Prob'ly my last Blogger blog

So I'm moving my coordinates in the Blogosphere over to this address:

HTTP://CRITICALDAD.WORDPRESS.COM

It's been 8 years of hammering through some death-inviting blogs here at Blogger.

But I need/want to monetize this writing like it was 2006, and Blogger's got one of those built-in technical blocks that keeps me from doing just that. They aren't targeting me, it's just a coding issue that keeps me from being allowed and able to get ads up on my blog here. Thus, I'm moving over to Critical Dad.

Before I go, here's why I love and hate writing.

I love creating. I embrace my creativity as a part of my Being, because it makes me feel Alive, and because for a long time, it was a negative. That is, growing up, my creativity was best used as a way of getting my entire body removed from Jr. High classes. I was a smart ass, a loudmouth, a knucklehead trying to get a laugh or tell a teacher I thought they were shit-full without using those words. So eventually, getting to a place where I could express my feelings and opinions - like anybody gives a crap - freed me to get it off my chest and out of my pool of white noise. It opened my mind up. I felt better.

I hate that I don't do it enough. I should, I have so much that bothers the hell out of me, but I let it go almost so quickly that it barely registers. And thus I should look less at the breaking moments and more at my own Principles, and how those are broken by people. I'm no Stoic, mind you, nor a self-righteous windbag. But I don't take my old furniture out to the dumpster nor toss my kid's unused toys in the recycling. I don't carry a small dog into grocery stores because I need attention. I can be a jerk, but not without reason. And the fact that I don't get jerky often enough here is to my detriment. Instead, I've been yelling at shitty neighbors more often than I should, and blasting an airhorn when walking past people texting behind the wheel.

So, it's been a riot, and I've been in dumb blogfights with people, so please read at your leisure. I'll compile a Top 10 Faves in a bit. For now, I have to go work out some issues.

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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Football Seasoning

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Workin' It - Perspectives

It’s been over 5 years since I had a permanent, full-time, benefits+retirement+paid vacation job. 5 years. 1,500 days. I had one for a short time in 2008, but also had a few chances to make something bigger happen in my life, and thus happened the California misAdventures. Still, I wouldn’t trade those 14 months for anything in the world. However, I think a lot of folks may be taking what’s happened in the world, and how it missed them, for granted. And I’m hungry for it.

I want to take better care of my family. I work my ass off and want to be able to spend a full week at Christmas with my family and not fret over missing a week of pay. I want to give a company 50 hours a week, and a few on the weekend, and in return, bank a couple hundy for my retirement as a “thanks for last Saturday.” I’ll earn it.

As a contractor, I’ve busted my ass in large companies around the Puget Sound in order to keep working, maybe be brought on full-time, as well as gain experience. Not all companies work like that anymore. I haven’t had paid vacations, bonuses, nor the ability to really dump $ into my retirement accounts. This is what I’ve sacrificed in the face of “do not change. Change nothing. Don’t shake it up. Sit tight.” Financially it hasn’t been the best move. Sitting on the side of the “have not as much’es” (but still doing well), I miss out on money if I take days off work to go on a trip with the family. This is part of being a contract employee. My efforts go towards realizing the goals of the organizations I work in. I receive money for that. That’s all. It’s fact, not jealousy. And a lot of people I see who haven’t changed a thing in their careers have missed the point: If you’re not growing, you’re wilting.

In the meantime, I have scooped up experiences most folks have missed out on completely while their salary adjusted 3% up, and they complained. And they received a company-wide performance bonus, and complained it wasn’t as large as last year’s. I pay out of pocket for health benefits, and it doesn’t cover everything, which still matters around tax time. Full timers had to pay another $5 on the co-pay, and complained about getting screwed. Stress is a killer, ma’am. Take it easy. What a hard life you’re pushing through so valiantly. I know this is true, because I’ve heard it all. I’ve heard the complaints, the whining, the “can you believe what they’re doing to us?” whispered at the machine pumping out free lattes.

Don’t take these things for granted. These are perks, not rights. We’re not entitled to any of it. It’s a bonus, a hug, a little extra tongue on the second date. Have you really earned it? Did you create the iPad? Did you find the secret to no-burn cookies? Have you found a way to introduce demographically-targeted birth control so that the affluent neighborhoods are producing more children? No... You haven’t. Remember that the next time you are watching “Rio” from your back as your teeth go 2 shades whiter.

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Battle Of The Blands

Revelation last week. While watching a comedian I really like and respect perform a very similar bit to one of mine, my lap felt cold. My joke-boner fell. Frankly, it's true that I have re-hashed too much work within my comedy. It's been too long since I introduced anything truly new, a chunk or a bit or a longer-form run of humor. It's important that I write what I think is funny, but lately all that comes out are lamentations.

About the state of this country (catatonic stupor/corn syrup insulin-crashing).

About religion and those who adhere to it as a lifestyle instead of a guiding light. Loving The Lord is a different expression than Paranoia.

About childless couples throwing shit-looks when my gorgeous and well-behaved son and wife and I sit down near them in a restaurant. Leave, fucko. Eat at the bar.

I'm a happy man and a fed-up American and a bored comedian. That has to amount to something. I'm not boo-hooing the passion I have found in Stand-up Comedy. My reverence for Sahl, Martin, Pryor, Cosby, Hicks, et al fuels much of my desire to accept gigs. My ego thinks I have something to say. So I'm probably just putting too much pressure on myself to make something count for eeeeeverybody sitting in the room at a comedy show. Instead, I need to go back to the drawing board, and draw the shapes of letters that become words and from there, jokes.

I need to do what I think is Funny, that's the trick. Like any work, it's important to do what YOU think is Good Work. Otherwise you're wasting your time and the time of the person paying you to check Facebook just reeeeeal quick. Comedy is a privilege and a passion to be part of. I'm lucky. Sadly, I've also been lazy. Time to turn that around and put it on its knees and tell it to say my name.

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The Possibility Of Assholery

Assholery is not an actual word per the uptight, ungroomed editors of Wikipedia and Websters. But I use the word to describe the general activity of people who are unaware, negligent, narcissistic (on the first try!), and on the whole, unpleasant. An unpleasant hole. Full of crap, hot air, ungroomed, bad oils. Asshole. And it takes one to know one.

I know this because I can be the biggest asshole in the room at any given time. I don't like to be. Being an asshole is a pro-active thing, not reactive, unless the reaction is over-the-top and uncalled for. But being an asshole carries two interesting traits: No "asshole throttle," and total asshole apathy. Simply not caring how big of an asshole you are being.

I don't try to be an a-hole nearly enough. I think there's a point when my cage needs to be rattled by a demonstration of assholery, and likewise to those around. There's no greater salve for complacency than an asshole's outburst. To mope, slope, and slog around as if there are no consequences for one's inactivity or apathetic life is a social welfare check; "It's fine to be bad at what you do, not pay attention, and speak like a juvenile idiot." No.
No it's not.

If somebody's side-holing your day, let 'em know. I work with a guy who works so mercilessly slow and methodically that it slows everybody else down. When I finally told him that I couldn't attend his meetings because we were 2 days behind due to his pace, he reacted as if I'd spent the morning reclined in his bed while his wife's perm bobbed on my knob. Fine, he thinks I'm an asshole. The days that followed saw him dash his repetitive meetings and free up a lot of people's time. In turn, WE GOT SHIT DONE. It was simple honesty and being forthright. America has lost much of its "BS Barometer" due to the creep of Political Correctness, causing us to never want to offend somebody.

Say whatever you gotta say, knowing that you may look like an asshole on somebody's sliding scale of Assholery. But don't hold back if it's the right thing to do. You can only be shat on for so long before being shat on is your fault. I think that's in the Old Testament. The worst somebody can legally do is fire-back a big "F You!" If you can take that hit, you're on your way to a special place in the Assholes of All Time.


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You Probably Think This Blog Is About You

Get over it already. Cheez-its GRAPES, be an adult, would you?

The only thing I can suggest is to take a really honest look at yourself (you can't) and go get some counseling with a real counselor (you won't). Tell that counselor what you think is wrong with everybody around you. And if that counselor is bilking you they'll tell you exactly what you want to hear and you'll come back. Or if that counselor is worth a damn they will listen to your tales of woe and martyrdom and ask you to do two things...

1) Fill in the holes where you should have told them what YOU did to other folks;

and

2) Find the common thread to the downturn of all those damaged relationships.

The only constant in every relationship of yours is YOU.

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Screwing Old Guys on Craigslist Over A Mirror

A few years ago my wife wanted a mirror for our place that was simple, elegant, and didn't carry a reflection of long-dead Pig War participants. She found one through West Elm ("World Market items at Masins prices!") and we ordered it and hung it up. It was/is a nice little piece. Rectangular, borderless, with a glass shelf in the lower-quarter of it. It's a nice addition to an entryway, bathroom, Swinger Shed, what-have-you. And after a few years and a move to-from California, we just don't have the place for it anymore. Couldn't garage-sell it, so we did the on-line garage sale that is Craigslist.

You can find anything on Craigslist, from pagan roommates with fish allergies to 18" rimz fo' yo' whip (that's a car, mom), to strangers who want to teach your kids stuff. I said "teach," not "touch," right? Okay, just checking. You can also find somebody to send 38 emails to about your desire to meet the right person just beforeyou bail on meeting somebody face-to-face, a key component of GETTING THE SEX. And you can find old people to screw for $20.

We tried to sell the mirror to a guy we'll call Smokey. He smokes a lot. I know because he had 2 packs of Liggett Red Kings of various fill in his Camaro. He dressed exclusively in black & white. His car is white with a black rag top, black & white steering wheel, white mods to the dash, etc. He wanted the white-backed mirror for his condo. I know because after we posted the mirror on Craigslist for $20 (it was $100 originally) he emailed saying he wanted it for his condo, which is all black and white and chrome, which is what he told me about his place. I went to meet him in public because you just don't let people know where you live, especially if you are going to screw them.

So I take this $100 mirror to a parking lot mid-way between our homes. He's inside the ROSS looking for something black and/or white and/0r chrome. He chooses this lifestyle. He comes out to meet me, tells me he doesn't get outta the house much because he's fighting cancer, hands me a $20 bill, and I carefully help him transfer the mirror to his Camaro, which I have already set the scene for. Cigarettes. Black & white (like the ashes of the cigarettes). Godspeed, Sir.

I get a voicemail 20minutes later saying this:
"Hey there GEOFF, this is Smokey, and boy you really pulled one over on me, boy. Good job there, Geoff. Yeah, this mirror's no good. Totally ruined. There's moisture behind it, probably been in a bathroom, it's junk. I'm trying to clean it up but I don't know. And there was a price tag on it for $15, so you got me good, but hey, YOU came out ahead $20, so there ya go."

1) I'm down $80 plus gas, I'm not ahead $20

2) No pre-inspection of the mirror in the parking lot, caveat emptor, this is a garage sale scenario

3) If you can see yourself in the $20 mirror, it's not ruined

4) It is never my intent to put the screws to somebody, that's bad karma, and worse when it's $20 off a guy who is battling cancer... AND SMOKING

5) Buyer's remorse/guilt can be easily swayed by spreading the blame around, just kick it right back to them and act very put-out

I need the karma more than the $20, and while I'm usually a "tough-love" kind of guy, I called the old cancer patient back and took his still-folded $20 back to meet him in the same parking lot. Anything that wastes my time pisses me off. Anything that takes away from my family or my happiness pisses me off. And this was doing both. So this self-weathered asshole was pissing me off. And he does this kind of thing because...

1) He has no family

2) He has no hobbies

3) He is bad with time management

When you're fighting cancer and have shit-else to do, save that time for something important like not thinking Craigslist is some kind of factory-direct shipping company catering to your every need for decor and/or ashtrays. Hell, don't even wait to get cancer, just act like that now, don't waste your time nor others, keep your ethics high, your expectations low-to-moderate, and you probably won't get cancer. Take a good long look in the mirror, Smokey.

How much more black & white can I get?

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I'm Over Contract Work, Thanks

I have been working on-contract since 2006, when Cingular bought AT&T and handed me over to a boss who was "passionate about delivering quality metrics." I had no upward mobility in that organization, and was so angry about the jackload who was managing me at the time being allowed to manage at all that I took off. I said "Later days, better lays" and went the contract route. It's been good and bad and not great ever since then. Sometimes it's been a clusterfist. It has all been about making money, and that's not always a good thing. When you're making money, more than some folks you work with, you can still be on the shit-end of the butt-wiping stick.
Here "why" is.

Apropos of nothing, I can NOT get a good cup of coffee today. It's thrown my day off-center. Usually I get 2 cups of coffee in over the day, with 2 cups of green tea in there, but ride my ears if I find a decent cup in this dump. MultiBILLION dollar comp'ny, zip-point shit for coffoise. BALLS.

Contract work allows one the freedom to move from company to company as soon as you screw up a project. If you're good at what you do, like I am with building requirements, determining requirement-design gaps, project management, business intelligence, interviewing, and redirecting fart-blame, your contract runs out close to the time you achieve Full Immersion and Momentum! on a project. Kinda like being in the act of coitus and the interruptus happens right about the time you realize you're setting some new stamina record, but OH HERE COMES THE FANTASY SYRUP and then BLAP...
you're cleaning out your desk with a loin-heat unlike any you've ever felt, and you're out of work again.

But if you're under 30, unmarried (or financially secure with your partner's money), and without children, Contracting is a great way to build a resumé. Otherwise you wanna get in a place and put down roots. Here's why:

Contractors are treated like rent-a-Cops at concerts. Necessary, sure. Doing a job some folks could not do, or are just too busy for. You are good enough to work AT, but not FOR, that company. Don't forget that.
Contractors get scraps. If your company has an all-day off-site meeting with guest speaker Alfonso Ribeiro, that's EMPLOYEES ONLY, mmkay? So you sit tight and finish working while the Employees go nuts watching The Carlton Dance up-close.
Benefits aren't great. 3rd-tier health care. Little/no retirement investing. You're on your own to drop $ into a Roth IRA or 401k, and don't expect the consulting company you're with to match it.

So I am 100% thankful for, but now totally over, my Contracting experience. I am actively pursuing full-time, in-house positions with a number of companies, but I think a lot of it is going to be contacting my friends at these places. Which I'm happy to do. I interview a lot so I'm comfortable widdit. I just hope the coffee doesn't taste like trucker underwear.

Not that I have perspective.
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My Favorite Guitar Solo Of All Time

I think I have shared this before. I know I've stuck it in Facebook a few times.
But this deserves to be shared.

A 9-minute masterpiece of a guitar solo.

"Ocean" by John Butler

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I Do Not Give A Shit, And That's Not Good

Rebecca Black, 13 years old, untalented, was rumored to be pregnant. All she did was become a public figure with her hit song "FRIDAY," about getting high with Chris Tucker in the front seat or the back seat. Video at the end of this blog. Amazing. CNN spread a fake report about her pregnancy. Is this NOT bullying? If CNN were a freshman in High School it would be prosecuted for that action. We need to stop talking about celebrities unless they die filming their movies, because I don't care about them. And by "I" I mean "smart people." Rebecca Black had a dream of getting famous and making music and eventually perhaps getting Bieber-pregged, but that'll never happen. And even if it did, I wouldn't give a shit. However, 141, 360,000 people HAVE given enough of a shit to watch her video. Wow.

Arnold "The Austrian Oak With A Root In Guatemala" Schwarzenegger made a deposit in the family account of a non-family member. He fathered a child with a woman he was not married to, but paid to take care of stuff around his mansion/house prior to being voted in as The Man Who Would Finally Destroy California. Apparently this revelation was brought to Maria "Inward Shrinking" Shriver and she decided to get what's left of her dignity and ass outta the house. Arnold's a known philanderer (Austrian for "serial dong depositor"). And even if he wasn't, I wouldn't give a shit.

There's an old saying that goes "If you don't have anything nice to say, start a blog." Well here it is. I have to find whatever that line is between "Not Judging Others" and "Disinterest In Whether Or Not Most Of Everyone Else is Alive." Maybe it's the pending Rapture (did you buy tickets? REPENT!) or age or the desire to see the lead BA of this project I was put on get publicly embarrassed, but something's amiss. Unless I'm freaking out and angry, I'm not happy. Anger motivates me, inspires me, impregnates me with a syrupy-hot goo that builds a sac of embryonic disgust, birthing-forth in an ass-tearing avalanche of comedic preciousness.

So unless I start caring again about people I don't give a shit about, I'm going to be happy, and that makes me miserable.

Rebecca Black - "Friday"

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Mother's Day, or Mothers Day

I'm still confused about why we have a Mother's Day. That is to say, a single day to celebrate Mom. Again, it's a whittled-down, brunch-heavy version of ancient goddess worship. From Isis to Gaia to Rhea to Tyra, societies spent much of their time in loving fear of these females. Their hope was that they wouldn't be in trouble if mom got home before they had a chance to clean up their attempt at painting their bedframe with Tempera paint and a squirt bottle. Really, really should have taken it outside.

Mothers have hard work. A lot of moms put their back into it, led by their hearts, and their love of not being labeled a "bad mother." Some don't give a shit and their kids - as well as everything and everyone their kid drags their whiny ass across - suffers for it. Lazy parenting is worse than overbearing parenting. And good parenting, from what I can tell, is like a game of OPERATION in bumper cars, where the kid is the Bread Basket, and those little electrically active tongs are the "no, no, no, stop, No, come HERE, NO." That buzzer is judgment. And it comes loudest from within. But a healthy dose of public shame never hurt anybody's ability to maintain an erection.

I've seen it up close as my wife (and I, when I'm not being a full idiot) raise our son. Being close to the action and seeing how each day our boy has a new trick up his sleeve, has solved a harder puzzle, can put on his shoes, cleans up his eating area, has 2 new words is pretty amazing. And it comes from the EFFORT and ENERGY that is repetitive parenting and teaching. It's Love. My wife Loves our son, and it shows in how he laughs, jumps, and demands! to be thrown into the piled-up pillows, Dada. NOW NOW!

And he's got a Mimi, Nana, Gamma, and Titi all loving on him, too. All the Moms in his circle, teaching and loving and being good to him. While I miss the weather of our son's birthplace, I would have missed, even more, seeing him bond with 3 grandmas, 1 official aunt, and a loving swarm of other women. My wife, his Mama, is really doing a great job on a daily basis.

Moms put their back into the work because of love. Some moms just sit on their ass and parent by TV or by Nanny or by relative. And that, my friends, is where we get the best reality TV.

If you're reading this you probably had a good mom, or a mom good at hiding her coping mechanism. You made it, Adult. It's up to you to pay her back well, and all you offer is BRUNCH?

You should be ashamed. It would make your mother so proud.

Take Me Home My Blog About My Dad MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

No. 1 to No One - Football!

Anybody who follows professional football... there goes half the readers I LOVE YOU GUYS NO MATTER WHAT, COME BACK THIS WEEKEND!... knows the story of Jamarcus Russell. Drafted by the Oakland Raiders in 2007, this mountain of a quarterback had a lot of physical prowess. He could whip a ball 60 yards WHILE ON HIS KNEES. Pretty quick. Strong. But that's about it. Lots of guys like that in college. What makes a Quarterback a QB are his mental toughness, willingness to learn, leadership ability, and willingness to tag only the finest ass in the Western Hemisphere (see Brady, Tom and Bundchen, Gisele).

People jump Russell's case because he dropped out of the league so fast it made Ryan Leaf look like Lou Groza. I feel bad for Russell in some sense, because it's nobody else's business if the guy didn't have the character-foundation necessary to carry the load of a #1 pick for a crappy team with an insane owner and an even-worse fanbase. Cases in point:

That dude's not even on the team, people. He's not even on the roll-call for the work release that pulls trash after home games. As for Mother Girth up there, let's hope that's the last of the line. Would YOU want to entertain these folks with the threat of a 308-lb D-end dropping you face-first from the blindside? You could pay me enough to do it, believe me. And I could probably do it better than Russell.

But here's the issue... everybody says Russell wasted his talent. He didn't have the talent to be a professional QB. The only person who should truly be hit in the face a lot is Al "Zombie Eyes" Davis.Al's owned the Raiders far longer than most thought he'd be alive for, and made bad pick after bad pick, as if it were a video game and not an actual sport based on Madden. He decided to bring Jamarcus in and sign him and exalt him with the status, and everybody leapt to the edge of the lion pit to see if Jamarcus could handle it, for a guaranteed $31,000,000, or $2,009,160 after California taxes.

Russell bombed. Horrible. Unfocused, out of shape, not a QB for the NFL. So leave him alone. When you get shitcanned from The Juice Goose next month nobody's gonna torchsong your ass out the door. You're fired. Take your millions and go. And this idea that Russell wasted his talent? How about he had the tools and had no idea how to use them and didn't really give a shit about using them? And he took millions from one of the worst owners of one of the worst teams and decided to get drunk instead. BFD.

Russell walked with millions in his pocket, somewhat of a college education, and some time as a celebrity. He didn't have what it takes, and the fact he got as far as he did with thick of a head on his shoulders is a miracle. Like when a movie star dies before 50, there's some sort of outpouring of tragic empathy, how they "left us too soon." How do you know their involvement in the art, the sport, or even car detailing didn't keep them alive longer than their drug habit wanted? Russell's out. He's rich. He's fat. He did a shitty job and still walked with millions. He may not be a QB in the NFL, but he appears to have what it takes to be a CEO in corporate America.

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Big Brother Sleeps In, Farts On Little Sister

Let's all admit right now that we have no clue how the government works. You can state all you just copied from a Wiki entry, but on penalty of asshole-waxing you cannot tell me what the Checks & Balances are. (it's how Government sets the standard for all corporations to stifle anything before it gets out of control and actually gets work done) But somehow our government, where the average representative - that's the place where there are 435 of 'em pulling a $174K salary - works a 3-day week in between committee meetings. And getting Lobbyist luncheon BJs. And bathing in slime.

So our Government cannot find a budget that works so they'll just quit and not show up? Sorry, there's no money to keep the lights on for a day? Bullshit. Get in there and fix that shit. This is the GOVERNMENT, it's somewhat important to people who think community activity isn't worth the time. It's maddening, truly. Big Brother wants to sleep in. Wants to roll over, take a rip off the bong, and nap until the weekend. Aren't we throwing firepower down Libya's throat for some reason dressed up to make it not look like oil?

They need to just go in there and push some shit around, look busy. Until now it doesn't appear anything has been done anyway. Seriously. And we're all too upside down in our tent mortgages to have the bag to skip a day of work, and REALLY shut the show down. You want to enact change, you don't vote. You get 50% of a workforce to dis-a-fucking-ppear for a Tuesday with no explanation. Send a message about who is in control.

Same thing in Washington, DC. This article tells the tales of those who are really affected by the stoppage: People making the $30K-$50K a year who're just scraping by in the economy's wet-fart of a recovery. The people who make the coffee, sweep the floors, shine the shoes, cut the hair, fold the shirts, make the meetings, unlock the doors, mop the bathrooms... they disappear for ONE DAY... shit'll get changed. Kinda like a "Day Without A Mexican," but documented.

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Corporate Training & Obedience

Hi, good morning! Everyone?! Good morning, hi...
My name is Denise Szbarski and I am aaaa certified corporate training specialist here, and today I am going to lead our class on the Unified Requirements, Intentions and Negotiations Gathering, or URING, as we like to call it, heh heh heh... NOOOO, not the other word, come on now...

Does anybody have any questions at this point? No? Okay, then why don't we turn our cell phones off or to vibrate, probably better off so that your business emails and important phone calls don't take us away from the focus today while we're all... working through the process and knee deep in URING. Is everybody able to connect to the network? No? You're not? You? No, no, no... huh, 7 of 10 of you can't get on? Okay, well keep trying. Okay then.

Okay, then normally we go around the room to introduce ourselves and say which department we're in to kill time that I can't fill, but instead of doing that, okay let's dive right into our work today. By the time we get to the last person most of us forget who was first anyway and it doesn't really impact our job nor this class, okay then.

Okay, then now the URING process was created out of a need for Senior Leadership like Daniel and Marlia and Steven to impart some change to an otherwise barely-flawed process we were all comfortable and knowledgeable with. After being confused about the actual details that go into planning and design they found a need to get everybody on a new page instead of the same page. Instead of having no answers as to what all has transpired during the gathering and design phases of projects, they now have an acronym they can refer to and feel as if they are at-one with their organization. They don't know any of your names and don't particularly care to, okay then.

Okay, then when you get to the last 72 hours before a project you have worked on is supposed to launch, the URING process will be referred-to. Usually this will happen by one of the Senior Leaders who hasn't attended any of the calls or meetings, and they will ask questions at random times. The answers to those questions will likely, or may not be, in the URING document, so keep it on-hand at all times, okay then?

Okay, then OH is that a phone? Please... please let's turn off our phones again real quick, guys I hate to interrupt class like that, okay? I'm barely qualified to substitute-teach a quiet-drawing class, guys, okay, let's make sure our phones are off. I have control issues, okay then.

So we're going to go ahead and dive right in for the first 2 hours, is it cold in here? Can we turn the heat up? Are any of you guys cold? No? I am freezing, I'm going to get this heat going, I will be freezing up here, okay then.

So we're going to go ahead and dive in for about 2-and-a-half hours as an intro to the URING process, then a 10minute lunch and bathroom break, then we'll wrap up with 3 hours after lunch. Ah, there we go, I just heard the heat turn on. I set it for 78 so if anybody feels warm just imagine you're in Maui on the beach with a Corona, okay then.
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Corporate Training: When done well, it sounds nothing like this. Usually it sounds like this.


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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Shit's F'ed

As I watch the upheaval in the Middle East, North Africa, Japan, and Wisconsin, I make note that most other countries live with a passion about politics that America finds barbaric and frightening. We prefer to withhold such emotion until it really matters, like when our team wins a championship, or Black Friday. Nothing says "You get out your the powerseat or we'll burn your house down" like riding your best camel into a duel before the prayer hour.

The threat of arrest is very real when you take a day off work. It multiplies by at least 3 when your PTO coincides with you being fed-the-fuck up with people protesting a war on the corner of a quaint suburban business park. (I'm talking to you, Iraq war protestors in Lake Forest Park!) Yes, we have the right to free speech, to assemble peacefully, and to petition the government without being hole-probed. But to be honest... THAT DOESN'T DO SHIT.

You can vote the bastards and bitchloads out of office. Another fartfactory will take their place. Politics are business, and the business is about Getting Rich, Staying Rich, and Face-Fucking the Opposition but Not In The Good Way. If you aren't sure if I'm fed up, I am. But what can I do about it?

Well, I can be cool as hell to my neighbors. I can be a better dad than I have been. I can get a control on this ridiculous ADD issue I'm having. I can act locally, shop locally, buy organic, and read-up on History. How did this all play out before? This isn't the first time dictators have been moved upon. Africa, by the way, is the world's crotch now. For anybody who wants to debate me about Africa being the cradle of civilization, that was most-likely what is now Southern Europe/Turkey/North Africa. When left to their own devices, i.e. America staying out of their affairs, look at what an incredible job African nations do.

It's up to the world to get Africa back on its feet. Oh wait, Japan is about to melt down because they have been too cheap to pony-up to keep their reactors up to code. Thank you, Japan. Probably gonna get enough cement dumped on you to sink part of that island. Sorry Africa, you'll have to wait. We'll keep sending aid to 47 countries in Africa, you African dictators keep acting like human ass-rashes, and we'll stand by and neglect our education system.

Here's what's so incredibly wrong with our society.

You can have a protest that blocks streets and takes people out of work and screws up people's commutes home, and yet still lose the vote to criminalize caffeinated baby formula.

Or you can get some real shit done by blowing up the factory that makes it and go to jail for it.

I'm happy as hell to see the protests in Wisconsin, and hope to see more.

Washington state is by far the most liberal-minded, conservative-walleted state in America. Our desire to force state and local governments to do "more with less" is crippling social services. Schools are getting hammered. And 27 year-old software designers are driving A-8s to Beer Pong at The Boat night. Awesome. We suck.

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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Day Dream Job

I always have loved stand-up comedy. Some of my earliest memories are seeing Steve Martin, arrow through his head, goofin' it up on stage and watching a room full of adults cracking up about it. The people on TV were loving him. He looked like he was loving it right back. That looked like a lot of fun. It wired me, perhaps, to "get" comedy. It tuned my Sense of Humor. Like how blindness accentuates the other senses, or a how dullness of taste excites one's love of Daughtry's music or buffet dining when not in Vegas, my Sense of Humor has always been prominent.

What the hell does it matter? Why pursue COMEDY as a hobby, career, second job, or passion? To make people laugh? I don't like people all that much, in a general sense. As dumb as I project most of them to be, almost every audience I've performed in front of has been nearly 100% people. And I'm supposed to make THEM laugh? They expect me to give them some sort of levity from an existence that is routine, by rote, a rut from their mid-twenties until they go cold and limp in a chair 4 years and one Easter dinner after retiring from Accounts Receivable. And honestly, who deserves it more than them?

I pursue comedy for the same reason some people pursue celebrity cupcake-making, or giving it their all as a Real Housewife on TV.... they have bills to pay and demand attention.

I kid.

I can't NOT be funny. At work, in line for coffee, on the phone with a customer service rep (even if English is one of their top two languages), with doctors... Funny happens with me. And I feel blessed to be able to do what I do, get paid for it, enjoy it, and have strangers enjoy it, also. It's not always great.
Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes I hit a stage without any energy at all and have to be professionally pushing myself to be a bit louder and more animated until I finally HIT with the audience. Non-comedians know it as "every single day." But it is my passion and I can't NOT do it. I no longer question "why" our society - American, that is - has shows that embrace what seem to be waste-of-time pursuits, either. I get it.

Honestly, do we need a SINGLE show on TV, paid-for by advertising and cable bills, that solves the ages-old dilemma of whose group is the most dynamic at dancing? DANCING. If it keeps the kids off the streets and out of malls, great. And they love it. Perhaps they'll learn to appreciate other people's creative passions and shut the fuck up at a comedy club and not send useless text messages while the comedian is talking about how dumb young people are.

But the other part is that until it all clicks, The Passion pays dick. Especially if you're married and have a kid and a mortgage and other things you wanna do. While those inspire comedy, and work, and love, and provision, and Life, they also require a finely-tuned management of schedule that usually escapes most comedians. I've been a lazy joke-sack for a couple of months. And that's not something I love about comedy. It doesn't need me as much as I need it. Until I go to an open mic and hope the audience doesn't think comedy doesn't need me. Because, wow, some people are better off just judging comedy instead of doing it.

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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Driving, Me Crazy

We have one car at the moment. It's not a new thing for us. We're not being self-righteous in our single car'edness. In Los Angeles we had one car that we scooted around in. It was convenient for both our budget and parking. This was before our son was born. This was before the demands of life as parents could really use both of us being auto-mobile. Times have changed. We got the one car, and it's a good car, and it's not a commuter, for the most part. Instead, I ride the bus to and from work on an almost daily basis. That's a travelogue for 5 other blogs, mostly centered around how being driven around is as liberating as it is lockdown. Being at the mercy of public transit's +/- 3minute "on time" plan isn't as fun as living with a bi-polar pitbull. Not that I'm calling out any of my ex-girlfriends. They probably all have their licenses by now.

I have the car today... Driving to work this morning was incredibly freeing for me. I've driven since I was 15 years old, most of the time, very well compared to those around me. I took the California written test without studying and got 34 of 36 CORRECT. I can drive. But it's amazing how the timing and judgment of the traffic flow can keep you on your toes, literally. The individual yet combined neuroses of a thousand drivers converging on a time-point preceding a dayjob really ought to result in far more violence. It's amazing that we're as calm as we are. The cars protect us from ourselves, I suppose. I imagine we'd all be road-tackling each other were it not for the amount of insurance paperwork and hassle required after a car accident.

And in driving to work I found myself riffing jokes from news stories, finding the humor in the relabeling of prostitution and how it objectifies both parties, and ripping farts like I was in the World Fart Championship Finals again. All things the bus frowns upon. Self-talk, prostitution, intelligent conversations. Farting, from what I can tell, gets a full GREENLIGHT on the bus. Welcome to the world's cultures in 9 miles, who likes curried broccoli and chickpeas?

In that 30minute commute I feel the drive defogged windows of my brain. Some wiper fluid and a few swipes opened a view of my mind I have been mostly unable to access during my 78minutes of commuting to and from work, listening to some guided meditation (Stop Caring Now!) or a Marc Maron WTF podcast. Accepting the responsibilities of car ownership at 37, yes, I will do it. I have perspective as my license to drive. And I'd like to smell only my own gas being burned. The American Dream; single-occupancy, single farter, single-minded.

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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Backing Up

It's been a while since I was regularly on-stage. I don't really know why, but I can easily misdirect any number of reasons to my job, my disinterest in my act, being wiped-out, lacking a stage-hunger, being happy, or any combination of those. There's something lacking in the FIRE department, wherein most of my act should be scrapped while I build up something meatier, more reflective of my attitude towards society. At least the parts that most folks wouldn't label as racist.


After headlining in December, I decided a lot of my material just isn't fun to do, or should be more deeply extrapolated, if not looked into further. I think extrapolated is a great word. Recently I went to a chiropractor for the knot in my back and the displacement of my hips. Turns out that sitting on a wallet for 25 years has pushed my right hip forward and under. It's a half-inch lower than my left hip, causing some issues that include tingling in my leg, a strained right erectus muscle in my back, and mild bigotry. Pain can push us to horrible places. Pile that on top of all the stuff in the first paragraph, and you can start to see why I don't hit the Tuesday night bierhaus shows for 5 minutes between the 2 guys who just broke up with non-existent girlfriends and smoked pot at their sister's wedding.
NOT
INTERESTED


So now I have 3 weeks of shows to handle. Feature work, headline work, and a headline gig at a bar. 2 clubs, one bar, one private show. Mostly I am at the point that the best thing for me is to stop relying on material that works and just let-fly with what I want to do. This of course is the same for Life, overanalyzing every little move to the point that I ruin my Gavin chinos instead of just going into the open stall and gettin' some Tank time. Drop that shit, kid, you have LIFE to do. And a big part of my life is stand-up comedy.


So as I look forward to, and at, the next 10 shows I hope to get some new material to share as it goes along. This includes being able to just go in and riff and be loose and let whatever happens, happen. Being tired, happy, and sore is how much of my life has gone. It's part of the gig. And I have learned to embrace the moments of calmly explaining to people why they are fucking up the process for everyone else. If we let ONE person bring their dog into the store, soon we have to let EVERY Eastern Bloc trashbag bring their Mastiff-boxer mix into Babies R Us, or else it's discrimination. People are not generally good, people are generally BORING. And many of them are decent. But those that stand out are either attractive or annoying as shit. And that's where my comedy comes from. I know I can be that annoying. I just have to try harder.

So really, what I am saying for now is that I am maxed out. I can't take on any more work from the day job. I can't do any more work in comedy. I am at the mercy of a changing, incommunicative bus system (and a socially retarded driver on the 7:23 255 route), and basically unable to do anything more than make money and not power-drink at the bus stops. I am doing all I can to find time to work out to keep the nervous energy low(ish), and operating on adrenaline and the love of/from my family and friends. Without those cornerstones (Love, Effort, Faith, Chocolate), this isn't a workhouse, it's a tent in the wind.


This was pointless. What a crybaby I am.


Take Me Home
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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Short Stack of Hot Shots

Busy. That's what's up. Good-busy. Money-making-busy.

Busy as all get-out. Busy as heck. Busy busy busy biz-eye. Already, just this short bit of blogging feels good inside my brain, like twiddling nobs at a mixing board, trimming back that hum, dialing-down that buzz, plugging in your SuperFuzz BigMuff and gettin' ready to lay down some tasty licks. Sustain your tone. Alriiight.

I'm a believer but not really a loving follower of Henry Ford's saying, "Lose the shoes, honey, you're walking silk runners from here til Sunday evening when the wife comes back from her hot springs."

Also, "The harder I work, the luckier I get." It's true, and for me it is very much the gasoline additive to the engine of the Law Of Attraction. The Law Of Attraction works by paying thousands of dollars to self-help schysters to sit on a dais and vaguely eschew the value of visualization and intent. It also works by deciding what you want to receive, visualizing it in your head with as much reality as you can - such as the feel of a steering wheel of the car you want, or the crack of a leather riding crop across the flanks - and feeling positive and happy about it. THEN, most importantly, letting that go and doing something else so you don't keep hashing it over and over in your head. That's noise. Static. Brain farts.

Just had my first chiropractic adjustment. Post-workout stiffness last Friday, while on my vacation, ushered me into the office. My right hip is about an inch lower than my left, rotating under, and thus shortening my right leg's stride, and causing much of my back tension, shoulder pain, foul language, and barely-veiled racism. Also, there's a major problem with my posture in that I need to be more erect from the head down. It all starts top-down. I need to make sure my head is up and I'm better aligned. No telling what's going on with my language when I'm not paying attention poopassfuckanoodle.

And some other shit happened and basically my entire home is an ergonomic nightmare.

Bye.

Take Me Home
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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Rosa Parks It: Tales From The Bus

Today I was late for my first bus. Not always an issue, as the bus I transfer to usually arrives about 12min after I get to the transfer point. In that time, another bus leaves my first stop and gets me to the transfer point with anywhere from 2min to “it’s right in front of us” to spare. Today was one of those days… kind of.

Missed the first bus, so I took a different bus that dropped me at a mid-point to that transfer point. So I think I'll walk over to the transfer, and get about 50yards out when I see the "next bus" I should be getting on pulling up. I scramble/nerd-run back to the stop and hop on, sit down, and then… nothing.
The full bus waits there for about 3minutes while the driver has a delicate and unfunny conversation about how traffic wasn’t bad yesterday and mostly it was just people not paying attention and blah blah blah talking to the woman sitting adjacent to her, in the 4 o’clock position. They had a nice talk while the bus idled, nobody else coming along, for 3 minutes. I’m already thinking “hey… shouldn’t we move now? We’re now a minute behind leaving this point of the trip, and the chatter isn’t getting us anywhere closer to the shitty work coffee I’ll have to endure if I miss the next bus.” The clench-factor of this whole thing was ratcheting quickly.

The driver finally lurches the bus back into gear and off we go, nearing the turn to the transfer point where I need to catch the final bus that drops me off at work. Ahead of us, about 100 yards, leaving the transfer point, is another bus, the route number is too small to read.

Let’s break it down if it’s all going right:
1^st bus (255), 7:15am pick-up (or 7:24am if I miss it)
Off at Transfer Point, 7:27am (or 7:38-ish)
Wait, 15min-ish (or 2-5min if I get that 2nd option bus)
2^nd bus (245), 7:40am-ish and we’re off to work.
Arrive at work, 8:25am-ish.

If I miss that that transfer bus, the 245, it’s another 15min wait for the next 245. In “rain minutes” that is 22minutes. And the time compounds as we move along, because the later we go, we pick up more students for a local community college as we get through the neighborhoods, so 20seconds to every late minute as another kid with dreams of a General Studies degree hops aboard. All the worker-bees are on-board that earlier one. There's really only like 8 of them all headed for Microsoft.

I got off at the transfer point, asked a person at the stop if the previous bus was the 245, the bus I needed, and he said, “Oh… yeah.” So I missed it. 45seconds. 100 yards. Thanks to the idle chatter, literally, of the bus driver we missed that 2^nd bus, the one I should have been on, had the conversation happened while moving. It was literally a 3minute bullshit move that cost me another 28minutes of my day, 17 of which were spent in the rain. She was a minute behind, and it cost me a half hour.

We have no more valuable resource in our lives than our Time. Having a clear understanding of that, and how we should properly use it to our benefit, and to those around us, and to respect the time of other people, is a cornerstone of success. The other cornerstones are Altruism, Perseverance, Core Strength, and Ability to Synchronize-Dance With a Large Group Of Asian Youth.

Don’t give me the argument “Get a car!” or “Get out on time!” Live in the Now, and pay attention. The lesson is that this person’s inability to multitask cost myself and 2 other people the trip on the 245. It cost us TIME. Time is MONEY. And thanks to that bullshit, I had to take time away from my job to write this blog.

I hope that bus driver’s happy.

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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

A Bus Ride To Downtown Perspective

This morning I walked outta my place without getting to moosh the face of my son, had a good-bye kiss from my wife, and about 5 minutes to hoof it a half mile to the bus stop. Just after 7a.m. it was about 22 degrees. So said the display across from my bus stop at the fitness club when I arrived. But I was up for the challenge having missed the 5:15am workout.

I had to do 2 short jogs to make it on time, which isn't easy in moderately-cushioned lace-ups with a 15lb backpack. Save your military story about humping a 90lb pack through the shit, I'm not enlisted, I understand perspective... MOVING ON... I arrived at my stop about 45 seconds before the bus did. Missing it would result in waiting 15minutes for the next one. 15minutes x 22degrees = 5 hours, so my hustle was rewarded.

As I stood there fishing out my change, a dark Suburban with tinted windows rolled up. I thought for sure that They'd finally come for me, after all my subversion and subterfuge, it was time... the TSA had come to screw up my morning! Instead, a petite gal in a nice outfit hopped as the bus pulled up behind her ride. She shot a "Yeah, thanks" over her shoulder as I moved toward the bus, happy to not be waiting out here, and thinking she wasn't really hearty enough to handle the cold, the walk, nor the rigors of a 20-hour work-week.

So I pay my fare and move to a seat when I hear the gal who was not willing to catch the bus elsewhere, nor walk-to, nor wait-at the bus stop, tell the driver "Oh what? The fares went up? Gawl..."
Yeah. They went up a quarter. They went up to make some money back that people like this chick... CUTTING TO THE CHASE...

I really should have said "You just got dropped off while I walked a half mile in sub-freezing temperatures," and let her process that while she grumped about how awful that she should have to work, being white and somewhat attractive. I hope her work with underprivileged, walking youth whose parents only drive sedans is fulfilling.

Either I got easily red-assed over this chick's inability to equate a car ride in bad weather to being worth an extra quarter and I mis-read the situation and acting "holier than thou," or she's a turd.

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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT