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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Take Up A New Career You're No Good At!

Holy shit. I just read one of those stories where somebody went from a great job to the figurative - and literal, at times - dump shack, but rebounded with a big win! They went ahead and did what they love to do and Fate sat on their face!

Not only did this Big Pharma employee (well, HR...) work as the "Severance Administrator" when her company was acquired, she was responsible for making sure people transitioned to a new stage in life without a return trip to the office after a 5-day waiting period. With that kind of work under her belt... SHE MADE CAKES.

And not just any kind of cake... SHAKILY DECORATED CAKES! With uneven lines and easily-criticized versions of recognizable childhood figures! If I come off like an asshole, it's because Patti's throwing out a more expensive version of Safeway's mid-level work, and being lauded for not gobbling a handful of Oxy with a Belvedere chaser when she had a rough quarter at work. Ya-fucking-ay.

This is renardaloo. My sweet chocolate cheese-centered saboteur... these people are going from crotch-poaching to feeling better about their shoelace dyeing/taco-truck venture, and getting press for it.

I believe Arlington National Cemetery has a few plots opening for these heroes.

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Conference Calls - The Townsquare of Corporate Life

If you have ever had a corporate lifestyle, this video will resonate in a painfully funny way.
* late-joiners
* non-mutes
* roll-call
* miskeyed re-joiners
* screaming babies
* screaming parents (my favorite in the past includes a budget-planning meeting interrupted by an irate co-worker/dad reminding his kids that they were to "TAKE THAT SHIT INTO THE GARAGE, DAMMIT!")

Enjoy!



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Where's The Sugar, Baby?

(secret surprise at the end!)

My son Graham turns his first year-young on Sept. 23rd. It's been a really interesting year, to say the least. His journey towards being frustrated with the public education system began in March of last year when we were told Graham's due-date was September 19th. I immediately did the right thing, got on the internet, and found that to be the day that the legendarily crooked USC Trojans were visiting the vaunted, hallowed UW Huskies in Seattle. And I prayed. I prayed to God that Graham would be born healthy, happy, and 3 days late. And God answered that prayer! As a bonus, God threw in a 16-13 win by the Huskies. Take THAT, Stephen Hawking.

In the past year I've found that a lot of people share a lot of their wisdom about raising and caring for a child. Many of whom have decades of experience without ever being a parent. Oh sure, they've kept a couple of parakeets alive through a cold winter or two. Or they are an Aunt/Uncle to a few nieces or nephews. And that's, hey, that's a solid foundation for making the childless look like an asshole by offering non-comedic parenting tips. No, we're not going to let him try wine again. Thanks for your input. Enjoy sterility.

I've also heard a number of people say that they don't like babies. Or specifically, they "hate" babies. Wow. Not that they hate MY son, just babies in general. Everyone knows the grave demands babies place on people who never interact with them, so I can see where the roots of that hate have taken hold. I never hated babies, I just was scared that I would break one. A year in, no breaks, minor fears, and all's great.

What's also side-F'ed is that some people feel that they can do things while holding a baby that somewhat endanger the baby, because a mis-hap wouldn't officially KILL the child, but it seems like it should entertain your baby. Like get them to touch a ceiling fan. Or swing them around by their tiny hands. Or hold them aloft with one hand while lighting a cigarette off the grill.

Won't KILL the baby? SHOULDN'T EVEN MAKE ME THINK THE BABY MIGHT BE EVEN A BIT UNCOMFORTABLE. There is no official Baby Police, but nobody has the right to endanger your child for their own attempt at entertaining themselves by trying to get the kid to smile near a snarling pit-boxer mix. This secret hate of babies is more bothersome than the outright hatred. Old women in a grocery store are the worst. Keep your dirty nails away from his face, Bernice.

So as Graham nears the One Year mark, we are gearing up for the Birthday Party, and a number of people have asked me what kind of cake we're getting him. My wife, foremost, has done a great job of introducing healthy food to Graham as he grows. We don't feed him sugary stuff or ice cream (maybe a tablespoon here and there) or a lot of processed food. He eats a lot of fruit, loves avocados, and digs salmon. Washes it down with a nice chug of jasmine green tea. He won't turn down a Mum-Mum, either. For a kid who eats a lot of healthy, whole food we're not going to jam a huge cake in his face so we can laugh at the mess and the sugar-rush. I think it's actually pretty cruel to jack a kid up on that stuff just for a few pictures. "Tradition" can eat my Bavarian ass. Maybe a little cupcake to have fun with, but 500 calories of sugar and fat, I just can't do that to my guy.

He'll have to wait for public school.

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Not For Tiger, Nor For Elin

Elin Nordegren, the now-officially-ex-wife of Eldrick "Tiger" Woods, Jr., has already come out to speak about her divorce and the affairs her ex-husband perpetrated... perpetuated?... skanks he boned while married. She is devastated. She is shocked. She is also rich beyond belief. And I'm not sure I recall any story of her doing a normal day's work in her life.

I'm not saying modeling isn't a tough hobby. And perhaps the time she spent as a nanny for golf professional Jesper Parnevik was as trying as it can get for a wealthy, well-traveled family. And perhaps not having much of a working life as an adult is NOT justification for being on the blindside of infidelity. She "had no idea," according to her People Magazine interview. No, nothing is sacred.

She has now walked away from the marriage to the most recognizable golfer ever, as well as the top-earning athlete since Michael Jordan. She will likely have the majority of the custody of their two children. At 30 years old, divorced, and a mother of two with no discernible, revenue-generating skills, I wonder what Elin will do from here on out? Charity work? "Get away from the madness" with a few months in Belize? How about some Community College courses on bookkeeping and home-ec, get some life-skills to show your kids that Shit Happens, and you're not always going to be golfer-married as a fallback plan.

I think Tiger Woods is a dumbass and a cad. And that's it. He went for skanks, he fooled around on his wife and wanted to justify it for any number of reasons. Not my business.

But who gives a shit? In any of this? If you feel bad for Elin Nordegren, you better cry blood for those women with 4 kids and the abusive husband who will NOT leave home. Elin Nordegren deserves as much sympathy as a person whose car breaks down on the side of the road because they didn't put any oil in it. She had no idea. She never suspected? It's either a lie for sympathy or she is negligently ignorant.

Elin Nordegren and her hundreds of millions will be fine. She may need some counseling about Life.
Tiger Woods will be fine and still needs some counseling about being a Person.
Their children, if loved and guided well by their parents, could turn out to be the most gorgeous athletes of all time.

The most fly-attracting plop in this pasture is that the media cannot stop talking about it. I won't be watching it or reading it. But that won't stop me from blogging about it and talking about this on-stage. It reeks on all levels.

Hurting sucks, and I feel bad for those kids who will have cameras in their faces for far too long. I hope they go on to lead normal, happy lives free of ridicule from jealous, low-rent classmates whose parents don't know any better than to raise sociopaths.

It's Football Season.

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A Five O'Clock Foreshadow

I headlined at Laughs Comedy Spot a few weeks ago and quickly tired of my own voice. My act is touching issues I truly believe in, specifically the ridiculousness of a "Death With Dignity" act being voter-approved (yet we want nobody to say anything about our bodies), and how being nice to people isn't really worth it if you want to feel good about people in general. But I just cannot stand to hear myself talk about that crap anymore. I am seeking a deeper connection to my material, and that is exactly why I'll probably never be a big stand-up comedian star power who they speak of by last name only. Lott's in town, dude, let's see if we can get in for free and sit in the back. Maybe he needs an opener. I cannot believe "Avatar" was made for a half-billion, and we have so much more in this country that is side-fucked beyond Amercian Standards.


My life is Good, really. And that's a tough-shelled egg for the spermatazoa of comedy to burrow into.


I guess since the other car broke down I have "that much more" to ponder. Down payments, dealers, schedules... it's different now that we have a baby but no car to put him in... and all that comes with dealing with a car. And nobody knows anything but they know it all about buying a car. So we got it narrowed down, and the narrowing is harrowing because of all those issues of gravitas of Monthly Payments and Financing and Insurance and Being a Grown-Up. And I'm trying to not bring any of it up at work because, instead of advice, I would get stories about all the problems they've had with dealerships. Except for the TimeJacker, who would weave together some horsefeather story that included Self Aggrandizing, Misogyny, Homophobia, Narcissism, and Outsmarting The System. Sheesh. No thanks. I'd rather suffer a bit in my own silence.

Maybe I'm dehydrated. I'll have some water and see what comes of it.



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Mock Nerdle Tech

Somewhere in my DNA are a number of genes that are coded to produce moments of comedy. These moments aren’t always in the presence of others. I can’t really choose when it happens, usually. I feel it happen somewhere in my lymphatic system and then the connection completes and zap… comedy. Hoo-ray. It’s like trying to keep magnets apart. You can do it, but nature is making it happen in ways you are in no way emotionally ready to comprehend. And when these moments happen, I am at my most blissful, while somebody around me is usually suffering for it. In other words, if somebody gots theyself a goat, hoo-dawggy, I’m-a wanna git that goat! I did not choose Comedy. I chose football. But Comedy chose Me, and I have fewer shoulder aches from comedy, and almost never have to do windsprints for it.

And this kind of humor doesn’t always go well with the sensitivities, not to mention tight-ass’edness, of what I’ve come to see as “other people.” For example…

1) The FreeRange Tofurky Incident (involving a woman who was covered in cat hair-covered fleece)

2) The “Ice, No, but We Sell The Ingredients” Sale (retort to a woman who resembled a potato)

3) The “Is My Wife In Here?” Bartending Moment (wittiest comeback of my life followed that question)

4) Suggesting “Bring Your Child To Work” Day at Planned Parenthood (FIRED!)

But today was really a fantastic moment in my history of jerky humor.

At the vending machine at my new job, a guy’s purchase had hung-up on the way out of the rack. 6.5oz of $1 TrailMix held-back by the foil corner of the neighboring Oats & Honey granola bar. I suggested he either rock the machine, forearm-shiver the machine, or buy a cheaper item above or next to it, so as to “encourage” the release.

Me: Rock it a little. Like a baby.
Him: You can’t, it’s strapped to the wall.
Me: Bummer. Buy the granola bar, it’ll be cheaper than…
Him: … there we go… aw CRAP.

He bought ANOTHER $1 TrailMix, the one behind the first purchase. So the first one fell, while the one behind it HUNG UP ON THE GRANOLA BAR CORNER… Something about the definition of insanity.

So now he’s $2 in, and I say “Can you nudge it a little?”

Me: Can you nudge it a little?
Him: Why? It’s not gonna fall, it's stuck there Jeez. Well, somebody will get a free one I guess. (sulks away)

He turns the corner to leave and I shake my head, count to 5-IrishWhiskey, then blurt out “Oh awesome! FREE TRAIL MIX!”

He comes back around the corner with eyes wide, just as I start laughing and I say “Just kidding.” He wasn’t amused. I almost peed the inside of my pants with enough pee that it would show to the outside of my pants that very likely I had peed them through from the inside to the outside.

I don’t work or meet with this guy. But if I ever do, not matter what he tells other people about me, he’s the guy who paid $2 for crappy TrailMix, and didn’t have the balls to shoulder a 600-lb machine for what’s rightfully his.

All your TrailMix are ours.

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Top 10 Reasons You're Not Working

1. It's like 8:45 at night. Where are you working, Necrocomicon's Comics & Cards?
2. You're reading this while dorkatrons steal Magic: The Gathering sets.
3. F*cking short-sighted manager, man. Dude couldn't see how you work better when you're, like, "lifted."
4. Because you told some old bag that you didn't sell ice, but if she bought some water and hit the walk-in for 3 hours, she could Do It Herse'f.
5. HAVE YOU NOT USED AN iPAD YET? HOLY CRAP.
6. That super hot guy in application design just walked by and you think he smelled your toot and even though you know you shouldn't have eaten all that broccoli it's ALIVE and now you're freaking out and can't work, you just CA'... NOT.
7. Not Facebook, nope, that's not it so don't even check the other Firefox tab.
8. Watchin' Geoff Lott tear it up on Y'allTube. Dude's got mad MC skillz. No.. SQEELZ
9. Getting the last of your papers in order for support of your thesis, "Geoff Lott's Comedy As Metaphor Of Seattle's Frustration With Lack Of Courtesies To Hosts At Restaurants."
10. It's this economy, man. Got that taco truck converted to the first-ever Sushi-grade Chicken van and pfft, everyone got tight on you.

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What Twitter Is

If you're wondering about what Twitter is, you're likely well-versed in things other than the latest how the internet is using all 9 hands to shovel your free time (i.e. bandwidth) into its gaping pipeline. Frankly, I'm not sure what Twitter is, NOW. I know what it was intended for. But like every piece of technology, from the wheel of cheese to the atomic bomb, idiots get their stinky fingers on it and skew the intended use of it.

There's a "trending" section in Twitter that states what people are talking about. By adding a "#" to the beginning of a word or words, Twitter begins logging which words are "#"ed and sees that "trend" and makes a "list" of who "is" tweeting about the topic. For example, "#GeoffLottIsAnAss" should, but won't, make the top 10 topics.

So the sociological aspect of Twitter is found in that you can see who is using it by looking at the Trending Topics. Twitter is a way for people to feel that other people are hanging on their every word. So yes, it's narcissistic - unlike blogs, which are almost narcissistic but mostly masturbatory. It's more take than give. (thank you)

And by looking at microcosms of society you get to see snapshots of what the "hoi polloi" think, feel, speak of, and want to have sex with.

Here are some recent high-points under the topic "That's Why You Hate Me"

• I'm not the fAther of ur baby #ThatsWhyYouHateMe (he may not understand "hate")
• i took a shit when you were in the shower &#ThatsWhyYouHateMe ever seen a grown man cry <#funniestshitever #epic #smh (this was from a woman)
• I tell you the reality of ur life and#thatswhyyouhateme.. bt come 2 think of it, do u really hate me or are u just angry at the truth..lol (did you really just Laugh Out Loud and need to document it?)
• I ghost hunt to get your Boo snatched#ThatsWhyYouHateMe (I have no clue...)
• 'Cause I can't do nothing right#thatswhyyouhateme (such as construct sentences)
• I see myself as a superior being #ThatsWhyYouHateMe But I'm don't a superior being (thanks for clarifying)

There are times I hop in the top trends to tweet to the idiots who may be reading it, and that shows what I think of myself and the people trending: They're dumb, and I am better than them, but not secure enough to not tell them, so I have to let them know in they own language, whaaaat?

So that's Twitter: A snapshot of short thoughts thrown into the webosphere by people with nothing better to do. That must suck.

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I Have To Be Honest-er. More Honest. For Real.

I admit to rarely watching any other comedians that are Big Names, in hopes that I don't become too influenced by their style, tone, or themes. After watching Marc Maron last night, I found myself wandering the halls of my mind looking for doors I have yet to open, for whatever reasons.

"If you're talented and you're not successful, there may be something inside you
that is keeping you from being successful, and sadly, it might be your talent."

A facet of provocative, memorable creativity is to be freed by it, both in expressing it and taking it in. The same can be said of kissing. And a number of other things that you'll have to go to a different website to peruse... Ew.

Marc Maron's willingness to express parts of his life is more than comedic; it's cathartic, cauterizing, and non-caloric. It certainly was inspiring to hear what he talks about, from his (dis)abilities with relationships, his pet choice being cats, and Consciousness On All Levels being the number one enemy to Happiness. And he calls himself out as his own worst enemy on a moment-to-moment basis. That's the beauty. Nobody's innocent, especially the one meting out the punishment.

I guess it's a reminder that I have plenty to draw from in my life for comedy, but to make it Funny for a stage could take time. Perhaps it's not stage-ready and could be a blog or five. Feeling one way or another is what sparks the M-80 before I cram it into a slingshot. If I don't care, I don't share. The same can be said of kissing. So my comedy is not totally unlike kissing, I guess. It comes from a place of emotion, sharing, passion, and uncontrolled intake of codeine cough syrup.

Why challenge my own status quo? Why work harder at anything? This whole idea of a goal being set and achieved is something I haven't done in a while. And that shit's gotta stop.

Or else I'll just open a cupcake boutique. Those are pretty popular.

Customer Disservice - DirecTV & Costco

Hey, DirecTV...
When your tech installs a dish outside of my neighbor's balcony, instead of on top of the building where we said it would go...
and I have to make 3 phone calls to get it fixed...
and the 3rd person tells me there's a fee...
for the F'up of one of your employees...

and you tell me that the fee is due to a "cosmetic change" instead of one where there's no signal...

I really think you should know that I'm going to tell everyone about it.
There are other options that don't require drilling into the roof and F'ing with my relationships in the neighborhood.

If you have any problems with DirecTV, you're not alone. They are saying there's a $50 fee to move the dish... in this weather, it's almost worth it. News as news warrants.

==========
Hey, Costco...

A few months ago I wrote about how some of your door-greetin', customer-countin' employees dissed me a bit. Hey, we all have bad days, but that's not how I would expect to be treated at a place that I HAVE TO PAY TO SHOP AT...
and I sent that letter to the Corporate Office...
and the Corporate Office had the local manager call me...
and the local manager had moved, so his replacement called me...
and the local replacement only kinda had an idea of what was going on...
and I recounted the incident with the local manager touching on the points that...
1) Many stores are discounting prices in this economy
2) Many stores don't have greeters to pay to act like they have actual power
3) I can go to many stores where I do NOT have to pay a membership fee and be treated just as poorly

and after recounting these for the local replacement manager, Costco, you'd be happy to know that he went the "EXTRA STEP!" or "Bulk Happy Purchase!"...

and agreed with me on all points.

Fantastic. I am happy to know that you know that we BOTH know you can do a better job.

And I apologize for thinking you'd be able to do any of the following to keep me from telling everyone about what you did...
1) Refund my membership fee and allow me to keep my membership. Perhaps you can't afford it. Not a lot of pallets of Pomegranate Acai Facial Beads moving right now.
2) Throw me a half-gross of diapers. Kid's poopin' his way into a community college.
3) Upgrade me to the Gold Star Corporate Early Entry SuperLube program.
4) My own sample station... nobody but I get to eat from it.

So, just some idears. Think it over next time somebody with nothing better to do may get shut down by your front line.
Costco CANNOT have the Basic members mingling with the reeeeally old people buying more food than they can finish, but will have plenty for the wake.

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Nopen Mics

For the most part, open mics in the Los Angeles comedy scene are either very early, or rather shitty. I'm spoiled, I guess, coming from Seattle where there was usually some sort of audience consisting of other-than-comics. And I'm still amazed that there were nights at the Underground where 30 comics made the open mic bill and STILL a few were getting bumped.

GAAAAAAA, it's fucking frustrating to be in the midst of it, too. Not just Ego on the keys here. There are good rooms that start too early for me to get to them. There are bad rooms that are open but way the F out in the middle of Asserton. And seriously, here ya go.

FUCK YOU:

• Los Angeles Transit Shitheads who can't synchronize traffic lights, as I leave a green light and approach a red light within 100 yards
• Dipshits in fedoras, you are neither that good of a DJ nor a lesbian DJ
• Valet Parking turdloads who park other people's cars in the open street spots
• Westwood. The whole area. Eat a hot steam loaf.

There's so much more, but I'm too mad to even type well. My fingers are pounding the keyboard.

I am no longer FOR Assisted Suicide. I am now putting all my efforts behind Suggested Suicide. That list is growing longer by the moment.

So now, I'm about to do enough push-ups to drive the house an inch into the ground, and start some old-fashioned prison workouts.

I'm like Heavyset Black Lady on Maury-angry.

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Funny Blabbit

You want jokes?
Here ya go....

SWINE FLU recently captured our attention as a nation on the verge of giving a shit.
The entire news network machine could have told us ANYTHING at that point, and we'd have believed it and done it to keep ourselves alive to get to the of this recession and buy a gun and move to the hills.
Our media machine F'ed up BIG TIME.
Wash my hands and Cover my mouth when I cough?
WTF is THAT? Your advice to the world is to act like the kind of adult we should already be?
What about tacking on something we can USE?

1. Cover your mouth when you cough
2. Wash your filthy hands frequently, pig-toucher
3. Stay away from pigs unless "Pig" is in your job title or "the Pig" is your Mistress's nickname for you, as in "Shitcake the Pig."
   
4. Stop putting your empty shopping cart in an empty parking space you lazy shitcake pig.
5. Don't use the "N" word, even in private, nor in "quotation fingers."
   

Our media sucks H1N1 bawlz.
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Kid wanted to party at his girlfriend's High School Prom. The kid went to a very conservative/Draconian Christian Mindbending Compound doubling as a school, and was told he'd be suspended if he attended the prom. It would be his experiencing things "counterculture" to his school's beliefs that would get him Red-Lettered with a big "S" for "Suspended," and more accurately "Sinner."

Like all of us are.
I can't see how this kid could stand the torment. Being suspended from the worlds most-boring school for the simple fact of Dancing!(gasp), hand-touching(MORNING AFTER PILL, NOW!), and hearing music that is NOT a hymn of any sort.

If I were that Christian boy's father, I'd march down to that Christian High School, into the Christian Principal's office, and punch him directly in his religious sojourner's bag. THAT will how we make decisions based on God's call for love and sharing of our gifts.

Sometimes Christians make me so mad I just want to tell them Santa Claus IS real.
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Customer Reviews

Never in my life have I told somebody how to do their job.
I might have mentioned to my wife that her dishwashing could pick up the pace, but that's for another blog. Save your groans.
Unless I know how to do a job somebody is in the middle of epically F'ing up (e.g. being able to see human bone, and not being in an operating room or museum) I keep my mouth shut. If they are bothering me closer to rage, I may address something, but usually, no, I just keep it zipped. We can't be correct unless, sometimes, corrected. But to find out somebody is an Insurance Agent, or a Private Botanical Engineer, Fromagiere, or perhaps they have let judgment get the best of them and are now, how you say, "driving for public transit," I don't say a word. Do your job. Clean up that skid thing. Thanks for the ride.

Not so! for some folks when they find out I am a comedian. And don't get me wrong; I will talk shop with anybody about comedy. How I do it, how I got into it, what I get from it, where I see it in the world, etc. Every now and again, it wavers greatly from the topic of comedy, and gets weirder. People usually ask me where I get material from, and then tell me they could never do it. But now and then, I get somebody who tells me what kind of material I could be using. And who is truly funny, usually somebody who we haven't heard from in 15 years.

As in, everything happening in the immediate vicinity COULD be a bit, huh? Huh?! Gallagher could have done 10 minutes on that.

This has to be the only job where people don't know how to do it, are too scared to do it, but still will tell you how to do it. It's truly an annoying thing to sit through. But when people are saying "Look at that kid's hair. See, there's a bit for you!"
or
"I was in the grocery store and they had this sale on ice cream. In December. That's probably a bit there, huh? You should use that in your act."

But, what about the funny stuff?

The next step from there is that people want to come see me perform.
Great! There are 2 types of these folks, too.
1) those that want to come see me perform,
and
2) those that want to come see me perform, and then say "I'll come heckle you sometime!"

This happened recently. And the guy did all of the above. Soooo...
Not only could he not do my job,
but he can't write,
and wants to come bother me about my material.
OR
He's trying to be funny, and has Somali hi-jacked my Comedy Cargo.

He couldn't be funny, tried, and made it even more uncomfortable.
(I'd like to take this moment to apologize to some of the women I tried to get dates with. Now I know how you felt. I'm sorry you thought you were better than me.)

I love talking about comedy, I love watching innovative performers, and I'm always working to enhance and grow my act. I guess the funniest part about this is I'm telling people to not be what they are. I hate pretentious comics who think they are rebellious because, hey, not everybody can do 7 minutes - IN A ROW - about smoking pot and oral sex and Jesus sucks and you're dumb. But if that's what you are, that's going to come out.

Maybe I'm an asshole. Can somebody help me out here?

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Lent Me A Hand

It is Lent, for those that know what I'm judging you for, and I had to give something up for it. I figured I'd look at what I'm doing, vice-wise, and drop one of the top 3 things. I'm pretty lame, when it comes down to "serious partying" these days. I don't drink enough, smoke enough, eat enough, wank enough, or go roof-shooting nearly often enough to warrant any of them to be dropped.

And I figured if I had to give up something that I wouldn't have to trot out an explanation for at a party, that's the best way to go. If everyone's throwin' down like Kennedy's at a 90th birthday party, or carb-loading on their way to an emotional crossing of the English Channel... and I'm sitting there with tepid water and a cracker, well COME ON, I'm gonna be the 8-baby-bearing Ut'rus Jackson at the party. Ev'a'body gonna wanna know. If nobody's doing the thing I gave up for Lent, then it's my secret and I won't have to say a thing about why I'm not joining in at the Mitzvah.

Then a circle jerk broke out... Damn it.
Next year, I'm giving up Attrition.

My Blog About My Dad

Humor, The Sixth Sense

Humor, like Style, but not Substance, is a Trait one has. Perhaps like an odor, if one were to ask my lovely wife, who announces her entrance to most rooms with "It stinks in here, Geoffrey."

I feel that people are Funny the way some are Tall. Born to have a certain amount of it the world will experience, you don't really know how Funny somebody is until you get in a situation with them where it comes out. Like Height, Humor is best experienced when somebody's reaching for something, like a rebound or the sombrero-shaped chip/salsa bowl. You can't tell how huge Shaquille O'Neal is until you're standing next to his dong at the urinal. And you can't tell how funny a person is unless you actually have a gauge of "Funny vs. Not Funny."

So here's where I am going with this:

Today, I was on a conference call with a number of people who I think have a pretty good sense of humor. They would "get," if not really "adore," Mitch Hedberg.

"Rice is great, especially if you're hungry, and want 2,000 of something."

"I have an intense dislike of protests, but I don't know how to show it."

So I'm on the call, and I do a little Roll Call to make sure that I know who's all there. At the end of the list (we have an application that shows everyone who's dialed in, so I read the names of everyone whom I could see had dialed in), I said...


"Okay, I think I got everyone."


Met with silence.




THEN, I say, "Please announce yourself if you're not here."
Met with about a 3-Mississippi of silence...
Then...

"Uh, yeah, they can't say they're not here if they're not here."


... huh... ya don't say... well then...


And thus ends another experiment of injecting humor into the workplace. I fully expect that little exchange to end up in a Reader's Digest. If I put myself in the role of the guy leading the call, I'll look like an ass for explaining that Yep, not being there precludes one from being able to speak in their absence. But if I say somebody else did it, I could be $400 richer.


When at a coffee stand/shack/establishment, asking for "room" with your drink means they don't fill it all the way so that you can post-load it with as much Splenda as your spleen can turn into bloody bits of... okay, sorry... It's the space at the top. "Room For Cream," a great name for a dairy, btw.

I once asked a barista, "You guys ever run out of room for people's drinks, when somebody asks for it?" That got quite the hearty tilt of the head and a twitched eyebrow in the vein of "Don't hit on me, fatty."


The kid behind her laughed his ass off. Barista only said "Like, on the counter where we put them?" The kid behind her explained, "No, like the space at the top of the drinks."


By then the joke, like my hope of ever being as widely accepted as Dane Cook, slid off the counter, to the floor, and underneath some fart-stain's Vans.

So there ya go.
We don't all laugh at the same things all the time, but the Funny is always happening. You may just be too short, or tall, to see it.

Last example...

Why is the guy on the left wearing a watch?
Where does he have to be? Ear doctor? Elephant try-outs? This is why you have to start eating Organic, folks.

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Announcing My Retirement

Dear Friends,

After many years, after the passion and the heartache, the triumph and the pain, the ups and the downs, the downers and the uppers, the idiots and the awesome, I make this announcement with a lot of love and zero regret.

Today, I am retiring from professional football.

I have pursued my passion for years, but never got picked up by a team. Nor did I try out, for that matter. Sure, at 6'1" and 220-237lbs, depending on when you got me over the past 12 years, I could run a 40-yard dash in the 4.8 - 5.7sec range. I once bench pressed 225lbs 36 times over the course of 12 minutes. And my lateral quickness is equivalent to Orville Redenbacher's. The man, not the 'corn. Guy died in 1995. Choked on a JuJuBee at a movie, can you believe that shit?

From here, there are many dreams I will continue to pursue. I will eventually write a lot of entertaining, funny, award-winning radio jingles for car dealerships, or on-line dating sites. I'll probably keep doing stand-up comedy, that seems to be working out pretty well and doesn't have a weight limit, from what I can tell. I'll continue being as smart as I can without losing an audience, but really, when it comes down to it, I'd rather throw in my mouthpiece, strap the helmet on, and dive headlong into the 3rd row for a loose chipotle chicken wing.

My dream never materialized, and it's time to realize I'm just not the pulling guard, defensive tackle, or team jokester I used to be. It's been a great ride, and I've loved thinking that I would one day run out onto the field in front of 873 fans at a 4th-tier Arena Football League exhibition game in Grand Mound, WA. But Life is calling. It's time to do the right thing for my family, for my health, and stop thinking about professional football as a viable career option.

To my fans, it's really weird that you thought I was a good player. I never played a down. Get your life together, and please stop sending me your jockstraps.

To my detractors, you were right. I wasn't fast enough, nor did I have the fire in my belly to play professional football, get in street fights, push girlfriends down stairs, and then start a foundation for area youth sports with my name all over it to help ease the punishment of my 4th DUI. I did what I could with what I had. I wasn't the most-gifted athlete, but I made up for it by not working very hard.

I will always love football.
Football will not miss me. It will go on.

For now, bring on the Coffee Ice Cream and let's enjoy our lives.

Sincerely,
Geoff Lott

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Last Fool Standing

Perhaps it's the tang of sour grapes, or the wet-end of reality's towel-snap to the bared buttocks of my hopes...

But Last Comic Standing can suck it with their eyes open. And I better get a finger.

I, along with a number of other Seattle-based comics, hit San Francisco, CA on Friday morning with an invitation-audition spot for the show. After reading updates from around the nation, it is apparent that the producers of the show - all of whom are possibly brain dead - are looking for a particular type of person to put on the show:
1) Young.
2) On the 7.5+ side of Attractive.
3) A lot of time to update their MySpace pages.


From what I can tell, this is shaping up to be something akin to "Road Rules vs. Real World + Who's Line Is It Anyway?" There's an entirely tangential discussion about whether or not REALLY attractive people can be, or are, truly Funny. But then it goes back to the argument that "Funny is subjective," and you have to make YOUR point about Comic X and I tell you why they are NOT funny, and then you tell me to F off and you stomp away in your DUMB-looking boots and your butt looks big and there's a cloud following you that smells like bad eggs and gasoline because you fart-smell all the time even when you don't fart because YOU SUCK for liking dumb comics.

For a recap of the San Fran audition, and a list of who made it through to the LA/SemiFinal show, check out THIS LINK RIGHT HERE.

The odd thing is that I feel like I was fooled this time. Like I had a shot at it. Nope. And not to diminish others who DID make it to the next round, but damn, when a guy as funny as Dwight Slade cannot get any love, then you KNOW the show isn't about Comedy. It's about trying to find sexy people who can be "funny enough" to be on a show where stand-up comedy is part of the equation. Dwight Slade, btw, is inarguably FUNNY. You cannot deny that. Try it.

So NO, I won't try out again.
I'll make my fame the old-fashioned way: COATTAIL RIDING. I will get some famous comic everyone else loves to love MY comedy, and I'll open for that guy for 5 months on the road, and get rich that way. Famous, too, but rich, mostly.

Every year, people tell me they watched LCS and then say "Yeah, the guy who won? He isn't funny. I didn't laugh once when he was on stage."
Well, my goal this year was to be UNFUNNY enough to win. I failed. Sorry, I guess I'm just too funny to win.

So if you decide to spend some time this Summer watching LCS on NBC, remember, it's not a show about stand-up comedy. It's not cast with the best-available comics, so how could it be? In the meantime, I'll be writing more and better jokes, writing more scripts, and getting emotionally ready for the grind of... well... that's for another time.

Rest-assured, my comedy will be on TV within a year. Tune in to COPS around next Valentine's Day.

One last thing...
TWO people from Seattle made the LA SemiFinal show, Jeff Dye, and Andy Haynes. I really like each of these guys and wish them only the best of luck. I did 2 weeks of comedy with Andy Haynes during the competition, and was impressed nightly with how far he's come as a comic. Jeff Dye has made HUGE strides in comedy since he started, and gets better all the time. They're both funny, they're both good looking, and they are both going to do very well, I hope. If Andy gets that mean mug off his face. Guy always looks like he just lost a bet to a blind man and has to eat what's in the bag.

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