever'body-in-one-house-and-drunk shows. Voted-off shows. Design it. Cook it. Make it fall in love with you. But don't think about backstory or character development or story arc; just get drunk and roll tape.

The best part of all this is that Reality TV, self-made media, and other attention-whores putting themselves out there have turned the Klieg lights & cell phone cameras directly upon themselves. And guess what?

Nobody cares. People have given us a glimpse into their lives, and those lives we thought were so sexy and provacative are reeeeeeeeeeeeeally... truly... utterly...
BORING.

So anyway, if you watch a lot of Reality TV, you aren't reading this blog. You're too busy with the new color-it-yourself menu.

I hope this writer strike gets over soon. Otherwise, I'll be forced to talk to people again.



Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Why Do People Keep Calling To Ask If I'm Okay?

If it's because of the news story about the guy chugging a liter of vodka at the airport, I may be very upset.

Also, since people keep asking, I want to mention this about "the move:"

Please just pray, wish, snap, nose-wiggle, or faery-dust us in a positive manner.
Alicia and I are of the same thought that everything has a finite amount of energy, and talk-talk-talking about it over and over saps energy, from anything, really. So we'd really rather not talk about it too much.

Most of you have been verrrry positive, and that's really great of you, THANK YOU!

But for those naysayers and poo-poo'ers out there, hey, it's not your life. You do what you like. I'd rather try and try and try and try in a big world than eat misery every morning in a small one. Next time, skip the cereal and choose a good, stiff drink. Or a bullet.
Make YOUR decisions the good ones.

Have a GREAT Friday!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Confessions

1) I love frosting.

Oh sweet, creamy lord. I feel so free. I can't tell if these are tears of joy or tears of missing frosting. Like cake frosting. Not "icing." Not sweetened whipped cream and a little vanilla extract.

Butter. Powdered sugar.
Maybe some cream cheese, or "albino fudge" as I ask for it at the store.
A bit of vanilla?
Cocoa powder.
A little cream, maybe some milk.

Graham crackers. And a spoon. Maybe neither.

I love it. I don't go crazy on it anymore, but only because I have mirrors and a family history of grand delusions. It's not healthy.

But this time of year, I cry. I cry for the abuse, the misuse of frosting.
The recent cupcake boom of the past 2 years has helped bring frosting back to the forefront. The frosting, I eat it last.

And some heartless people who yell at animals are using frosting as an apology for their shoddy work underneath, this time of year. The generalized letter of boring family recap that nobody cares for, under frosting. Fuck your stale cakes, Accounts Payable. Just leave the frosting bucket with the lid off and some spoons next to it and let us do as we like.

Stop mis-using frosting. The world's in bad enough shape as it is. Carson Daly has a career. Enough said.

Stop it you guys. Seriously.

I love frosting.
There. YOU deal with it.
=0=0=0=0=

2) Got a cat last week. It adores me.

I'm not a cat-person. I'm more of a "guy." But this cat, about 2.5 months old, loves G-Unit here. Will fall asleep in my lap within a minute. Purrs only when I pet her. Will go into her litter box and "show off" with a display that can only be described as "1/8th her bodyweight." She has no traction on the Pergo, and no recollection of her lack of grip while negotiating a turn into the office.

=0=0=0=0=0=0=

3) I thoroughly enjoyed myself at the Chop Suey- LaffHole show last night. That was a great crowd, and the interactive-ness of the standing bar patrons just adds to the rock show vibe. KUDOS to Kevin, Emmett, Scott, Dan, and all the others involved in that movement. They love comedy, they created an environment for comedy (Not just stand-up), and it's flourishing. Sweet-ass.

Andy Peters, I say... HUZZAH, sir, for calling that poseur emo-hipster buttcrease on his tattoo shenanigans. He's set up to do nothing but play Guitar Hero and power-wallow at Bauhaus. Next time, we'll kick his ass.

Also, here's how I envision a rehearsal of the band "That'll Do Robot, That'll Do" would go:
Dude's on the couch, face to the cushions, arms overhead. Wearing a maroon and blue-striped sweater, a size too-small, a.k.a. a "hipster Large."
-- Another dude enters. He sees couch-sleeper and another guy in a papasan chair holding a copy of "Figurine Monthly" in his hands, moving his lips while he reads.

FIRST GUY
(to guy on couch)
Hey. Dude. Wake up. (kick)
Come on, we have to practice for the
show tonight. Wake up, man. (nudge)

(to guy in chair)
No, it's cool, leave the gorilla mask on.
Okay, you shotgun this bottle of Vick's 44 and then
swan-dive onto the credenza while holding this ukelele.

I'm going to plug this keyboard into the wall,
stand in this pool of my collected urine, and
launch myself down the stairs.

(to guy on couch)
You. Hit the record button when my ballet slipper
comes off. Do NOT screw this up, guys. I did not
have my parents put me through art school to sound
like I know what I'm doing.

Okay, on the 2 & the 4, here we go...

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

No News Is Great News

The past 10 days in Washington has shown some bad Winter weather, from the wind and rain, to the flooding and snow, to cold. Very, very cold. The driving around here got worse, if you had to drive, which most folks didn't, but wanted to see how fast they could ditch their foreign sedan anyway.

Tonight on KING-5 News was a recap of the major flooding in the Puget Sound area. Mostly just pictures and stories of the people most-affected by the flooding, living in some of the more-rural areas of the state, often in low-income demographics and zip codes.

I did not watch the entirety of it. I was out doing something I love for a Toys For Tots benefit show. I caught the last 10 minutes of the "news feature" to see what was affecting my neighbors. And I was pretty much laughing the entire time.

Not at the terror or sadness of losing their home and much of their lives in a flood.
Not at the lost money and work time and possessions washed away.

But at the "seriousness" of the story being played up like the newcasters actually cared, and like showing an hour-long program was going to actually help the situations and people in need.

What they need is 10 minutes, tops, to show the devastation.
Then they should show a website and a phone number of an organization that can actually help those folks, instead of the canary face of one local newscastress, or the mustachioed, vestigial weathermen we are inundated with.

The overdevelopment of our land in Washington, which is NOT "organic," nor "green," nor "progressive" as many folks would like to think they/we/this are/is/be... that clearcutting to build condos and zero-lot-line homes all over the place is great for the economy, bad for the housing market, and devastating for the environment. Way to go guys. Way to think with your common sense.

The news folks don't tell about that much. Not when 7 housing companies are buying commercial time. Turn it off. Turn it all off.

Then you can send some money or goods to those folks, to show the support you can't do with sandbags, backhoes, shovels, space-heaters, or spare bedrooms. And then pop in your favorite funny movie and get back to your Life.

Or you can, you know, like GO THERE and help them out somehow. Either way, you can just go. The news doesn't want you to do anything but stay glued to the news. Unglue. Change the channel.

TURN IT OFF.
Get on with Life.

Bring me some cookies!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

It's "Just Us" in Justice

I truly wish we could live in a world where we do not need a police service.

But we do.

Because we do not have enough people like Mr. Horn, represented in the article linked here.

