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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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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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.

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A Trip Around The Son

My son turned over the One on his Anno-meter a couple weeks ago. It has been a bittersweet week or two, as we get into the YEARS and no longer the months of his age. He was a “baby” for so long. Now a Toddler, he’s been hinting at his need for fewer naps, more food, walking around, and a studio apartment. The past year has, at times, flown by. Other times it was a moment-to-moment grind due to a lack of sleep, not sleeping, bad weather, sleeplessness, and not knowing what to do with a tired baby and wife. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Being a dad has made me reassess everything I thought I knew about Life, Love, and Sacrifice. I don’t think that what we’re doing is “special” nor “immaculate.” A lot of folks are doing this by the seat of their sweatpants, or not doing a damn thing. We are doing our damndest to raise a good kid in a loving environment while he poops his pants, learns to talk and read, and teaches us how to take care of him. I love my son, he’s very special to me and to a lot of relatives and friends, and as far as I’m concerned it’s my duty to teach him all I can about integrity, sleeping, and football. And whatever I know about women I’ll bring up in the form of allegories of “some friend” who “slept around” and got “the fire water” in his “weenis.”

The hardest part of the past year is finding out what we don’t know. There’s been a lot of that. And to get advice from people who either are NOT parents, or from parents with kids who have the personality of an un-oiled chainsaw can be very trying on the tired parent’s ability to not headbutt them. I’m grateful for the help we’ve had from our family and friends. We couldn’t have done it this sober without them. It’s tiring, it’s work, it’s a different kind of fun. It feels like the only thing I’ve ever done that actually matters. I see parents who appear to have quit on their duties, which isn’t fair to their kid, their neighborhood, nor the rest of us. If you don’t care a little about what others may think, you are a sociopath and should be sewn shut.

Here’s something that nobody tells you about a kid who starts walking. When a baby is crawling around you can hear them on the floor, slapping and sliding and gurgling. When a baby starts to walking, they will concentrate on their path and become silent. In doing so they enter a room, silently, and will show up behind you, scaring the bejeezus out of you. Awesome.

So as we continue to learn, our boy keeps growing along with us. The TV says he can read, but we’ll have to see if that works. I may just make the cards myself and find out that he can read blitz coverages, tort law, and cat-trapping schematics. Plus, I’ve noticed a glaring lack of toys in the “Professional Occupations” fields. Lots of tractors and tool benches and Li’l Arc-Welder! kits. Not many Lawyer’s Desks or Dentist Chairs or Li’l Protractors! Why pull sparkplugs for 40 years when you can be a celebrity rehabilitation doctor for a decade or two before a prescription scandal hits?

He slept through the night last night. He’s teething. He’s growing. It’s another part of Life, and though it’s not for everyone, I’m all-in, grateful for the chance to Dad it up with a healthy, happy Dootz.




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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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Mission: Control

Before I begin, I have to tell you that one of the most-annoying laughs of all time is the "Double-Gasp." A guy at work here does the short inhale-wheezing exhale-sans guffaw. From what I can tell, he thinks WAY too many things are funny. They aren't. He's not laughing-laughing, mind you, it's a nervous laugh to let ya know, hey... he just acted like an asshole!

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The need For and To Control is a familiar, annoying concept to me. It's that 'weeeee' of mosquito I can sense in the area but can't touch until it burrows into me and leaves an itch behind. I have seen it manifested many ways throughout my life, from Mind Control to Bladder Control. The control over the daily running of a household. The control over every second of another person's schedule. Most folks who truly desire Control shouldn't have it. They crave it like a drug to calm their anxiety over something being out of their grasp, wasting their time and GASP... stirring up an unresolved issue with their past.

We call them "Busy Bodies," "Anal Retentive," "Uptight," "MicroManagers," and "Assholes."

They call themselves, if self-actualized, "Control Freaks," with a giggle. I work with a number of these people. It's annoying. They love meetings. They love knowing all there is to know, instead of what they probably really need to know. And they have to guide, influence, allude-to, re-calibrate, re-direct, and lay the groundrules for whatever activity they are causing delays in by not allowing The Flow to take over.

This usually is a sign of Fear. Fear is a real bastard. Fear Itself, as has been said, is the only thing to be afraid of. And for good reason. It stymies people. Fear punches a hole in the gut of Comfort which can only be filled by Control, and madness begins. Look at Hoarders, for example. There are many kinds of Hoarders.

• Love Hoarders; can't be alone, can't really make relationships work, abandonment issues, sex addicts possibly, in need of attention and validation.


• Food Hoarders; afraid there may not be enough, they store and store and over-run their homes with food. Or they over-run their bodies to exert control of it.


• Item Hoarders; the TV show "Hoarders" sums it up awfully and bleakly - people are burying themselves in their own CONTROL, wherein, actually, it is a lack of Impulse Control. Again... madness has begun.

The Need to Control comes from that little voice in the back of a person's head that remains quiet, until they FEAR they are in a position to be hurt or bothered. They overplan. They micromanage. They dig their fingers into places that don't need digging. It's an issue from childhood that they need to throw a lasso around before, you know... they feel the judgment of a non-present parental figure lay across their shoulders. Somebody MUST step up and HELP these other folks...

If they don't, well, people may not have any idea what to do on the trip to the resort and could end up just spending too much of their time at the pool or playing golf or riding the bike trails and if that happens then they won't see what a fantastic trip planner they are and how they thought of everything, everything except RELAXING which is really just SITTING THERE and how could you SIT THERE and do NOTHING when there's so much to do can't you see that really REALLY... I am only TRYING TO HELP YOU DO WHAT I THINK YOU WOULD LIKE TO DO?!!?!?!!
Madness

This could be a new "NiceHole," the "ContrHole."
The emotional leash that ContrHoles throw on other people is only as short and restrictive as those who are lasso'ed allow it to be. Often times it's a matter of keeping the peace. Sometimes you're on your way to Put The Cheese In The Fridge while being told to Put The Cheese In The Fridge, and the Control Lasso falls away. Whatever the cheese, whereever the fridge, don't forget that the only real control we have is over our own actions and reactions. Any infringement on that should be met with a kind word, an empathetic smile, and handful of fart slapped onto their nose.

This would have been better if somebody had forced me to outline it first.

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You Have God To Be Kidding Me

Excuse me while my brain tries to work on a Windows box instead of the Apple shortcuts toolbox installed in my muscle memory. If this ends up with a link to a document about reporting errors in double-looping syntax, one for Incoming, one for Archiving, I ask now for your leniency.

The other day on the way to work I saw a minivan! with a bumper sticker that read:

GOD DOESN'T BELIEVE IN ATHEISTS

Wow. I have a joke in that vein, that Atheists believe God is a construct of weak minds looking for a greater meaning to Life than "Eat, Work, Fuck, JetSki, Die." Turned around, I believe God thinks the same of Atheists, railing against people who are trying to do something other than act out in a way to make people ask "How could God let that happen? At a WalMart of all places!?"

I wanted to find out more about this person, follow them to their church, and see if they were joking or if they really meant it. Because if they indeed held steadfast to a traffic-facing statement in 9.4-cents worth of ink and sticker, then they are a horrific person pretending to know the Mind of God and should be held under a spigot of trucker shit. What massive asshole on feet.

I don't claim - especially to myself - to be the most religious person you'll ever meet. I do believe that Jesus Christ's edict of "Treat others with compassion and love, for the sake of treating others well, that they may act towards you in the same manner" is the way to save the world, even the parts we would rather see sucked into a burning lake of BP crude while waving American flags stitched together from t-shirts with hunting-related witticisms 'pon them. I believe that the Core Values of the Christian Church are alive and well, and that they are based upon Love, Acceptance, and Community. Notice I didn't say "molesting children, killing infidels, berating homosexuals, and stoning women to death for having an opinion."

And I believe that were it not for people calling themselves "Christians" who are most likely just paranoid fartpacks acting in a manner they really, really, really, really REALLY HOPE will gain them favor with God... while acting as if it's okay for them to act as a conduit of God's judgment/wrath... then the label of "Christian" wouldn't have so many negative connotations.

Also, a friend of mine who is as annoyingly vocal about his Atheism as a recently-born-again Christian at Bunco night, told me he attends weekly Atheist meetings to discuss Atheism, pool money together for events, and encourage each other to not keep the faith. Sounds churchy to me.

I guess I'm paraphrasing Groucho Marx, "I wouldn't want to be part of any group that would have me as a member because I'd probably pass judgment on them for how they represent our group and then I would think they are dipshits and I would stop going to meetings, but hey, at least I wouldn't feel guilty for not being around such a bunch of assholes."

Then again, who would want THAT asshole around?
Jesus.

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Ron Reid Moves On, Up to Street/Sea-Level

Every comedian looks for a break, a chance to show what they can do (as a comedian) as well as they can do it (sober). Part of finding that break is keeping your eyes open for it and ducking in before the Doorman of Fate realizes you’re in the wrong joint.

Ron Reid facilitated/vacillated my “break” in Seattle in February 2003 at the Comedy Underground. It was a Wednesday night show, and I had zero money. I wasn’t even going to go to the show that night to perform because I was DOWN, man. Just off a break-up, bummed, broke with the bills paid, and mired in a George Clinton-esque funk. Slap-bass funk. Durrty fonk, man. But I went to the Underground anyway, hoping there’d be 7minutes for me to scrape a set together. It was the night before Doug Stanhope was coming to the Underground, and Doug’s the closest thing we’ve got to Lenny Bruce since Denis Leary stole from Bill Hicks.

I get there, get a spot, do my set, great response, and hang out, happy to have ventured out of Kenmore for the night. Talking with Ron after the show, he asked if I would be interested in doing some MC spots at the Underground on the weekends. This was great, because weekend time is what new comics drool over, and old comics drool over when they don’t have a gig and want to get out of the house and drink but can’t stand to just get drunk on their balcony, because that’s sad, man. When Ron asked me, I said, “Sure. What about MC’ing for Stanhope tomorrow night?”

Ron did not even blink before hesitating, prior to a minor grimace and stuttering a “Well, uh buh buh I… ga… well, sure.” So Ron gave me a break. He wasn’t really excited, but he warned me the crowd would be kind of wild, and things could get weird, so just be loose. I was too excited to be loose.
The next night I had the best set of my relatively new career. Doug Stanhope told me “Hey, most MCs suck. You didn’t.” Thank YOU, Doug. I met Dave Dennison who has been endlessly encouraging of my career. I met Blaine Reeder and Geoff Brousseau a few nights later, as they’d been to the show. That’s a different kind of story, but all part of that night that Ron had the discomfort of agreeing to let me host.

So Thank YOU, Ron Reid, for all the work you’ve thrown my way, as a comedian, and a thinking human.

With that, Ron’s career in Comedy Management is going the way of Tony Moser’s comedy career. After 30+ years in the world of Stand-up Comedy, Ron Reid is trading his role as the manager of an iconic Seattle Entertainment institution to manage an ironic Seattle Entertainment institution. The new job will likely have fewer drunks but perhaps as much floor-barf. If leaving behind late nights and fragile egos spouting poorly-worded barrages about genitalia and/or the upside of racial profiling wasn’t enough of a health benefit, Ron’s new job will actually have Health Benefits. I figure if Laughter Is The Best Medicine, the counter-activity of a Comedian’s Lifestyle will likely balance out and Ron’s health is right where it ought’n be for a tree-topper of 86.

This is my self-meta-centered take on Ron’s leaving the Comedy Underground, and by no means encompasses all that he’s done in Seattle’s Comedy World. 25+ month-long Comedy Competitions. Showcases for big industry. He’s launched, helped launch, and advanced careers of so many comedians and dreamers and lovers of comedy that we lose track, and many of them are comics you’ve seen on TV, and will see for years to come. This is like Mike Holmgren leaving the Seahawks; All things must change, he's done great things for us, but there will never by another one like Ron Reid.

What a sell-out.

Carl Warmenhoven, it's on you now.

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For My Wife, My Son, and Those I Love

I start every day thanking God for another shot at It. Then I mentally make my way through the house and thank God for the two most important people in my life.

My Wife and My Son.

Then I get up and go work out so that I can stay in good enough shape to keep up with what I demand of myself, and to stick around for as long as possible, or to annoy teenagers.

The past 2 years have been ferociously outside the norm of most people's ideal path to realizing their dreams and stabilizing their future, financial or otherwise. Especially for a married couple in their 30's. And we did it. We lived.

I found this John Butler Trio performance and sat here crying in silence when his lyrics hit me. I am so very blessed to have the life, the wife, and the son I have.

My cup runneth over.

Well there's far too many questions to ask,
To answer any of them tonight.
For I wear too many masks,
Too tell if any of them are wrong or right.
And confusion casts a shadow up on me,
Like a great big cloud in the sky.
And now I pray for rain,
Cause it's been so long since i let myself cry.

For so long I've sang this sad ol' song,
And it feels like my time is up.
For she came and landed in my arms,
And she filled my half empty cup.
Yes she filled my half empty cup.

There you are right in front of me,
A brand new day sunrise over sea.
No longer my cup half empty cause there you are,
You and your mum in front of me, in front of me.

And now I look up above me,
And I thank that great ol' God in the sky.
For tellin' me my cup ain't half empty,
It took my little boy to show me why.

for so long i sing this sad ol' song
and it feels like my time is up
for she came and landed in my arms
and she filled my half emty cup
yes she filled my half emty cup

there you are right in front of me
a brand new day
sunrise over sea
no longer my cup half emty
cause there you are
you and your mum in frount of me

You're peaches & cream to me.
You both are peaches & cream to me.
you and your mum in front of me
peaches and cream
yo

all i know is
all i know
and i love you
ya i love you
all i know is
all i know
and i love you
ya i love you
all i know is
all i know is
and i love you
i love you

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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."

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On The Language of Parenting

An outbound trip's preparation, as the parent of an infant, is very close to a conversation between two people in the throes of hallucinogenic bliss.

Examples? I have a...

"We can't leave yet, I can't find Blue Bear."

"It should be in the bucket, where's the baby?"

"In the bucket, Blue Bear is nowhere. I have Flat

Dog and Power Rattle."

"What about SqueakyMoose?"

"He's on the hook, he never leaves."

"Well get RedStar Munch and we'll just skip Blue

Bear."

"Blue Bear always goes."

"He won't know, he'll be asleep in the bucket before we get to the donut."

"If he freaks you gotta get him RedStar or FlatDog, he can't go Avatar like last time."

"Duh. Go warm up the Swagger, and take the bucket. We gotta get to MeMe's."

Such is my blessed, shiny life.

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#700 - Of Music & Inspirations Addicting

I get on kicks, jags for music that people shout at me to check out. People I trust. 5 years after Killorn! turned me on to Muse, I'm finally entrenched in their "Absolution" CD. It's been on repeat in my car for 3 weeks, until being elbowed-aside recently by The Reigning Monarchs. I'm not even much of Surfabilly poseur, but shooooot if I don't dig TRM.

On this, my #700th blogiversary, I wanted to share 2 other items of musical empowerment that are just all over my fancakes right now. I have found much more inspiration for my writing and performing in tones and tunes than in voice and speech. Something about the pacing of these 2 songs - and by all means PLEASE SHARE YOUR FAVE TUNES IN THE COMMENTS! as I am ever looking for a louder trumpet - gives me want to jump up and down with a passion normally reserved for a 6'9" athlete slam-dunking. NO, not a big triumph, but it looks cool and after all, we must be sure to Represent.

So here are 2 videos, about 15min of entertainment for you. Come back to them if you like.

If you are a guitar player, you'll dig the first one to the Gth degree. John Butler's solo version of his instrumental "Ocean," live. Saw it for the 1st time 2 days ago. Incredible groove.

John Butler Trio - "Ocean"

Want Funk, pianos, smoove vocals, and short hits? GET IT HERE with "Audience."

Cold War Kids "Audience"

>I'm out. ENJOY.

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Los Angeles Redux

You wanna know about LA?
You wanna get in the cage with the Beautiful Beast and throw elbows with love?
Do you have what it takes to hone your craft and watch some bimbo get a golden ticket and leapfrog over you because she's more marketable, and then she goes on the road for a year and all she can come up with is 8 new minutes on drinking?

EVERYTHING you need to know about Los Angeles in 2.5 minutes.





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My Blog About My Dad

What's New Daddy-G?

I took a big step this past week by committing to being present when my son was born. Not nearly enough men do this, for any number of well-thought-out, idiocy-inspired reasons. I've seen my son every day since the moment he was born. His head looks much better today.

With due respect to HAX-TV, trips to see Dave Matthews at the Gorge, and stand-up comedy, being part of my son Graham's life is likely the most-meaningful involvement of my existence. I've already had a number of conversations with myself about discipline, drinking, Religion vs. religion, and fighting at soccer games for community U-8 teams. I have a lot of growing up to do, still.

I sometimes envy my friends who had children much younger in their life. As they get older and make more money, they are able to do and give more to the kids. But also, I met the Right Woman later than some do, and our son Graham Gerald Lott came right on time. If I were 27 with a kid, I'd still be itching to go out and drink and act like a Reality TV Housemate. At 35 I just stay home for all of that. Life has its own skej for ya. Stop fighting it and go with your flow.

I have a much better appreciation for all my parents have done for me in my life. Especially after seeing my son being born. He came into the world at 7# 8oz, and I was 9#7oz, so my mom deserves a gift card instead of brunch next year. As a new parent, I have only instinct and some videos and a few chapters of parenting knowledge to go from. Turns out, everybody knows nothing about being a parent. I guess it's all going to be about Love, even if it's tough, even when it's hour 4 of a non-sleeping jag at 3:47a.m. and somebody's on your lap farting like a mariachi tuba, and will just... not... POOOOOOOOP there it was on my leg.

Madly in love with this kid, he's more attuned to his Mom, who is all things a Woman could be. Her strength through 30+ hours of contractions, naturally delivering our son, and recovering to feed him "naturally" has been awe-inspiring. It's the strongest I have ever seen somebody Be, close to my mom's dealing with my dad's illness. I have an amazing wife, and my son's a lucky little boy, blessed with wonderful angels.

In closing, I'm probably gonna blabber on about being a dad here, on and off. In the meantime, I'll also be throwing in some stuff I'm working on for my act about how F'ed up the world has gotten (Thank You, Passive Aggressive Behavior!), and how to handle Bad Apples.

Love you all. As appropriately as I can.

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My Blog About My Dad

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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Nothing to see here...

There is absolutely nothing I can think of to interest me on this internet. I'm going to couch-flop and rub my wife's feet until she drool-sleeps on the throw pilla.

G'night.

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My Blog About My Dad

Fame, Us, People

Today we were in Santa Monica heading to a birthing class to make sure we know how to breathe and where the baby comes out. You'd be really, really freaked out if you knew. It's... wow... ANYway, we get there and gotta... GET TO THE POINT.

I was at the lobby desk and glance to the left as a man in a red shirt, long sleeves, skull-covered, saunters around the corner, hair curly and wild. I think "Tim Burton's got hair like... THAT'S TIM BURTON."

Near him in bright pastels is a bouncy gal with hair in an up-do, and I start totally ignoring the ass-backwards lobby desk "guard" trying to figure out the parking maps. Because I KNOW that this lady has to be... HELENA BONHAM CARTER.

At which point they glance over at me (yes, I was waving as though I was signaling "MINE" for an incoming fly-ball), and I say "Hey, I love you guys! I'm a huge fan of your work."

They said?
"Oh hey, thanks! Cool!"
And they walked outside LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE LIKE ME AND some of you.

I head outside with my parking pass and far too much judgment on what it must NOT take to get a job as a lobby desk guard for UCLA Health Services. As I exit the building I see
TIM BURTON and his wife HELENA BONHAM CARTER! Just a few feet from our car, wherein My Wife! is reading something about our class. I turn to TIM BURTON and HELENA BONHAM CARTER and say "Sorry, I'm geeking out. I love your stuff!"



I peek through the window and tell my wife "Hey, that's (pointing behind me) TIM BURTON and HELENA BONHAM CARTER!"
She waves at them and says "Hiii!"

Whaddyoo think those two did?

THEY WAVED RIGHT BACK AND SAID "Hii!"

Then they walked down the street and off to do what they do when they aren't about to get hugged and cried-on by a guy who has deep emotional attachments to "Beetlejuice," "The Nightmare Before Christmas," and "Ed Wood."

In our birthing class we watched a video where some random lady in Iowa gave birth. They showed her pushing it out of her (business). Hey, how about a heads-up before the Head's out? Jeez. Bloody show, indeed.

Then we went to Calabasas to shop at Babies R Us because they were the only one in the area that had a store where teenagers weren't registering for their showers. And the sling we needed, from what I was told.

What a great day. I love my wife. I love my life. I love that we're Living. Blessed.

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TIM BURTON and HELENA BONHAM CARTER!

Gesturing To The Heavens

Kindness.
To express kindness, truly, is to do so without the intent to do so, and to do so without an idea that you'd ever expect any sort of return gesture of appreciation. To do so that it is done, from the purest of intent, to be Kind.

It's really friggin' hard to be kind sometimes. I try to think of myself as kind, but I think, truly, I'm just courteous. I open doors for people, I try and let people over in traffic if they have a blinker and a commitment to GO. I try and say "excuse me" when walking between people who are talking but standing all over the place on a sidewalk like they own the thing like dickholes.

Doing nice things for other people isn't about what the Do'er gets out of it.
Don't do nice things for others because it makes YOU feel good.
Do nice things for others because it makes THEM feel guilty.

Then they'll buy you things.

And never mistake Kindness for Weakness.
To offer up your service, your help, your home, your money, your food, is to say "I care to give." It's not saying "Oh, no, you should take this from me, I am unworthy and you are more worthy and I'm a worm."
A "Thank You" card is in order.

We could all use some more kindness, that's for sure. And for whatever reason, I have to allow people to be kind to me on THEIR terms, and see the beauty of their intent. But really, if you send me a package through UPS that i HAVE to sign-for...
and you know I'm at work all day...
and I can't sign for it...
then I have to go TO the UPS thing to pick it up...
perhaps a gift card would be in order? Because if I go pick it up, and it's, you know, "cheeky" and I can't really do anything with your gift, you really just sent me an errand.

See how it all goes poorly? Cash. Gift cards. That's what I give.
Because I follow the Golden Rule. Treat others they way they ought to treat you.

Although, a couple years ago my Broham Of Law bought me the DVD set of "Band Of Brothers," and that was a phenomenal gift. THAT's some awesome man presents right there.

Okay, so be nice for the sake of being nice, but try and think ahead of your gift is going to be a pain in the recipient's assmeat. If your gift horse is eating my furniture, you're getting a returned gift horse skeleton, waiting your pick-up at the delivery centre.

Be nice. And be nice when you're being nice. Please.

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Grandma Victoria, Love you!

When I met my wife, and by Rule, her Family, I knew I was blessed. This is a fun group of people. Diverse in age and demeanor, yet so Family-centric that every dust-up comes with an apology soon after, and a few drinks and/or laughs. And then a "But you know I'm right," then a quick hang-up. The Anchor of the Family was a title bestowed upon Granny Vic, or Great-Grandma Victoria, officially.

With love, sadness, and prayers, Granny Vic passed away early this morning, at home, with her husband Grandpa Stan and daughter Pam near. She had been fiercely fighting the after-effects of some health issues that befell her a few weeks ago. Her determined spirit kept her going for two weeks, even after her body would no longer allow her to take food or water. I imagine she's got some questions for the loved ones now surrounding her in the Great White Forever.

My favorite memories of Granny Vic are when she told me that she, too, could tell funny stories, and when she was convinced I had broken her TV. First, she told my wife and I of the time she had a root in the garden she was trying to yank out, but it wouldn't budge. So she pulled, and pulled, and chopped at it, and pulled, and chopped some more, then pulled (and this is where she starts laughing too hard to finish) really hard... (more laughing)... and fell right back on her keister. Imagine a tiny white-haired woman waving her hands and trying to say "Keister."

The TV Incident happened like this. Vic & Stan bought a new TV but there was a mix-up of the wires in the back, and the picture was all screwy when they tried to get the DVD player to work. So I did the right thing after a couple of beers and got behind the TV. Just as I re-wired the DVD player and cable hook-up, the TV BLIPPED for a second... and oddly enough, the cable went out. It was rainy and windy, and FSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS nothin'.

Granny Vic, her back to the living room while she was in the kitchen, wanted to know if I'd fixed it. We said "Yes" but that the cable was out. So she told me to hook the cable up. I said it was hooked up, but the cable was out. She wanted to know why I didn't hook it back up if it's not working. I said I thought it was working, but the cable was probably out so even it it was hooked up (I have to scream this, she's a bit hard of hearing) IT WOULDN'T BE WORKING. She told me to go check it a-gain. So after 5 minutes of haranguing and a couple of calls to neighbors, confirming that the cable was indeed out, she apologized to me.
"Sorry, Geoff." I told her "No good, Victoria! This won't cut it!"
She laughed it off, and I said "I ain't kiddin', I know home electronics, Granny!" We settled it over some pie.

My love and thoughts go out to all the Family, Stan, Pam, Stacy, Carol, Mitzi, Don, Casey, Larry, Lettie, and anybody else I may have missed. You guys have made it fun to be an In-Law, and Granny Vic will always be a part of some great memories for me.

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Dealing With Dying

My dad, Gerry Lott, passed away on November 16, 2008.
He was 65 years old.
He had fought dementia and the symptoms and effects of it for over 5 years.
He is no longer struggling.
I have an unparalleled peace, as I know he is currently in the Presence of God, and that I will see him again one day.
==========================

In my dad's passing, this is the closest I have ever been to a death. It is the heaviest weight I have ever carried, and the lightest of burdens to bear, as I have only love and respect for my dad.

His body is gone.
He is deceased, no longer on Earth.
He is biologically dead.
As a human form, he is no more.

I have to express these things as a way of real-izing them for myself. The last time I saw my dad was in September, prior to moving to Los Angeles. He was as he had been for a long time; gentle-eyed, slow to react, and stuck in that wheelchair. He was merely existing. It's a rotten way to watch somebody go. I don't really know how much of him was still there. He could react with a laugh/cry thing when something funny happened or somebody familiar was near by. But we do know that some of that kind and great man was still in there.

In his passing, my dad fought through a couple of illnesses in the last few weeks. Pneumonia weakened his system, causing very high fevers and breathing problems. The lack of oxygen led to angina. He may have had a mild heart attack. He was suffering, physically. We all hurt to know he was struggling. He deserved much better than this pain.

I last spoke to him on November 15th. My mom held the phone to his ear as his body fought for breath. I told him that i loved him, that I was so proud to be his son, that he was a great father, and that if he was ready, to go on Home. To go on to Heaven. That we'll always love him and we'll see him again. It is never enough, or correct, or timely, to say these things. But my dad, in his 65 years of life, lived with a compassion and love for others and life. And "The Time" had come.

I hung up with my mom and began sobbing harder than I ever have. I told my wife "My dad is dying, honey. He's really dying." We all knew it. Never would I have said it before, in case the mere breathing of the word "dying" would accelerate anything. We truly had him taken from us by the dementia over the past few years. And physically, now, he was dying. His spirit was about to soar, if it had not already been called Home to Heaven. I know that he heard me, regardless.

After hours of crying and planning for a trip home, I slept a bit. I had no dreams I can recall. My phone rang at 5a.m. It was my mom.

My dad, Gerald Embert Lott, Jr., had died.

A man of integrity, character, compassion, love, faith, and humor, had died. A good man. A great father and husband. A man of peace and friendship. They die, too. We all will. So... now what?

After talking with my mom, I felt a lightness. It was either a peace, or an elation, or a relief of a burden I carried. It was like a weight I forgot I had been toting around. Perhaps it was the question "When?" had now been answered. No more waiting. No more anticipation of a phone call that I dreaded knowing the subject of. My dad, now in Heaven, was free of the body that was felled by Dementia. Healed, whole, in the Presence of The Lord.

Knowing this is the greatest comfort I have. I believe we all share this, in my family, and those we know who knew and loved my dad. To know that right now, my dad's spirit has returned to The Glory, the place from which all Creation sprung, to be surrounded by his family from ages past, with his friends who preceded him, begins to erase the pain of missing him.

I want to begin focusing on THAT. On my father's spiritual reward now, I will rest my heart and my thoughts, in knowing he is standing tall, he is speaking with loved ones, he is the Greatest he has ever been. He IS, still.

Were it not for the love he and my mom showed us, the teaching and avenues they directed us towards, and the freedom to choose, I cannot tell you that I would be elated or peaceful. But my father is Home now. Where he wanted to go when this was enough for him.

Amen.

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