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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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.


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Projectile Misfunction

Sex. Well, here we go.

I get a ton of spam emails regarding all sorts of pills for what a money-hoarding pharmaceutical industry - most of it not in America, God Bless 'er - wants men to believe is a major problem with their boners. Their LovePiston. Penisaurus. WangDang Doodle.

You can't get it up RIGHT NOW. You need a boner NOW NOW NOW. It has to be a throbbing and huge and flexed like it's in a Mr. Olympia lineup. Veiny. Rock hard. Morning boners are another way that men know it's okay to get out of bed in the morning. As long as THAT thing's working, okay then, we have a baseline function.

Here's the deal; there are few moments in life, less than 2 hours a day usually, that you benefit from an erection. All other erections are shunned, shied away-from, angrily kicked-at, and/or Tasered. And even those reactions can lead to that boner's persistence. And yet, it's not when you needed it, so HMMPH, you have Erectile Dysfunction.

When a man is a young man, the erection is an uncontrollable manifestation. Blowing wind. Loose pants. Tight pants. Shorts. Jeans. A properly-positioned peach. The peek of underpants over the top of jeans. Walking too fast. Sitting too upright. Sit-ups. The neighbor's step-mom. The step-mom's ankle bracelet. A bike seat. You'd be amazed at what ingnites the loinfire of a young man.

Throughout the course of a night's sleep, the average man's penis becomes erect 11 times. This keeps things healthy and elastic. And confusing. Do you NEED to act upon each erection's annoucement? Probably shouldn't. So does this mean that your erection is dysfunctional, or that you're just not fully embracing your erection? Some day you won't be able to get them at all. Think of that. You'll get a LOT done

Perhaps you can't get an erection because your brain is communicating with the rest of your life, and you realize that you don't have to be led around by the lie that is a drunken fumbling-'round after a decent happy hour. You may have a committed relationship, and it's now about quality and not quantity. And perhaps it's THAT mentality that is wrong... use it when it's usable, word? Stamina at an older age, an issue? Well, yeah. Because there ARE THINGS TO DO. And because most of the sex is sober. SOBER, fully-present S E X. And you feel everything and that's gonna wind the clock faster.

Anyway, you and your penis - whatever capacity that penis is to you - are fine. Your overall health will affect your erection in more ways than you can imagine. And being turned on, MENTALLY, is a great way to achieve a cell-phone camera-worthy cock picture. Stop thinking it's all on you. Maybe your life isn't boner-worthy. Maybe you're not ready to have sex. Connect with your penis. You may need to be penetrated by your inner boner, and feel yourself satisifed with, you know, the weiner that is your spirit.

Or take a pill, I don't care. Just stop making it sound like you have to walk around with a boner to prove you can get a boner. This train is too small for that.

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Insurance Policies & Other Horseshit

Greetings;

In the past, whenever I was an employee of a company, I had health coverage supplied by my employer. In the past 5 years since I began working on-contract it has become more difficult to guarantee coverage. There is often a 90-day working period without coverage. Monthly COBRA payments often cost over $1,000 for "peace of mind." I am currently working on-contract again, and have to supply my own health coverage entirely. And cannot get it. And I'm not sure I want it.

Health Insurance companies generalize and blanket a judgment of a level of care a person may need, based on a questionnaire you must fill out for the insurance provider. Proof-positive that we are looked at as statistics, not patients, and especially not people. This is true when they "score" a person's health history questionnaire. That score determines whether or not you have the ability to pay into the pool of money you may need to cover a doctor's visit. Or a hospital stay.

I recently paid out-of-pocket for a doctor's visit and my prescriptions. Total was $290. Had I paid into the plan I had applied for, I would have paid THE SAME payments toward the deductible, as well as the monthly $170 premium for them to keep track of my money for me. I had to go to a walk-in clinic instead of my choice of care-provider. I got most of what I needed. $170*2months = $340 + $40 of co-pays = $380. Simple math.

So sit tight if you have health coverage already. Don't set out on your own. Don't skydive, or drink too much, or take up Tokyo Drifting or self-tattooing. Do nothing whatsoever. Let your government make the case for you that you are worthy of a health care plan, THE WETNESS OF THE AMERICAN DREAM... and force you into taking one.

Ironically enough, I am currently on-contract for a major Health Insurance company. They shall remain nameless out of courtesy to those I work with, and the round-about ways money makes it to my pocket. So don't ask. From what I can tell, this company (also a non-profit firm) is doing all it can to keep things flowing, and as complicated as the Inflow and Outflow of claims and money goes these days, I'm amazed we don't just give our favorite doctor $1000 at the beginning of the year and say "tell me when I'm down to the last $200."

That kind of stuff'll make you sick, crazy, and in need of in-patient psych work. More than you need now, I mean.

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Obama's Message Failed Us All

President Obama's message to the nation's youth and school children - but NOT the Home-Schooled Children - missed on few key points yesterday. The children, who some believe are our future, of this nation have a daunting task ahead of them when considering the changes needed in Health Care, Reality TV programming, Stand-Up Comedy, and Organic Farming. The President's moment had arrived to speak to the children, directly, and to the parents of those children IN-directly, and to the baby-daddies of many of those children unintentionally. And the ball was dropped.

In such a large forum it was surely important to address education, personal responsibility, mandatory birth control, FaceBook pictures, and not getting a neck tattoo of a basketball before the age of 20, no matter how much of your ass shows above your long shorts, you clown. Those tatts only make it easier to identify you, which the police, and the coroner, will appreciate.











How did President Obama fail?
He had the opportunity to say anything to these kids... ANYTHING... and here's a list of what he should have, and did NOT, tell them...