Mr. Horn, his mental capacity up for some debate (and the fact that he called Sept. 11 "September the 1st"), took into his own hands the matter of stopping two burglars. They had broken into the neighbor's house next door, and Mr. Horn, calmly and rationally, while on the phone with 9-1-1 (not 9-1) decided to take his shotgun out to make sure somebody paid for the crime.

Now, I'm not saying you should go get a shotgun and sit and wait and watch your neighbor's property when they're gone. Maybe a decent .22 would do the trick for you. Or, EEEESH, get some of those shells that are full of rocksalt, OUCH, right?

But what I'm saying is that in many instances, it is far better to Do and Then Apologize, than to ask for permission when you know you'll be denied. Mr. Horn put himself in a dangerous position. I don't think of him as a hero, nor do I think of him as a criminal. I think of him as the kind of guy who I would like guarding my property if I'm on a 9-day outbounder. And in turn, I will help him bury one large bag per year, no questions asked.

Make up your own mind, decide what you like, but I swear that I would uncork some damage artillery if I awoke to find somebody snipping from my wife's rosemary, UNINVITED.

Shit would get handled, FOR REALS.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Snow Driving: It's How You Use It

The first lowland/suburban snowfall has come to us here in the greater Puget Sound area, covering the hills and side streets with nearly 1/6th of an inch of slushy snow and the screams of adults, freaking out because they have to get from Costco to their 2nd home... in a fully-loaded, full-sized Sport Utility Vehicle... AND THE KIDS ARE KIND OF HUNGRY!!!

ssNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOw!

So yeah, first things first. How to drive in the snow.
1) Leave the liquor store, bags in hand.
2) Make sure you have some mixers and microwave meals at home, you don't want to make too many trips out once you're in and boozin'.
3)
(SSSRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE RECORD-STOPPING NOISE)

Okay, here's the deal...

Last night I had a private party to perform at in a sub-suburban area north of Seattle.

On the way to the gig I passed a number of spun-out, ditched, sideways cars (mostly very expensive sedans and a couple of street-racers). The real beauty of snow-driving, besides whipping monster-ass brodies in the playfield at Darryl Blattfeld Middle School, is that it sets everyone back to ZERO on the Good Driver scale. Those folks who zipped in & out of traffic on a daily basis, tailed others, sped, ignored the use of and ignored using blinkers, and those of us who CAN drive? We all get the reset when the snow's a-fallin'.

With snow, SKILL comes into play. You have to know about momentum, physics, continuity, tracking, and brake-tapping. If you ain't got it, you're gonna end up outside your Acura making that "OH COME OOOONN!!" motion you make when you realize, HA, you're gonna have another baby!

So again, I passed a lot of people who thought they had "skillz" to snow-drive. Nuh-uh. Sorry froots, I have a gig and my empathy for humanity takes a Greyhound seat to craptown when I have to venture among the untrained masses for a gig and a phat payout. I kept repeating to the people ahead of me "Don't look over there, not a concern. Forward, just keep going, NO NO NO BRAKES, NO NEED TO BRAKE, just keep going, you have a FORD... EX-PLO-RER, you need to GOOOOO."

Long story shortened... There were three snowy ways via hills to the venue I was supposed to perform at. All 3 were blocked by large vehicles driven by people who decided to stop and "renegotiate" the attempt on the hill, WHILE STILL ON THE HILL.

Snow Driving comes down to this:
You stop, you stick, you're done.
You speed, you spin-out, you're done.
You slow, you slide, you're done.

Keep your foot in it, pump your brakes, and keep it moving.
I could not get to my gig, nor my check, because of roads blocked by idiots.
ADULT idiots.
LICENSED adult idiots.

I drive a sedan. 4 doors, front-wheel-drive, 1999 SEDAN. There and back, one minor slip, no gig, no paycheck, and the Huskies lost. I hope those cars are still in those ditches, paint-jobs scratched by brambles and barbs and barriers. Idiots.

Oh, and another thing...
Bank of America can kiss my ass.
And when you ask for a number to reach me at, and I give it to you, and you call and leave a message on another number and leave me in the lurch for contacts that don't stick to my eye-lid inners? Yeah, Dr. Golitz's office lady, you're to blame for my not ordering through you anymore. I'll get my hash elsewhere.


=0=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

SICC and Tired

This is the last I can speak of this for a while.
First because I'll be interrupted in a moment for a very sweet reason, by my very understanding wife.
Second because I've talked at length about it already to many folks. I just can't keep rehashing the same old roads just yet.

I've been pleasantly marked by the experience of the Seattle International Comedy Competition (SICC) 2007. I feel it is a fresh memory, a bit painful, a group of muscles that have been broken down so often that they need time to heal. To be replenished (with Gatorade? or with Water?), stretched, massaged, and flexed back into a pliable and useful accumulation of strength and shape.

The past month of my life has been emotionally, physically, and mentally consumed by the SICC. I had not planned on doing it this year. My last trip through was abysmal, taking nearly last in my preliminary week. Oddly enough, there's a tip of the finger to impressions in that blog linked there, something I must have had issue with at the time.

This trip through I told myself if I was gonna do it, I was going to be even-keeled. That helped. The entire time I had one score that I thought was such utter bullcrap I wanted to backhand the judges, and not in a good way. But every other night I just went out and did the best I could and didn't worry about the numbers.

When you stop fretting over numbers, you start being able to enjoy the moments. The SemiFinal week was a lot of fun for me. Starting in Walla Walla on a Tuesday night wasn't so keen for the sleep skej, but we got it done for a bunch of college kids. The week progressed and my scores did as well. The shows got better, bigger, weirder. And I stayed consistent. The material may have moved around a bit, but the pace, the energy, the emotions I carried with me? All baselined. I wanted to just keep going forward.

Sorry, this isn't very funny yet. I'm not sure if it's going to be. I used to write funny stuff all the time. Let me turn this around.

Making the Finals was like getting a really hot friend of yours to go drinking with you. Everyone else sees you with a hottie. It feels good. You're likely to get SOME kind of love out of it. Even if you go home alone, maybe they brush by you and you stop thinking - just for a moment - about how they were born a man.

And I made it there somehow. Talent, luck, other people screaming into the walls instead of brake-tapping. I was coached up, ready, and raring to go.

Every room was a big room. Every crowd was hot. This was a ton of fun. I have no regrets. Wait... nope, none.

5th place.
That's what I take with me. 5th place out of 32. I am no longer emotionally attached to a best-guess numerical value assigned to my Presence, Material, Performance, Rapport, Technique, Flakiness of Crust, Wine Pairing, and Blood A'cohol Level. The muscle has been torn down. And is building back up. I cannot wait to get back on a stage without the mentally-amplified pressure of strangers holding a clipboard, hoping they'll like me more than another guy... why would I want to be compared to another guy? What about just being me? Why can't...

See how that goes? See why that muscle needs a rest?

Pretty soon, I'm gonna have to flex it again.
If I can't get some mutual respect now, I can always get mutual disdain.
But I prefer the former.

My thanks to my Wife, Family, Friends, Ron Reid, Peter Greyy, Pavel Simsa, Alyson Smith, Tony Boswell, Marcus, Key Lewis, Leif Skyving, Andy Peters, Rosalie Gale, Andy Haynes, Ruben, and all the venues that hosted us.

