Freedom Does Not Mean "Without Consequence"

We have the Freedom of Speech here in America, and from what I can tell, people cannot talk to save their lives. Luckily, long ago in our history, we defected from England, then beat the British to overcome many of their rules and laws. Otherwise we'd all be speaking English right now.

Having the protected right documented by the Government in the first Harry Potter book means you can stand on the corner and shout your brains out about how awful the neighborhood's cops, mayor, and bus service are and not be punished. As long as you're not swearing. Or lying. Or disrupting traffic. There are rules, after all, to complete freedom.

And that's where the system goes schizophrenic. The moment something is written down to "make it official," it gets mashed into molds to fit people's sensibilities. I appreciate we have the right to speak freely in this nation, but rarely do I speak as freely as I ought to, especially against people abusing Free Speech.

A girl, early 20's, in a laundromat, on her cell phone. Ending every sentence with "an' sheeit," or "like a bitch." Dropping F-bombs like they be NaPalm on the last run through Kai San. (That was kind of a phat rhyme) Ignorant yammering, but I'm the only one really paying attention to the language because, well, it's a laundromat in Southern California... I'M THE ONLY WHITE PERSON IN THE JOINT, if I have to spell it out for you.

Eventually, when I had heard enough of the F-laced tirade about she ain't be wantin' to go to no gay-ass party at Dontell's, we made eye contact for about 2 seconds. I just sighed and shook my head and said "Classy." She made some head motion and stomped away as if I were invading her privacy. Handled with aplomb, young lady. Kudos 'n' sheeit. Daymn.

We do have a protected freedom in our Speech in this country. It's time to start taking that away from people, at least in a public-shaming way. Just because it's okay, doesn't make it Right.

America is a really wonderful idea. Too bad it's full of shit.

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My Blog About My Dad

Better, Closer, Funnier

Last night I tripped northward with Todd Sawyer to check out a room he's been working with, the Ventura Harbor Comedy Club. I went for a number of reasons, most of them centered around my genuine personal growth that happens every time I'm around Todd. He has been endlessly rooting for me for years now, since I first worked with him at the Underground in Seattle. Todd's a smart, paced, calculatedly hilarious comedian, and on the grander scale, he's under 6-foot and tromps daily on size-13's. The guy's kind of a freak, but he's got basketball skillz, from what I've heard. And he bought me a footlong.

The first time I saw Todd in 2003, long after he'd started throwing show-closing heat on the regular, I re-realized that there is a place for smart comedy. It first hit me when I saw Joe Vespaziani in 2000, that comedy is not ONLY a fake, manufactured energy propping-up a soul-dead thrice-divorced "Veteran," hacking their way through local references and built-in applause breaks ("How many y'all got kids? Applaud if ya got kids, I got kids, who got kids?"). Todd's help in Los Angeles, and even before, when I was drifting my way into the Seattle Comedy Competition Finals in 2007. (p.s. Los Angeles doesn't give a SHAYT 'bout it.) And his advice has only ever helped me correct my direction. Especially when I talk with my wife about "What is next."

So I get up there and got a lucky spot, in that another comic didn't show up to do this taping for a local TV station. Boom, got 10min at the front. I reacquainted with Courtney Cronin, met Marla Schultz, dug the set of Dante, and talked more with Todd over the 6 hours we spent in the car yesterday. Y'ever feel like you grew so much in a short time you just go quiet in contemplation? It hit me last night on the way home...

This is closer to the stuff I moved here to do. Progression, growth, career on FORWARD. The leap was taken, the net may not have appeared yet, but that's because I'm in the freefall. And when you're in FreeFall, the key is to not keep looking for the splashdown.

The key is to turn your fall into a stylish dive. Flips, turns, back-saults, fireworks.

And when you accept your rewards, thank the good people who helped you in public, then party it up with them in private. Watches will be purchazzed.

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My Blog About My Dad

Lee and Ray = Bad News

For some reason, people with names of Lee and Ray in their CV's usually end up with some crazy schidt happening in their life. I've documented it before, HERE.

I think it may be that their parents gave them the shortest name possible, foreshadowing the darkness that would someday drip from the doublewide's wood paneling. Other than Ed or Al, this is as short as you can go without getting down just to the initials, which is an entirely different nametag job.

Ian Ith's Seattle Times Column HERE:

A 70-year-old West Seattle woman was choked and stomped to death in her apartment Friday by her grandson, possibly because she had been trying to get him to move out, police said.

King County prosecutors expect to file a murder charge by Thursday against Deon Lee Fillmore, 21, said spokesman Dan Donohoe. Meanwhile, a judge has ordered Fillmore held in King County Jail on $1 million bail.

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Smart, Good People Don't Do These Things

1. Leave a voice-message that says "Hey, call me back." Or any such form. You've given a command, nothing more. No information. No preparation. Nothing helpful. Help me, help YOU. Help yourself by helping me figure out what you are calling me about. (my wife is excluded from this)
2. Call me and ask, "What are you doing on Wednesday?" Leaving it there is to say "Unless you are willing to compromise yourself and LIE, you will say you are free, and I will then ask a favor that will likely put you out a bit." Here's what I'm NOT doing on Wednesday, or any other day in that inquiry: going to or near the airport, moving boxes, driving more than 10 miles for less than $100, vomiting, cleaning up vomit, hosing rendered parts towards a drain of any size, jogging, telling your boss you're in the hospital, clearing brush, donating blood/marrow/kidney, paying for your lunch.
   
3. Shop in the wrong direction at Trader Joe's. Go in the front door. See where it's pointing? That's the natural flow to the store. Go that way. It's not willy-nilly. It's clockwise or counter-so. If you see a row with one woman pushing a cart full of bags, you came in the EXIT and should be forced back into your vehicle. And don't give me some line of crap about how you "Don't know," or you've "never been here," or you're "87 years old." Follow the flow. If you miss the canned salmon paté, LOOP THE BLOCK, fart-saver! Don't make a u-turn into oncoming traffic. You can come back to it... but if you GO back to it... I swear to Jessica Simpson's dietitian that I will point you out.
   
   
4. Write blogs complaining about the generally under-important aspects of human interaction much? GOOD. Because life is too intense to deal with that stuff. Be a grown-up, for crying out loud. It's part of the gig. You sound like a wet, dribbly fart so KNOCK IT OFF.
5. Leave your semi-full shopping cart unmanned in the middle a store. Nobody got the news from your double-parked "Hers" BMW that you were all about YOU. The fact that your inability to muster the energy to schlep your bounty 'round the end of the aromatics is your statement that "Hey, the Royal You doesn't fucking matter to me. I'm lazy, I'm weak, I give 2 hard-pushed nuggets about anybody but the Queen Bee right here." The only way to get back at you is to A) Move your cart out of sight, or B) Quickly cram a couple of high-priced items into your cart that won't be seen until you ring out. Oh look, you just bought... WHAT?... $37 of SAFFRON? WHAT THE HELL? Yes. Enjoy.
   

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My Blog About My Dad