1. "It is in your best interest at all times to RETURN YOUR EMPTY SHOPPING CART TO THE CORRAL, instead of the empty parking spot or half-way into a planter near your car. And call your mom & dad on this monumental laziness at all times."
2. "Your family pet is a pet, not a tool. Unless you are one of our nation's sight-challenged youth who uses a service animal to help you navigate public areas, DON'T BRING YOUR DOG INTO THE STORE, ever. If it can't survive in the car or the living room, it's probably going to die in Frozen Foods. No matter how cute, eventually, somebody will bring a larger and larger and larger dog until the local grocer aisles are roamed by pumas handled by illegitimate owners. NO. DOGS. IN. STORES."
3. "Your music sucks. Your brains are absorbing a ton of over-emotional drivel from the likes of Rihanna, One Republic, Hinder, Linkin Park, Beyonce, and yes, even Lil Wayne. The list goes on and on. The louder you music has to be in order to sound good, the less intelligent you will be for listening to it. Do what you like with that."
4. "Deadwood should be wrapped up with a movie. Demand it now."
5. "In closing, regardless of the color of your skin, the ancestry of your bloodlines, or the behavior of your friends, nobody likes loud, rude, crass, unintelligent, boorish, mush-mouthed jabber. If you can't say something nicely, keep it at yo' self."

Of course, there's far more to have been covered, but I think we all know what's-what here. In an era of Me First, My Phone, My Face, look at ME ME ME ME... and then ME is very unimpressive... at some point SOMEBODY has to step up and say "ENOUGH."

Don't leave it to the kids. Educate them on how to act with class, tact, manners, and courtesy. We don't need kids acting like prim & proper little dorks, but using the words "F*** Yeah, I gots a HEEYOOJ bowlzak fuh yo mama!" almost NEVER ends with getting invited to the pool party.

As for the Healthcare message, you CANNOT put a price-tag on human life.
They're not all worth the same.

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If I Believed This Kind Of Thing

If I believed that the health care industry had the ability to cure certain ailments...

Such as cancer, AIDS, Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, spinal injuries, and life-altering illnesses that cost the befallen many many dollars...

I would say that certainly, the Industry would by know have found pre-emptive ways to cure these things. I would also say that Nature holds a cure for every ailment of mankind. Starting with our own Beliefs of illness, and working our way through the apothecary of Earth's orchards, forests, and seas, I do believe there are better ways to defeat illness than, you know, drugging the bejeezus out ourselves.

In curing those things, the treatment schedules would dry up, the patients would cease returning to the clinics every day, or week, or other week, or month, and money would stop flowing like an emptied bag o' IV. And the pharamceuticals wouldn't be prescribed as often. And money wouldn't be goin' from Insurance Companies to Bank Accounts. And, hmm... seems like... healing would be a good thing for the patient, and perhaps bad for the system.

But isn't a healthy person able to do more in life, pay more of their taxes through not missing days at work, being able to pay their mortgage, etc.?

Maybe I'm backwards on that. If I believed in conspiracies, that would be one I would ponder from time to time.

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Drugs On The Street

I've been at my new job since February, and a full-time employee here - as opposed to a contracted employee - since May 19th. After 30 days my "insurance" plan kicked in for coverage. Coverage here is a very loosely-applied term.

The Coverage I receive is, frankly, disgustingly small. For a tax-paying, full time, relatively handsome employee at a multi-billion dollar corporation (which does NOT provide creamer, sugar, or recyclable!!! cups for their employees keggers), I have squat to work with. I have a high deductible to pay BEFORE my insurance kicks in. The deductible would be paid on things other than Preventive care, such as physicals, inocculations, and shock therapy. Perhaps it's some sort of vetting, to prove I'm financially stable enough to pay for my own medical treatments prior to the company footing one cent of the bill.

The deductible is over $1,000. It's not an insurmountable sum. But where is the Benefit? As a contracted (read "SQUEEZED") employee, I had a similarly craptastic plan, wherein my prescriptions were covered up to $75 a month. Not a big deal there. Unless ya need a specialty med, which I do. Not as in "it helps me sleep from time to time." It's a medication that keeps me from having arthritis flare-ups and horrible psoriasis. Since it's the only drug of its kind, and the most-effective, it runs its own show, price-wise.

For a month's-worth of the med, off the shelf, yer lookin' at $1,500. My alternative is heroin. Or a detoxification program that would cost nearly that much, but wouldn't work at the cellular level that the drug does. And after all I've been through with it, the only thing that may, MAY work as well is a full month-long detox, liver-wringing, and being dipped in organic coconut oil by Salma Hayek. (these statements have not been disproven by the FDA, AMA, or my wife)

Well, my co-worker's grossing me out with a wet, hacking chest cough that is lingering since the 2nd day we worked here... and yet she remains adamant that she's NOT sick. 4 lineal feet of lung oyster begs to differ, sister.

Situations like this make me scream for "Universal Healthcare!!!" But I'll get past this, and write some funnier jokes about it, and do my best to bring it down from the inside. Like a virus. A handsome virus.

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Customer Holds Serve

I had to call a place today and speak with, shudder, their Customer Service department.
It doesn't say anything about "hospitality," or "quality," just Service. No promise of anything positive.

By the way, dumbass as SRC... you don't have a "Medical Review Board." I know, you called it the "Medicine Review Board." But you don't have that, either.

Knowing that you were way the hell off in left field, I called back, and had to type some stuff at a job that pays for your days off, what what?, I had to use the "voice-activated" menu instead of pressing numbers.

I said "One" for Claims.
"Three" for information on forms.
"Three!" for information on ...
"THREE" for information on the muddyflapping FORMS YOU FART STAIN!
And when The System AGAIN said "Sorry, I did not understand you," I said

"Worthless shit-pile of turds."
"One moment while I connect you to a Customer Service Representative."

So there you go.
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