Biggest thanks goes to God for every single moment of my life that created the person that does the comedy I do. It's all becoming more clear.

The next time I want to be judged by drunk strangers in weird rooms I'll go see my family.

Thanks a lot ever'bodday, I'm Geoff Lott!
Good night.

=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

SICC Again; the Comics You Know

I am a finalist in the Seattle International Comedy Competition.
It hit me last Sunday in a deluge of emails, texts, phone calls, but not a SINGLE chunky muffin basket. Nor a tastefully-shot half-nude of Geoff Brousseau. Thank you very little.

I cannot take all the credit for getting to where I am. I have had the help, support, and well wishes of my wife, my family, my friends, and many of my friends who are comics. I have felt only minor tinges of pain throughout all of this. Sometimes just gas. Sometimes emotional. Oft-times the result of seeing Integrity take a rake to the back. You can't control what everyone else does. The best you can do is control your own moments, your own performance, and dumb it down so very deeply that even the most qualified of comedy judges isn't challenged by what you're doing.

But I progress. DI-gress.

Going into this final show tonight at the Comedy Underground Marcus, an impressionist with energy to burn, is in 1st. He is a stage monster. He is a one-man, live-band karaJoke jam, audiences cannot get enough of him, and he's played everywhere you can play in this state.

Close behind is Tony Boswell, an incredible writer and comedian who reminds me of a very good whiskey, a sweet and smoky warmth that doesn't quite burn. But could. It's like watching a Miles Davis solo in comedy form, laughing when the notes trail to something you thought would go one way, and just give you the chills instead. I wish I would have written a lot of the stuff Tony is doing.

Leif Skyving has impressed me nightly since the beginning with great joke-writing, great performances, and fully embracing the entirety of his life for material. He shies from nothing, and makes it all Funny. I would love to work some gigs with Leif, but that's an awful lot of Northern European man-funny for an audience to unzip for.

Key Lewis has taken rooms over with energy, and has commanded stages with coolness. This guy's got so many talents that there's no way to tell what he can do yet. But it's big. To FINAL your first time through this thing is a Feat. And he's married. With 3 kids. And a full time job that one day had him on the road to Portland at 5am, and BACK to the Vashon show on time. Impressive stuff all the way around.

I'm in the mix as well. Placings don't matter right now. Doing the best possible set I can for the last night of the competition is all that matters.

I will summarize my own feelings throughout the entire run of 18 shows over three weeks of the waning month of November 2007. As autumn has turned earnest, my thoughts of comedy, my own and in general, have been injected with respect, drive, and a focus on Doing The Comedy I Want To Be Remembered For.

I can always write more jokes. Better jokes. Better comedy. Bigger Funny.
And I will.

Oh wait, here's that Brousseau picture!


=0=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

SICC 2 Nights!

We have 2 shows left.

The ever-ready, kind of rowdy Bremerton rock-a-thon!

And the FINAL night in Seattle at the Comedy Underground!

I am in 4th place heading into the show tonight. I'm punching away for money at this point. And pride. And hoping beyond hope, perhaps, that at least two judges can see the truth of comedy and figure out that one joke told 5 different ways is still one joke.

But hey, it's putting butts in seats. Tony got robbed.
Again.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Sea SICC

Alright, back to the blog here for ya before I hit the rack for some pre-Thanksgiving Day sleepage. Back from Vashon Island tonight from the show. Didn't do so well. Entirely my fault.

My wife is on the homestretch of a cooking marathon. Sides are all done, just gotta get the bird in the hotbox when we wake up and hope we have enough pizza for everyone.

I'm too tired to go over it all, but I'll give ya this much...

I sucked hind teat on Vashon tonight. F'ed my setlist. F'ed myself a little. This is about not shooting myself in the foot as much as it is about delivery and jokes and originality and presence and rapport. I would go further at this time, but judges of comedy don't read my blog. The judges are a microcosm of an audience we perform for. If you don't know what "microcosm" means, odds are you could be a judge at a comedy competition.

Here's the order for the night's scoring:
5) Geoff Lott (only because there isn't a 6th)
4) Key Lewis
3) Leif Skyving (went first and killed)
2) Tony Boswell (went last and killed)
1) Marcus

Thanksgiving Night we have off.
Friday night at the Kirkland Performance Center.
Saturday night in Bremerton at the Admiral Theatre.
Sunday, the final Finals night, at the Comedy Underground in Seattle.

I want, need, must see you soon.

Count your blessings, be grateful, sleep tight.
Gloves are off.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

SICC Finals #1: WAC'ed Out

We all got through night 1 of the Seattle International Comedy Competition (SICC) last night at the Washington Athletic Club (WAC), in front of 117 white people (WASP), 10 Asian people (AP), and some of the help (MEX).

We are the last 5 of 32 who began this whole thing on Halloween Night in Kirkland.
The points are all that matter this week. As always, placing is about ego. Just gotta go out and do the set and have FUN. Some guys struggle at this time. I was totally in my element. I felt like I was in a club, able to get a pace and rhythm going.

So here were the scores for the first night:
5th = Leif (The Striking Viking) Skyving
T-3 = Tony (The Boss) Boswell & Geoff (Gas) Lott
2 = Marcus (Monster)
1 = Key (Lockdown) Lewis

We were all less than .25 apart, with .02 btwn 2nd & 3rd, and .11 btwn 1st and 3rd.
The response from the audience didn't reflect in all scores, which is my snarky way of saying I felt I had a better set than one judge scored me (quite low compared to other judges).


So that's that, we're underway. Afterwards, in the limo on the way to the W, the event coordinator's twin sisters told us all the story of when they got matching bikini-line tattoos. It was pretty fun. The W also charged me $9.50 for a Jameson on the rocks, so that won't happen again. BUT, much Love to Tad at the bar for his charcuterie. You got good meat, Tad. I almost didn't make it home last night, but eventually I got out of that hot tub, said good night to Barack, Salma, Reese, Mel B., J-Tims, and Tony, and had our driver get me home.

This morning I had Raisin Bran. Tonight we head to Vashon Island, and I'm excited to perform there. Also, I left my bike there last year and I need to go get it.

Tomorrow, for Thanksgiving, there's a special show at Laughs Comedy Spot, which has hosted 2 nights of the SICC. Tomorrow night's show will feature at least a few of the guys from the Finals, and the ever-hilarious Brad Upton.

Time to dance. Peace.



Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

But Where Does The Hate Go?

Just now I got a call from something at 206-683-49##. If you really want it, or they harrass me, I'll post the whole thing here and we'll have a field day.

Not recognizing the #, I answered with "Good evening, this is Geoff."
And I was greeted with...

"Hu-luh?"

I think that was a slack-jawed attempt at a "hello" or possibly a "hola." Maybe a "Helen?"

Then I said, again, "Hello, this is Geoff."

And was greeted with a "Uh blamba da miamo fublabama Mike?" No friggin' clue what else it was there.

So that was likely...

1. A person of foreign nationality with little to no grasp of the English language.
2. A person of undetermined nationality with little to no grasp of the fact that they are having a massive stroke.
3. Doug.
4. A kid making the lamest prank phone call in the world.
5. All of the above.
6. Somebody experiencing severe intoxication from inhaling their own flatulence all day.

Regardless, having had a long and illustrious career of prank phone calls, including the infamous "Hey, uh, I'm pretty sure I left my condoms under your bed. Oh wait, is this Karen's mom?!!?!?", the prank call has been demolished by Caller-ID, Call Tracing, and rising handgun ownership.

Parents? Kids? Education system? Crank Yankers? Somebody must be hated at for this idiocy. I really don't have time for it, either.

I have hate backed up to like March at this point. Maybe I'll just call 'em back and F with 'em from work. Sweet.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

SICC 'em

Last night was the final show of the SemiFinals in Rochester.
Huge room. About 750 people. Flat, like a room you could have bingo, squaredancing, and/or tractor auctions in.

I'm just gonna get to the meat and give details later...

I AM IN THE FINALS OF THE SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL COMEDY COMPETITION, 2007!

That's Marcus, Key Lewis, Leif Skyving, our MC this week - John McClellan, Tony Boswell, and Geoffrey Lott.

I had a couple of great sets, but mostly just steady and consistent and knocking it out from venue to venue. I stayed true to my form, my jokes, and myself. Got rattled once in the 2 weeks, and had way more fun this time around.

I gotta get outta here, because we're going to the Seahawks game and we wanna tailgate.
I'll write more for ya later. Details, dirt, snark, critiques, fashion reports.



Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

SICC'th Sense

Just a quick note for y'all...

I'm hammering my way through the Seattle International Comedy Competition. It's a big deal in the comedy world, in that the last few winners all have been on TV, gone on tour with big acts, and are generally well-respected and $5,000 richer at the end of it all.

First round I just plowed through, I stayed consistent and made the judges wake up and come to me, having good and great sets each time.

This week I've had issues, and I'm trying to put 'em behind me. It's all my own "Stuff" because I won't concern myself with a numerical value placed on my ability and material for stand-up comedy by somebody who just got off a double at the Swifty Lube. It's all blustery and fun and these comics are awesome, and I've learned a lot.

Right now my key point is to chill out. I have to just do my comedy, not worry about all kinds of things I need to run around doing, and get that little niggling voice out of my head. The one that says "If you make it to the Finals, that's another week of driving, work hours missed, time with Alicia just GONE, gas money... and you probably won't win the whole thing."

You know that one? That's the one that is really saying "it's better to just say "good enough" right here and let the others move on."

But it ain't good enough anymore. Not for me. I love this too much. I have too much fun up there to just step off and let somebody else hack their way to a lead. I'm going to go do the stuff I'm known for and let it happen how it's supposed to happen. And play as many mindgames as I can to make the Finals!

More to come as news warrants...
LIVE FUNNY

=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

The Gaul Of Some People

Dealing the past 3 days with some of the client relationship folks in our France office. I say "France" instead of "French" because an office itself cannot be French, unless it's smoking and snooty and blaming others for its misshapen shoulders.

The France office Frenchpeoples, or "Fraunch," were telling a number of their clients to use "product x." Turns out, they were telling them the wrong thing altogether, and wondering why our customers weren't able to use Product X!

They should have told them to "use the code associated with Product X," like using the Key to start the car, instead of the name of the car.
The response back from the contact there in France?
"I wish somebody would have told me earlier.(sad face icon)"

In checking my email, I saw that I told them to use the codes I sent, not the product name. Then I thought to myself, "Golly-jee! Our folks in France sure have a funny way of saying they screwed up and f'ed a bunch of work up and caused a lot of panic for other people because they don't read their messages!"

So all I can really do is shake my handsome head, shrug my brawny shoulders, accept that not everyone has a full catalog of business ettiquette, and turn the other way the next time a marauding gang marches over the border into Alsace.

Foie gras dans vous yeux! Or whatever. Thanks for the onion soup. Grow a manner.

=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

That SICC'ening Feeling

I was in 5th place going into the last night's show, not 4th place. Some math problems in Bellingham made that possible. I didn't care. It honestly did not affect me. Everyone else came up to me saying "DUDE, you're not in 4th! What now? Aren't you pissed off?"
But heck, I knew what I could do in the homebase of the Comedy Underground.

So I went up 3rd, calm and commanding in my head, loving the moment of being there to entertain make people laugh, and I, ahem...
Kicked ass.

Came in 2nd for the night (Andy "Dream Crush" Haynes went undeniably into 1st with a great set), and secured the 3rd of 5 spots for the week. I'll move onto the semifinals next week!

For more in-depth editorializing and somewhat overdramatization of the emotions of the entire contest, go see www.SeattleComedy.net, written by Wisconsin-to-Seattle's very own Peter Greyy.

And see some recent less-fat pics of me there, also. I have to go help my sister move now. I'll write more about other stuff another time.

On to Walla Walla and Whitman College on Tuesday, 11/13!
11/16, I wanna see your hotclogs in Kirkland, at Laughs Comedy Spot, Precious.

Seriously though, love you guys.
=0=0=0=0=0

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

You Gotta Be SICC To Do This

I'm back in the saddle for the Seattle International Comedy Competition, or SICC, the month-long comedy contest that is judged by nearly nobody who knows anything about comedy whatsoever. In other words, judged by your average comedy-goer.

Comedy is whatever's funny. Funny is subjective. Judging is fun! I'll fill in details later, but here's how it's going so far...

1st Night, 10-31-07: I had a great set but F'ed up my closing bit, took 6th place.
Turns out, the scoring for that night kind of f'ed a lot of people. Here's why.
One of the judges scored everyone pretty low until the 5. 4 of those 5 got perfect scores, which is reeeeeeeeeally rare. Those 4 also placed in the top 5 for the night, places 1-4. So their scores were already pretty good, but that one judge's "oh well" attitude screwed the other 12 comedian's scores. Those comics had good sets, very funny stuff, but not THAT MUCH better than everyone else. Just my o-pining, of course.

But that's how it goes in these things. You never know who will be judging or how they'll score it or what they'll think is appropriate for the crowd. A room full of 400 people could love you. 3 of 4 judges could love you. 1 person could tank you. And your score drops, and you're out of the running. That's what the comics put ourselves through for this competition.

But at the end of the week, it's about consistently-good performances, being likeable and accessible, and above all, being Funny.

2nd Night, 11-01-07: I took 4th place. Haven't had a really tight set yet, that 5min35sec amazer that causes the other comics to either decide they're going to up their game or watch me run away. But I had a decent set. Not fantastic. Good. I'd say it was an 89 of 100. I scored the previous night's set about a 91, and had I hit my closer, that would have been 100. But there's another set tonight.

3rd Night, 11-02-07: I go FIRST tonight, a spot that most comics DREAD. I would, too, if I weren't funny. If I stunk. If I hadn't opened the show at the Paramount a year ago and killed. So tonight is a perfect setting. Step up and deliver, Lott.

I'll post more later. Details. Gory and weird. Conversations. For real, yo.

=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

An Anthem For The Nations

Watching the NFL game from London yesterday... the game was, I wasn't watching it from London... they sang the anthems-national of both America and England.

The English National Anthem, or whatever they call it in their language, is "God Save The Queen." This is a great reason to have seceded from all things British, in that they are demanding that God step in to save the Queen above all other people. And the tune it is sung to is the same tune AMERICANS use for "My Country 'tis Of Thee."

My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountainside,
Let freedom ring!

But our national anthem, "The Star Spangled Banner," is about our flag and what it stands for, namely the triumph over an oppressive nation, England. And all others that oppress America, like America, f'r'instance. What a sneaky little thing we did there, singing our big F-You about our ramparts in the white, soggy belly of the beast.

Good thing we beat those British, too.
Otherwise, heck, we'd all be speaking English.

=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

NEW BLOG SOON!

Hey gang...

like I wrote previously, Google's got their heads in their stockprice-rich asses so far they have completely renarded their technology...

therefore, since they can't figure it out over there to get my accounts matched up so I can advertise FOR THEM on this page, I'm going to another blog tool soon.

I'll leave a note here when the other's ready to go.
In the meantime, go take a Tylenol PM and have a glass of pinot noir and enjoy the ride down the slide of relaxation.

By the way earlier tonight I took a cocktail of 2 Lipitor, 1 Xanax, and 1/2 of a Cialis, or as it's called on the streets, "The Hefner." I feel like I'm in the Lost & Found at Victoria's Secret modeling school.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Communication Degree, part 1

TV was on, so I came in and MUTED it for a second.
It had been on most of the day, as I went room to room with laundry or what-not, and the NFL provided a nice soundtrack. I was busy all day. All day.
All F'ing day.

Wife, in the kitchen, had returned from a quick trip East for wine re-con, returned with 3 botts I can't wait to go belly-first into. DE-LISH.

So I MUTE the teev, and say "aaah, quiet, that's nice."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean the quiet, it's nice, it's a nice break to have a little quiet."

"So, what, I'm making all the noise?"

"No, it's just nice to have the quiet. Which now we don't have, ironically."

"I wasn't making all the noise, I was watching a TV show."

"I know (head spinning at the ridiculousness of this)... "

Long story short, I love PERSPECTIVE. It is the litmus, the acid-test of a moment. Feel good and recognize it? Because you've felt bad before, that's why, so enjoy it.

Sun warming your back? Because you've been cooled by the shadows, is why.

Brain and body feel calmer with the peace and quiet? Because the constant noise of the TV and the commercials was vibrating in you at an unpleasant frequency, that's why.

And I couldn't even have that. I wasn't allowed to. I had to explain myself.
I had to explain why I liked the quiet. I had to talk, outloud, about my feelings about the QUIET.
I had to zombie-stomp what I needed in order to explain why I needed it, justifying my need for it while it resounded in the ears of the person who couldn't underF'ingstand why I would need it, and why, for the love of Manilow... I WOULD DARE EXPRESS MY FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

Next time I need to say something, I'm gonna do the right thing, and keep my mouth shut.


=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

For The Ladies

A few weeks back, almost two now, I was in a house full of nearly all the women of my family tree. We were at the home of a friend for my sister's wedding rehearsal dinner, all in town for the big day. Gathered up for the din-din were Ellen (bro-in-law's mom), My Grandma Sunny, Aunt Judy (dad's sister from Georgia), my Mom, Aunt Sandy, Aunt Sue, Carol (brother-in-law's sister), cousin Julie (also from Georgia), Katie (hermana), cousin Sonya, my amazing wife Alicia, cousin Jenny, Journey (Julie's daughter), and Dakota (Sonya's daughter). Also there were the ladies of the graciously-hosting family, including Gay, Tammi, Kim, and Grace.

Four generations of women 'round the Lott/Rider/Hennessey tree. Three 'round the Fout's. A little bit after dinner, I looked around the room and got choked up, like the big baby I can be when I realize a Life moment. The room was full of, literally, hundreds of years of life and lessons and stories and love. Kids. Kid's kids. Mother's mothers. It may never happen again in my life so I took stock of it.

In that room were the strongest women I've ever met. The most Faithful, Intelligent, Loving, Gracious, Funny women I have spent time around. Dynamic and yet normal. Realized and Optimistic.

Wives. Ex-wives. Wives-to-be.
Mothers. Grandmothers. Great Grandmothers. And those "to-be."
Caregivers of ailing husbands. Caregivers of ailing children.
Teachers. Students.
Survivors of addiction.
Survivors of divorce.
Survivors of breast cancer.
Survivors of the weight of Life.

And they have each come through the stories of their lives with tales to tell. We all sat and smild and laughed and moved around the room to send more time with each other. I didn't get to make the toast that I had wanted to make, the timing of the weekend all seemed a bit accelerated.

So I'll make it now:

Your strength is a cornerstone, your love the mortar, and your wisdom the roof. It is our blessing as men that you grace our lives, and that we may work to provide and protect you in our words and deeds. We become better men because of the amazing women you are. Thank you for your presence, your gifts, and your grace.


Thank you all for all you are. This blog can't do justice to all you've been through in your lives, and how strong you all are to this day. I am blessed to share love, family, blood, and stories with you. I would totally give you a kidney. Maybe even mine.

=0=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

We Can All Agree On Food That's Free

In the kitchen at work, which has two vending machines and - if you're quick - a "surprise buffet" known as a refrigerator, there are some randomly-donated food items.

Somebody left a plastic freezer-bag full of "snack mix" on the counter for general consumption. Made almost entirely from cereal, it features multicolored rings of cereal, chex-type cereals, and cranberries.

Those dark spots are the cranberries. It's fuzzy because I was stifling a Vomiggle, a cross between throwing up and vomiting.
This picture was taken at 2pm. This bag's been countertopped since the morning.

Free Food.
Workplace.
No way should this have gone so long.

I work in a very diverse work environment, with people from as far away as Iowa. But this attempt at sharing should be pointed out as a shameful excuse for emptying the cupboards. Either somebody's kid is wondering where all the breakfast went, or somebody's kid just got their car-seat cleaned out.

Chex -like cereal, which I tend to love.
Frooty Loops, which I understand the appeal of.
Cranberries, fantastic through the mid 1990s before faltering around 1999. Did we have to let them linger?

So let me explain this to you, in case you're thinking of "brightening up" the workplace with a donation of free nibbles.

DO THE RIGHT THING...
Candy. Chocolate. Cake, Pre-Cut. Pizza, always good. Donuts will rocket you to sainthood in Accounts Payable.

Just a primer. People are pigs, they'll eat what's there even if you dropped a donut, sprinkles-down in baby diapers. Just run it under the Purell and eat up. Don't drop the randomly assembled burnt popcorn, lime Tootsie Rolls, and a barrette in the breakroom and then pat yourself on the ass for a job barely noticed.

What a shameful attempt at impromptu workplace catering. That second handful tasted terrible.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

The Family News! A Final Blogger Blog

Dearest, dearest Dear Reader...

This will be my final Blogger Blog. I'll be moving on to another blogging tool soon due to some technical BS on the administrative/technical side of Blogger's workings. Long-story short, there's a way to synch this up with some adverts and get some extra cheddar for it. Google, the owner of Blogger, can't seem to do anything about a small snafu in my account, however, because, golly... they can't really say "WHY," it just ain't to workin'!

So this will be my final Blogger post, right on the 500 mark for those who're counting.

I'll keep my blog about my Dad, and this will always be up and running and I'll do whatever I must to keep it alive for future generations to learn about life from. But for now, I must give y'all the following update. It's a great one!
=0=0=0=0=0=

October 6, 2007
That will forever be my sister Katie's anniversary day, the say she married Brian, one of the best, funniest, sweetest men I've ever met. With highest praise, he reminds me of my dad in many ways. I will keep too much information off the pages here, out of respect for their privacy, but I hope their matching "K&B LOVEMACHINE" tattoos are healing up nicely.

It is with deepest congrats and some extra cash that I welcome Katie & Brian among the Married Couples we love. So guys, any kids in the plans or what?!?!?!

It was great to be on the outside of the wedding so that I could get some extended family time in, also.
My parents-in-law couldn't make it due to illness, so that was a bummer. I hope my Smother-In-Law Stacey feels better soon. Dang that expired banana bread!

I did get some quality talk with the Brad unit, Diana, The JJ Vanderlaans, S-Harmon & Dakota1 representing the Michigan peeps. Very impressive group of people there, the kind that, were I not related to, I'd try and adopt-in to the family.

Aunts Judy, Sandy, and Sue were all wonderful to see again, I have a really incredibly fun family tree. This was the 2nd Seattle/Wedding trip for Judy and Sue this year, and I realized how much I enjoy hanging out with my family. Good stock in the genes.

My cousin Julie also made the trip West, a lovely sight after nearly 2 decades gone. And of course, her daughter, my 1st-Favorite-2nd-Cousin Journey racked up another 6,200 frequent flier miles before her 12th birthday. The kid's got plans!

My Grandma Sunny is also in the midst of it all, as spry as ever. I see a number of dinners coming our way with Sunny telling us to "get it together, hey." Hopefully it'll be at an I-talian restaurant.

My Mom, Pam, well hey, there isn't a more impressive person in my life lately. She really is a model of Grace, Love, Patience, and Hospitality. I may have to switch it up with her soon, get Grandma off mom's hands for a while. Totally happy to do that, as long as Sunny is consistent with the $20 per diem.

My wife, Alicia, of course, is the backbone of the quickly-growing Lott Empire. We've been taking financial planning classes at our church and it's about the most calming thing we've done as a couple, except the couple's massage on the deck of the cabana in Hawaii on our honeymoon. I married well, and I married smart. And I married beautiful. And awesome. And the right woman for me.

So that's about it. I have a lot to cover in my next blog, up next week, and I will post all the news here for you when that's ready.

In the meantime, if you know anybody who wants a sitcom, joke, comedy, or script writer, let me know. I've got skillz, baby.

Love you. Goodnight, Blogger. It's not me, it's Google.

=0=0=0==0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Blog 499... Takin' Care Of Bees-nest

Every now and again, you hear a story about a guy who had a problem with something and the extreme measures he took to rectify the issue.

Booby-traps, gender-reassignment, potato gun, whatever it was, the guy's legend grew each time the story was told.

With the advent of digital photography and people needing attention, the legends can stand on their own merits.

And so, I bring you...

SAVING THE APARTMENT COMPLEX SWINGSET FROM A BEE INFESTATION!



Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

At A Loss For Words

Lately, I feel like I've been nothing if not consistently good at making molehills into mountains, and then hiking into those mountains, getting wine-drunk and throwing a torch into the underbrush to set that mountainside alight. Then I say something like “Oh man, I can totally clean this up.” I’m not afraid of taking my medicine, I’m just sick of feeling like I should be on meds.

The past two shows I’ve done have been lackluster. They have a luster quotient not being totally fulfilled. I feel like I get to a point where I lose the audience, and that’s just not something I can put on the crowd. When a room full of people aren’t laughing, they aren’t laughing about the same thing; Me. So I gotta figure some crap out.

Here are some things I’ve been doing that may be turning audiences off:

1. I’m too quiet
2. I’m too loud
3. I’m too expressive, and therefore they think I’m being “fake”
4. I’m not expressive enough, and they think I’m phoning it in
5. My material is too smart
6. My material is too dumb
7. My material is immaterial
8. My performance is too low-energy
9. I’m too high-energy
10. I suck.
11. I am going too fast.
12. I am going too sloooooow.
13. UNLUCKY!
14. Something, I can't tell what, but you know, it's like, there's a THING and OH DAMN, if I could draw it there'd be like a brick on it and it would be like, There ya go, but you can't just draw it... CRAP...

So I’ll work on figuring out what the hell I’m doing and get it dialed in. I have shows this week, and heading into November I gotta be on my game for the Seattle Comedy Competition.

Personally, I think I'm starting slowly and not defining myself from the moment I get on-stage. I've learned more about who I am since I started comedy than I ever did in any relationship I was in, not to mention the therapy that followed it. So I'll keep working at it, and hopefully the audiences will keep being kind of nice and laughing.

I am happy that I’m upset that I’m not doing better, however. I think the day I quit caring about how I do on-stage will be too many days AFTER I should have said “Thank you, and good night” for the last time. If I’m not getting laughs, I’m not getting the job done, and that’s just not fair to the 60 and Older crowds I’m playing to these days.

This was a very, very unfunny entry. Sorry.

=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

I may lose a few of you by posting these videos.
That's not my intent. My intent is to share things that come to me from all over the place, ideas and sources and flat-out TRUTHS. If a politician says ABC and then says a month later that they never said ABC, guess what?
It's all on videotape now, and it's time to check our facts, and check our sources, and check our politicians on their words.

I'm outraged that people believe that standing on a street-corner on a Saturday afternoon holding a sign that everyone agrees with the message of, is the equivalent of "doing something." I'm about to careen into those fuckers.

Quick, somebody call the President and say "8 people in Lake Forest Park are upset, and their wearing socks with sandals! We gotta stop this waaarrr!"

Did They Lie?


This one is for all of us...
There's a moment in this video where you may wonder "Why am I watching these lions bring down a water-buffalo calf?" HANG IN THERE, for about 30seconds.


Things you can do:
Stop watching the local news channels.
Give 10% of your money to a charitable cause.
Watch more than just one cable news channel.
Laugh more.
Give your friends a card this Christmas that says you donated the money you were gonna spend on their gift to a charity. Then get them drunk, they'll appreciate both gestures.
Exercise a little more.
Stop taking it all so seriously. Sometimes, it's okay to just sit there and play 4 hours of Madden and then masturbate and take a nap. But don't make it an every day thing.
Vote. A lot. Every time you can.


You are, afterall, a Human Being. And what is peddled as Absolute Truth and Life Is This Way Because The News Said So is an assault on all things Good and Right in our lives.

ST0P
WATCHING
THE
NEWS
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

My Friend Fahim Anwar's Hilarious Video

I had to give props and direct you to my friend Fahim Anwar's video, "Preparing For An Afghan Wedding."
Fahim is from the Seattle area, is a great comic and very good engineer for Boeing. Now in the Los Angeles/Long Beach area, Fahim put this together for everyone's delight.

Even if you've never been to an Afghan wedding, you can relate to the fantasticality of this 5minute 36second funtacular. Grab yourself some Korma Sabzee and enjoy!

Afghan Wedding

Add to My Profile | More Videos


=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Seattle to LA to Seattle to Vancouver, BC to Happiness

In the last 2 days, or 48 hours for the stat freaks, I put myself through the following:
1,277 miles.
3 airplanes.
1 hair-gelled clown-ass "Business Guy."
14 minutes of comedy.
10 of my favorite comics, and now "people," in 100 square feet of minglin' space.
2 totally different atmospheres.
1 lesson to be sussed out and absorbed later.

How and where you ask?

With the magic of mirrors.
And behind the refrigerator, I answer. These are, of course, answers to questions you will ask me in the future, but I've already answered them to save time.

So let's talk about my trip. And it wasn't travel, it was a trip.

Tuesday morning I flew to Los Angeles to take part in the California Comedy Festival. I was invited to perform at the Hollywood Improv along with 11 other comics, part of a "contest" format for the audience and some judges to vote for and advance their favorites.

I took unpaid time off of work to go do this. Because it's the Improv, that's why. Because I needed to do it, that's why. And there was the hoping hint of "industry" being in the house, like agents and managers and players. There were managers. Of retail. There were players. Of the "drugged girlfriend" kind. There were agents. On the phone from afar, a great guy I had already made contact with a while back who couldn't make it. And another big-namer in the comedy world who left prior to my show. But hey, it happens.

Not complaining at all, because this was a shot to go showcase in LA for SOMEBODY, I hoped. There were some great performers there, but I think some of us, perhaps THIS GUY (thumbs pointed at me), missed an email or an idea. I was chosen for the "Comedy From The Edge" group, the Light Blue gang who can pretty much let it all hang out, but still not get ridiculous or raunchy for the sake of raunch. Bottom line, I was surprised at how tame some of the other sets were in my group. Tame, lame, or boring, you pick it, but I had hoped somebody would knock a sock loose. FFFFRZZT, nothin'.

Oddly enough, I had chosen to do ONLY material that I have proven through research and DOING IT ON STAGE to have a reputation as FUNNY AS SH*T. At the Improv on Melrose. So I was ready to strap it up and lower a shoulder, deliver a set that would at LEAST get me a free friggin' JagerBomb.

I think I got laughs on 70% of the material, 40% of THAT did very well, and 10% of the Very Well was EXCELLENT. The other stuff, and I'll have to watch the tape to confirm, was either totally F'ed up by me (I inexcusably flubbed one line in a very comfortable bit, my fault), or spoken in such a way as to alienate the audience. It may have been where I said "You guys make sure you only eat healthy, organic bullets, you f*cking RO-TARDS." That was only in my head, of course.

I also blame the crowd for some of it. Front table had a few ladies who were among the top 2% of Gorgeous, and one woman who was a professional killer of fun times. I felt empathetic for her, being dragged far from home to sit in a room where people were trying to entertain a room full of people OTHER than her, and maybe that annoyed her and her bad hair and caused her to sit... FRONT ROW... with arms folded. For 95% of the show. The rest of the room, I could see them laughing, but not really hear them.

But I performed decently, I'd score myself a B- at best, and I was chosen to move on to the next round. That's NEXT week all over the LA and Orange Counties!

SUMMARY: I performed at the Improv on my own money, time, and hustle. Were it not for my lovely wife getting my ass to get my press kit to UPS on time, I wouldn't have made the trip down. Totally worth it. Met some really great comics and people, and probably pissed them off by not mentioning their names and how great they were and how they've never made a bad sandwich. But really, why would I say nice things about Kara Walden, Mark Serritella, Rick Kunkler, Rick Younger, and Dave Becky when you already know they are lovely? Yes, I said Rick Kunkler.

Got to chat with Marc Maron, one of my all-time faves, and with Tracy Tuffs, another one of my all-time faves as a comic and person. He'll be all over Seattle in the next week, so go see him! He's awesome.

Flew back to Seattle the next morning after about 45min to 1hour of sleep. It just wasn't takin' hold, I was too wired from the show.
At the airport, new issue. Got in line for the mad rush, about 50th of 75. Light load = STRETCH OUT TIME! SLEEPY TIME TO OAKLAND!
I get to the gate and mistakenly hand the agent my boarding pass for Oakland, not LAX, as I had a layover in Oaktown. So I step to the side for 3 seconds, or about 2 more passengers to go by so that I... and this is very important...
DON'T HOLD THE F*CK UP THE F*CKING LINE AND LIVES OF OTHER PEOPLE.

Crazy, I know. I step back in line, having already paid my dues by waiting in the right spot for 45 minutes, and begin to hand the agent the correct boarding pass when I hear a voice behind me say - in a voice best described as "this guy is aaaaall business, me, I get things done..." - he says just loud enough that I MIGHT hear him;
"What's wrong with THIS line?"

I think a second, and decide that it's too much energy to deal with that guy.
But I'm also too tired to let go of shit slung from a guy who slings but rarely takes, judging from the gel in his hair. So I say, calmly...
"Oh, I was in line ahead of you for an hour, I just grabbed my layover pass, had to grab the right one. I'm hope there are still seats."
That sounds harsher than it came out, and I'm sorry. It should have had at least one "c*cksucker" it. But somebody had to learn a lesson, and by the grace of God, it wasn't gonna be me.
When's the last time he decided to go rhetorical on a stranger, and the stranger called him on it? Last I saw of him, he was personifying "khaki" while grabbing his briefcase.

I got about an hour of sleep on the plane I got back into Seattle around 1pm on Wednesday, and had to act like I was awake enough to drive alone to Canada. I always sleep well in the car, so I was looking forward to the drive North for my show at the...

VANCOUVER COMEDY FESTIVAL!
If you don't believe me, look HERE.
Holy CRAP my bio is lame.

I'll skip the antics and give you these details, because if I don't go to bed soon I'm pretty sure I'll forget how to sleep.

I got off the elevator in the Georgian Court Hotel, a twill and velvet embrace of a hotel on Beatty in the 'Couve. First person I see is David Cross. Yes, THAT David Cross.
David.
F*cking.
Cross.
#8 in my Top 10 Comics I Don't Know But are Awesome. Amazingly cool guy, just funny and cool the way one would hope somebody you admire would be. But cooler. And funnier. Got to watch him perform.

I performed at Yuk Yuk's in Vancouver. GREAT Club, and you should visit them when you get to Vancouver, BC. Matthew is a fantastic manager, the staff and crew were great, and I'm angling to get back in there for a weekend soooon.

Performed with Pilcher, Barth, and Brousseau. Loved every second of it. Somebody threw in a side of Sigurdson, Clark, and Dixon. It was spoiling. Two-hand-shovel that into my face anytime you wanna. They should all get more publicity and heat, these are some funny-ass people. Sorry if I forgot your names, Toby and Foxx. I was hanging out too awesomely to watch your whole set(s).

Duane Goad continues to impress me as a comedian and funny guy and cool dude to hang out with. But as a man who dresses himself, um... yeah, we get it. You're "professional."

Went to another show and as I'm milling about the balcony, DAVID CROSS comes out to perform. Watched it, loved it. Satire gets almost no better than David Cross.

So it can't get better, I get ready to get outta there and PAUL F. TOMPKINS comes out to perform. I have never seen him live, and HOLY CRAP, amazing. That guy just OWNS it, waaaaaay too funny.
Had Goad almost on the floor, and Goad only laughs at Tracy Tuffs and when I eat it.




Getting ready to leave then, tired, over it and HOLY CRAP you are NOT going to bring Marc Maron out to perform. Yes you are. So THAT's why Maron left the Improv so early the night before. Again, humbling and real and worth missing sleep for.

Saw THIS GUY's ass. Don't worry, it wasn't anything weird. It was all normal, in the street like usual. Very hetero.

Back to the hotel, we go to the "Lounge Party" for a drink. A. Drink. One. Too tired to deal with it, ya know? 4 hours of sleep, including what I got in the car on the drive up.




Well that idea lasts about 15min when Cross, Todd Glass, Tompkins and some other people I mentioned all come in, post-show-we-were-at. There is NOTHING more fun than post-show hanging with comedians. You will never laugh harder if you're in the right mood. This was the right mood.

I went to bed about 1:30, slept about 2 hours total, got up at 5:30 and headed back to my day-job.

SUMMARY!
I missed my wife a lot on this trip. I am sure I married the right woman.
I met and hung out with some of my favorite comedians.
I performed at two of the biggest clubs in North America.
I performed with some of my best comedy friends.
In 24 hours, I went from feeling like a Road Dog to the opening act of a really popular comic.
I loved every second of it.
I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed tonight.
I am thankful, happy, blessed, and lucky to be doing what I love to do.

I cannot thank these people enough, so please support them and their endeavors:
Dave and Angela for hosting the showcase that got me to Vancouver at the best club to come along in a long time;
Laura and Will at Destination Funny for their work in getting us Americans into BC for the festival, and organizing a GREAT week of comedy;
Everyone at Destination Funny for organizing a festival dedicated to MAKING PEOPLE LAUGH. I metaphysically have loved you all;
Canadian Government and Citizens for having a budget spent on the Arts each year, allowing us to stay in a PHATAZZ hotel - The Georgian Court - and entertain you lovelies;

TK and Will at the Cali Comedy Festival for their efforts to pull it all off, I hope it swings big for you guys!;

and last but not least...

You, family and friends and readers and fans of me and of comedy and of my comedy, for your support and teasing and being yourselves and taking time to be at shows or read this or say "yo." If it weren't for you, I'd perform to empty rooms, and love it not nearly as much as when you laugh. Your laughter makes me happy.

I quit.

=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

In A Rage Over 'Roids

Vince McMahon, the owner of professional wrestling, is again about to crack-down on steroid and drug use in his entertainment sport. It’s not a “real” sport, mind you. It’s a circus of body-building caricatures of men and women who sacrifice their bodies to advance story lines and drama to people who are out of shape emotionally and financially. I was once very much into professional wrestling. That was about 14 years ago.

I’ll cut through the crap here and get to the opinion part of this Op-Ed piece:

Professional Wrestlers should be forced to used steroids, even at low levels. They are there purely to entertain. Steroids are the CGI, the special effects, the Light Sabers and Pixar programming of the human body. I think they should be legalized, but also tested-for in professional sports. If you want to level the playing field, either a full ban where everyone gets tested, and the positives get banned for life, or it’s agreed-upon up to a certain level of use, and anything over certain levels wipes out a player’s season. Kind of like a gun. Given the right to use one, would the right ones use?

Like any drug, ‘roids come with their own pecadilloes. Testicular shrinkage as testosterone rockets through the body. Hairloss in men. Women get more manly in the voice and growing a penis.

Erupting, fertile fields of back acne, or "Bacne".

High cholesterol. “Roid Rage.” Buying every Pantera t-shirt you can find and tearing off the sleeves. And there are some bad things, too. Becoming a Raiders fan, for instance.

But in Pro Wrestling, they went through this in the late 1990s. The wrestlers looked softer and more “normal” and less like the “superhumans” they are marketed as. Attendance lagged like Ric Flair's 61 year-old man boobs. Right now, WWE wrestlers look like they are about to split their skin.

But now, with the onslaught of Mixed Martial Arts, watching a guy take a fake punch from a guy in pink tights is less intriguing than seeing a 200-lb man get put to sleep with a real punch. The Sleeper Hold is nothing compared to a Guillotine Choke. Watch this MMA Kick vs. this WWE Kick, and tell me which made you say “HOLY JAMES EARL JONES” faster.

If you could take a pill or slap on a patch that made your job easier, how fast would you do it? What if the side effect of heavy use was that you would lose your fingernails and really like Nickelback, but moderate use – and taking 10 days off of it every month – meant you’d probably just have bloodier-than-usual stools from time to time? But hell, look at all of your collating and calling and cross-referencing! Like all-world levels. I would double-hand-grab the chalice of enhancement, hit a knee, and glug till I saw daylight through the bottom. While blaring Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer.”

If it’s natural, great, go that way. Nature has a cure for every ailment, except being a total ho-bag. Oh wait, STDs, nevermind. So anywho, where was I…

I don’t really care what happens to WWE. I have no stock – financial or emotional – in the organization. But when it comes to what we as a public wanting to be entertained by athletic feats, in sports real and imagined, remember that those men and women sacrifice a LOT to put on a show for us. Many of them do not live very long after their careers. And last time I checked, steroids and the like were called “performance enhancing” drugs. Two-tenths of a second faster in football. 10-pounds more muscle. 6-inches more vertical height. For Glory. To wear The Belt. For example, had I enhanced my performance with caffeine, this blog wouldn’t have batted .189 and left 2 men on-base.

=0=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Practically Joking

I work in an office with about 7 other people, and on our door is a non-functional security keypad, numbered 0-9 and #. The door is never locked, but the handle doesn’t turn. You just push and it opens.

About 20% of the visitors to our office knock on the door without ever trying to open it. I thought it would be funny to post a code over the vestigial keypad to see if anybody tries to punch it in before entering.

So I posted a 22-digit code with some numbers that look like 1s, 2s, or 7s just to confuse anybody who tries to punch in all 22 digits. The idea is that they’ll look at it and think “Oh, sure” and at least TRY to push the door open.

Somebody today was caught punching in the “code” to get in and get a mug from a co-worker for a post-launch freebie. When she saw him, she told him “Oh, that’s just a joke." To which he frustratedly responded “Well it’s not a good joke. Where are the mugs?” My arms raised in victory.

And thus, I will be razzing this guy from now until my contract runs out. I d0n't know his name but we know each other's faces. I could chalk this up under "being a jerk," but I'd rather put it under "Harmless fun," and reference "lessons, taught."

The moral is, hey, if you can’t laugh at yourself, I will.

LIVE FUNNY!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad