The Super Beyond

The painful illness of my friend's father has cut-loose enough of an emotional oil-slick in me to devote some time to a Life piece. My blast on Justin Bieber's ridiculable haircut shall wait for another day.

Having lost my dad in November of 2008, and later becoming a father, I have a much greater appreciation for life, babies, mommies, and the duties of parenting. I see how much influence I may have on my son some day. And how difficult it can be to live with integrity and coolheadedness when you haven't slept much and can play 183 arrangements of "Old MacDonald" on a 1-octave plastic piano. And this is WITH technological advancements as outlets of frustration and socializing.

As I'm wont to do, time to time, I pray to God about my life. Usually I am thanking Him for keeping me alive after a litany of moves equivalent to Justin Bieber's haircut (it seemed cool at the time, but then we went on two wheels, and the gas can tipped over, and my cigarette...). Seriously close calls in my life that would have given my parents synchronized cardiac arrest had they known about it. And for some reason I am here with a beautiful wife, wonderful baby guy, awesome friends, and a bright future in a number of careers. And I have to Thank God for a lot of it.

Some people love to jump off their Agnosticar or Atheistar Van long enough to bash and/or ridicule my choice of spiritual pursuit. I pray for them, too. I don't point a finger back and tell them they're wrong for believing - or not believing - the way they do. I accept them as people, and move on. But all the same, I don't condone nor defend the Crusades, the Catholic Priest scandals, nor any other atrocity committed by a person wrapping themselves in the gossamer layers of Christianity, Religion, Islam, or Professional Wrestling. Every group's got their shit-heads.

And for every shit-head there are 1,000 fantastic people. And knowing that everybody, great and not-so, good and bad, weird and conformist, will all biologically die some day just makes me realize that our relationships to one another are the MOST IMPORTANT thing we can have in life. Especially if they are good, healthy, self-actualizing, loving, and mutually beneficial. We don't have to be close to step on toes. And we don't have to step on toes just because we're close. And I only ever wear close-toe shoes.

So if you're gonna live a long time, have some stories to tell when you get there. If you're not gonna live a long time, give everyone else a story about how you went out big. But for the sake of dead rockstars, don't just muddle about doing squat in hopes you'll just make it to 90 with a full tread on your tires. Nobody wants to hear about how you never swam the rapids or farted in your hand to smother your friend's face when camping. Especially God. No time for it.

Go live. Do one thing today that scares you or somebody else.

Justin Bieber's hair is really stupid, though. I'm happy my dad isn't alive to see it. And if I'm a "hater," I include Bieberfolliclegate among my other instances of "hating," including "Dane Cook's Act," "Fans of Insane Clown Posse," "Guys Who Make That KissyFace To The Camera," and "Misquoting PseudoJournalists Obsessed With MurderCases."

Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


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

What're You Doing?

Found this by wormhole'ing around the 'net at my friend Joe Vespaziani's untouched MySpace site... don't ask... Joe is an influence, a friend, and a brilliant comedian, bee tee dub.

I watched the entire 4:30 of this video, and realized that I really have to do more in life.

It's past time. But this is a great one.

This guy just dances all around the world. WHAT?

Yeah. Not well, does he dance. That's not the point. Watch it.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Lotts Angeles II

Absolute craziness.

We quit jobs, rented our condo out, and moved. 2 states and 1400 miles away. The only thing that’s the same is the time zone. It’s safe to say that cultures are clashing outside our door in Culver City.

Moving to Los Angeles is about energy, opportunity, and adventure. I had this feeling hit me when we really thought about this move, a feeling while sitting at my desk at my job that felt like a comfortable jacket. A jacket I could wear daily. Even when it went out of style. And that feeling of comfort drove our decisions. That Seattle is a place of finite opportunity for a writer/comic/actor to make a living as any of those is an understatement. I know only a couple of comics in Seattle who only do stand-up, but they are well-known, well-respected, and could close any room in the country. But it will be years before I’m there, and I don’t have years to make things come true. I have what feels like a few months.

And that’s what I need. Drive. Deadline. Accleration. I had coffee with a friend yesterday who has been here 5 years. He’s connected. He’s knowledgeable. He’s funny. He’s sincere, and sincerely a great guy. Two hours with him put me probably 18 months ahead of schedule in LA. Irons are just going into the fire, but I cannot wait to start pounding for the craft, whatever it is.

But why do it? Why shake up my comfort level, and that of my wife, especially? I have never felt more selfish, more unhinged, nor less in-control than through all of this. But what I think I’ve lost control of is “Life.” I know that Life, to progress on a larger level, a more evolved level, is about taking care of others. But this, this seems like it's squirming in my grasp.

CHECK OUT MY BIG THROBBING EGO.

Like I have any control over that? Ten years ago I was, on this day, getting released from Harborview, a week after getting admitted, a few hours after getting slammed into by a drug addict on a financed Harley-Davidson. My left leg in bandages and stitches, wrapped around bruises and shattered bones, encasing a titanium rod, 9 screws, and a small plate. That’s what I get for crossing the street at 10 in the morning on a clear, gorgeous September day.

What I feel I’ve lost control of I haven’t ever had in my grasp. Life is that fishbowl we don’t know we’re in. Life is just part of the gig. But what I DO have control over, I’m figuring out and really trying to apply, are the following things:

• My reactions to situations in Life
• How I treat people, all people, in any situation
• What I do with my free time
• What I do with my Gifts
• What I say to people, and how I say it
• How I treat myself in the wake of disappointment, or achievements
• When and where and how loudly I break wind (I don’t “pass gas,” I blow heartily)
• How I give thanks and praise and worship the God that put me here with these Gifts

That’s all mine. I can only control that. I can’t control the guy with the attitude at the Culver City Target. Hell, if I were 38 and working there, I wouldn’t want to see ANYBODY, let alone some white boy returning an unused camping mattress.

I can’t control the people whistling at my wife as we walk down the street. I deplore their decorum, though I appreciate their taste in women. Still, they should be sat down and given a stern talking to with a ball-peen hammer and a socket wrench.

And those things all constitute My Piece of Life. A dear friend and Mentor told me that in LA, “It’s not that they think you’re not a fish in the pond; they don’t even want you to think you’re a fish!” Funny thing is…

I didn’t move to LA to “make it” in LA.
I moved to LA to “make it” everywhere else. And I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing with my life.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad