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
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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, November 16, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
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.
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Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
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Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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