On Being Offended Easily

Hey folks, somebody may have been offended at some of the language I use in these blogs, on stage, and in line at Swapper John's. First off, remember that I label myself in this writing as a Comedian-Writer-Raconteur. I don't delve into Hallmark'ian, milquetoast Life-philosophies to pander to people looking for inspiration from Oprah and/or Dr. Phil. Sometimes my language, in text and tongue, can slide toward the "inappropriate for the funeral" end of the spectrum.

So here's the deal.

Some people are easily offended. They are looking to be offended. They are finding things in the world to be offended by, and if they aren't offended, they'll surely let everybody else know why THEY should be offended by it. By proxy, they'll also attempt to inculcate the morality of being offended, in case you think you're too good, too mature, or not the target of the arrow of offense.

If somebody stands in the middle of the street and screams for the beheadings of all DIPSHITS, FARTLOADS, and F*CKTARDS... well I'm going to think she's not talking to me because I don't see myself as any of those. At least not on a regular basis. In fact, I'd likely ask her if she needs help or to sit for a second and get some electrolytes balanced out. But I am surely NOT going to rush to this blog and tell people that the aforementioned unsavories should all rise in revolt against this woman who is clearly hoping we pass a national health care bill instead of sanctioning the incredibly heavy-handed Insurance Cabals.

So when it comes to being offended, rarely is it my intent to offend anybody. And if any of my defense mechanisms were to spring up and I say or do something that offends a person who I discern as a threat, then they SHOULD be offended. I draw a rather tight perimeter as to what I will offended or threatened by, so if I feel threatened, yes, you have gotten closer to me than most folks would have allowed without a low-inside leg kick.

So if ever I express myself and you deem it offensive, please understand that Offense was not my intent. I was merely expressing myself on a topic I felt strongly about. Because if I don't stand up for the F*CKTARDS and those who aren't easily offended, well... they'll have to get their own blogs.

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Uggos Got Talent!

Susan "The Brow" Boyle rocketed into the first 3minutes of her fame 2 weeks back for a knock-out singing performance on "Britain's Got Talent." It stunned the judges - including Simon "The Brush" Cowell (he who made Clay Aiken gay), who we're slowly finding out may have had something to do with, oh, you know... keeping Susan in the basement until the world needed a Prejudice Makeover. Boyle heats it up, folks. Go watch! (can't embed the vid here)

Simon Cowell... a master marketeer and promotional wi-zar-do? >shrug< style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">like a garage," and was once mistaken for a flock of bats. Yet we are so dearly impressed and uplifted at watching a person who is not "traditionally attractive"/traffic-stoppingly off-beat-looking express themselves in a beautiful way, especially through music.

If this person had been WWOOOHWOWOWOOOWOOOOOOOOOO on a didgeridoo outside the Pottery Barn, most folks would probably light one of them on fire. But under the lights, backing tracks swelling up and we are FOR seeing somebody we wouldn't give a second look belt out some showtunes.

Let's see...

• Shunned by most based on their looks
• Awkward because of the previous statement, yet wanting to stun the world somehow (without their own centrifuge... NOW I'm in The Database for sure)
• Plenty of time to practice

And that's what we get. A monster, uncaged, in the spotlight they've thought themselves into a thousand times in their life.

Paul Potts

CREED Shreds it up!



I'm out, GOOD NIGHT, Rock Ugly!

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Lotts Angeles - Getting There Is 90% Of the Battle

When I figured out that YES, if I really wanted to make anything out of my wiring for comedy and entertainment, I needed to get to Los Angeles, I talked seriously with my wife about it. It's often weird to think that people make a lot of money while making other people laugh. But at the same time, a lot of money is made by people who make other people cry, or make their food, or make their favorite pets into eternal doorstops. I'm wired for comedy. Thank God. My taxidermy did NOT turn out well. Then again, if you bring me pieces of a cat, I'm not giving you back a whole Seal Point. And NO, you cannot have a refund. YES, I'm talking to you.
Lesson 1: What is for you, will find you.
Be it Love, Luck, Money, Mansions, Heartache, Honky Tonk, or a mis-guided drunken dope-addict on a Harley-Davidson... if it's yours, you'll get it.

So my wife did the right thing with all this LA mess:
SHE CALLED MY BLUFF. Next thing we know, we're renting out our condo and packing boxes and looking at the opportunities that await us in LA, and laughing. Because that's what you do when you've lost your friggin' mind.

Lesson 2: What you don't know, you don't know; embrace that void.
I knew that what was waiting for me was better than what I'd been doing. But I don't know how it's all going to fall into place, though I know that it WILL. Dear Killorn, she said it best when she said "Dude, you can't keep doing that in an elevator full of people. Not funny." She also said, "You two, no, I don't worry about you. I know you'll land on your feet."

I didn't know I was that guy. I haven't ever taken stock of myself as that kind of guy who lands on his feet. But you know what? I'm not ready to expound on the emotional and personal growth I've experienced. I'm still too much in love with the Life and Wife I have been blessed with.

We are in so far over our heads with love of good people, we may never surface.
And if you wish me ill, that's okay, too. I've already forgotten your face.

Let me give you the story of the TRIP. Because it's worth it.

We made it to LA in 3 days. Got in on Thursday night, crashed at the Best Western in Sherman Oaks, the only one around with Room Service supplied by the Denny's in the parking lot. Let's backtrack...

Leg 1, lots of Leg.
The best part of the first leg was seeing my one-legged (temporarily) best friend Russ, his fab wife Katie, and their kids in Vancouver, WA for a bit. The kids got tired, the boogers ran dry, and they succumbed to nap time. Us? We had Grant's Pass to get to.

We drove down I-5 to Grant's Pass on Tuesday, stayed at the Motel Del Rogue. There's little else to mention. I'm convinced that Oregon exists only because, without it, Washington would have been too large. But the Motel Del Rogue, yes. Go there, when you're in the area, and get room #8. It overlooks the slowly-moving Rogue River, and the people are nice as all get-out. Also, mangy cats abound, fertile, all of them I'm sure. Bring your leg snares. The night was highlighted by splitting mini-bottles of Cabernet, eating Cheez-Its, and trying to get the sound of the road out of our heads.

Day 2 found us stopping for the equivalent of a slow roll in Redding, CA, where you don't live... you just "end up" there. It was 95 with no breeze nor outlook. High-tailed it to San Fran from there.
Prior to arriving, we made a swing-over to Santa Rosa to a place called Zazu, which is where Alicia and I had dinner the night we got engaged. It's a roadside 15-table res-toe-rawnt that'll kiss your knees weak with grub if you take a moment and let it happen to you. Go. The exec chef, Duskie Estes, learned under Tom Douglas, and we talked Seattle and fusion cuisine a moment when I went to check on the cat in the car. Great place. Get the Carmody Grilled Cheese and Spicy Tomato Soup for an appetizer. You will be sorry, and not my friend, if you don't. We made it to Redwood City that night, late, and crashed hard. I cannot thank Sally enough for again letting my weary bones drop in her guest room. The world needs more people like her!

Day 3 was The Big Drive, from Redwood City to LA or BUST. We swung over 92 to Half Moon Bay for a very overrated breakfast. It's a town with secrets. It's a place where you live a nice little quiet life after getting teenage pregnant by an aggressive jock, and end up a cop's wife... or switch those roles. Weird little town. Too, too quiet. Nice people though. Weak breakfast.

Took the 1 down the coast, adding 90min to the overall trip, but saving stress and desolation found on the 101 or the 5. Carmel-by-the-Sea was great. We stopped to check it out, and were stared at like MENSA members at the VMAs. Shorts? On a WEEKDAY? I could hear their whispas.
Deals on handbags were found. I got a coffee. Gorgeous, pricey little shopping berg. Back on the ro-ad.

At one point, having seen all the outcroppings and water we could bear, and needing to fill on gas with no stations noted on the GPS for another 40mi, we took a left onto Nacimiento-Fergusson Road. Remember it. Google it. Find videos of it. Because it will haunt you. I just found out it's where this year's Red Bull Motorcycle rally is held. 17 miles of straight-up switchbacks, then downward switchbacks, blind corners, and talking animals/hallucinations. This is a satellite image of the road. It's not as kind as it looks.

The great part is that your butt cheeks? MASSIVE WORK-OUT.
The drive is terrifying, and yet life-affirming. Honking around blind corners, chewing gum being worked to keep from screaming. Topped off by getting crapped out into the ass-end of... YOU GUESSED IT... a military base! Live maneuvers were postponed while the 1997 Civic went all-4-cylinders wide-open across the range. We saw NOTHING. Truly. And officially. This tank is in the middle of nothing on the base.
OH RIGHT, getting gas...

Here's where it got weird. About 8 miles on, we find a "town" that has one gas pump, one grade of gas, and two buildings. One's the mini-mart/gas-station. The other one is for sale. It's hot, still, and nearly silent. We got 2 gallons of gas and peeled out. Lola showed her discontent by sleeping.

From there we decided it would be better to see Santa Barbara on our own terms, so we coasted in for a bite. It put us out of our intended destination another hour or so, but after that much time in the car, what's another hour or three? Sometimes, the best thing before driving all that way is a cold beer. It was lovely, confusing, and heavily Hispanic before you get to the water. Just saying, it was. And is. So don't act surprised with your windows down.

So, there you go. We made it. Flying would have robbed us of all those moments, nay, HOURS of wondering what the hell we were doing.
We are LIVING. That's what. And we're here. Step 1, complete.
Safe. Sound. And the cat has had NO accidents.
It's no accident, that in-shoe-pooping.

I'll tell you more about our new home from where we can see the HOLLYWOOD sign in the next blog.
I miss my family. I miss my friends. But I wouldn't trade this for the world.

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I'm Here For Comedy

This will fill in more as the days go on.

But I must state it now to you, dear reader, and the Universe, and anybody else who can read and thought this was a blog about boobs or butts...


I am here for Comedy.
I am here to make people laugh.
I am here for the purpose of entertaining people around the ideas of humanity, tragedy, irony, chocolate, and personal growth.
I am here to make the kind of living that talented people and not Jimmy Fallon should make, money, travel, constant creativity.
And I'm blessed with those talents to make it happen. Amen.

I embrace it. Were I wired to be a neurosurgeon, I'd do that. Or a monkey trainer, bingo. But I'm a comedian, I do Comedy. Stand-up, writing, acting. Laughter is the best medicine.

Big Announcement NEXT WEEK.

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