A Bus Ride To Downtown Perspective

This morning I walked outta my place without getting to moosh the face of my son, had a good-bye kiss from my wife, and about 5 minutes to hoof it a half mile to the bus stop. Just after 7a.m. it was about 22 degrees. So said the display across from my bus stop at the fitness club when I arrived. But I was up for the challenge having missed the 5:15am workout.

I had to do 2 short jogs to make it on time, which isn't easy in moderately-cushioned lace-ups with a 15lb backpack. Save your military story about humping a 90lb pack through the shit, I'm not enlisted, I understand perspective... MOVING ON... I arrived at my stop about 45 seconds before the bus did. Missing it would result in waiting 15minutes for the next one. 15minutes x 22degrees = 5 hours, so my hustle was rewarded.

As I stood there fishing out my change, a dark Suburban with tinted windows rolled up. I thought for sure that They'd finally come for me, after all my subversion and subterfuge, it was time... the TSA had come to screw up my morning! Instead, a petite gal in a nice outfit hopped as the bus pulled up behind her ride. She shot a "Yeah, thanks" over her shoulder as I moved toward the bus, happy to not be waiting out here, and thinking she wasn't really hearty enough to handle the cold, the walk, nor the rigors of a 20-hour work-week.

So I pay my fare and move to a seat when I hear the gal who was not willing to catch the bus elsewhere, nor walk-to, nor wait-at the bus stop, tell the driver "Oh what? The fares went up? Gawl..."
Yeah. They went up a quarter. They went up to make some money back that people like this chick... CUTTING TO THE CHASE...

I really should have said "You just got dropped off while I walked a half mile in sub-freezing temperatures," and let her process that while she grumped about how awful that she should have to work, being white and somewhat attractive. I hope her work with underprivileged, walking youth whose parents only drive sedans is fulfilling.

Either I got easily red-assed over this chick's inability to equate a car ride in bad weather to being worth an extra quarter and I mis-read the situation and acting "holier than thou," or she's a turd.

=========================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


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

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.

Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


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

Customer Disservice - DirecTV Again

Like the title says, DirecTV has again proven itself to hold the highest standards of minimal effort in handling customer issues. Please get rid of DirecTV if you have it, or at least don't ever get it at your love bunker.

First it was the issue where a guy with almost an entire month of a court-mandated trade school course in Screwdriver Management put the dish practically in my neighbor's shower. Then, to have it moved, I would have to pay $50 (AMERICAN) because I "approved" the install by not supervising the installer's "work." Then I made the horrific mistake of - from what was implied in my call to their customer "care" office - not leg-sweeping and triangle-choking said installer to show my displeasure. So, hey, that was all my fault I guess.

Tonight we tried to order the Sandra Bullock-led movie for which she won an Oscar, "The Blind Side." DirecTV has a limited catalog of PayPerViews at any given time. TONS of movies that will show you the pink parts of people from bad families, but as for decent films? Yeah. No.

Like other times, I tried to order the movie on-line with a few button-pushes. Nothing. Tried it at another timeslot, and again, SQUAT. Went on-line to order and still got an e-quivalent of being slapped in the face with a turd-covered hand. Still NOTHING. So I had to call to tell 'em I NO LONGER WANT TO WATCH SANDRA BULLOCK PUT ON THE SOUTHERN ACCENT AND EMOTE, AND MY BILL WAS ALREADY CHARGED AND THE CAPITAL LETTERS ARE WHAT MY BRAIN IS FEELING WHEN I HAD TO CALL...

1) The bill was charged before the movie was active.
2) The phone number to talk whomever was gonna want to quit after I called was hard to find.
3) The system "was updating key records and was unavailable until tomorrow morning"

So to get the charges reversed... it was up to ME to call back. They couldn't write anything down, make a log of ways to HELP THE CUSTOMERS AND AGAIN MY BRAIN FEELS HOT.

So I told Megan at DirecTV... "Okay Megan, I'll reschedule my life because your supervisors haven't come up with a way to make a list of work items you can handle when the system comes back on-line as a courtesy to the people paying the bills there. Sound good? Oookaaaay byyy-eeeeeeeCLICK."

I know it's not Megan's fault. But unless Megan gets a verbal fart-slapping every once in a while, she'll never get her ass to mechanic's school and run her own diesel engine-rebuild shop the way she told her high school couns'lors.

DirecTV is NOT the bag of farts. It is the half-bag of Oreos & a half-pound of buttered broccoli-fueled farts themselves.

=========================
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad
=========================
MC, HOST, SEATTLE, HOSTING, CORPORATE, EVENTS, NPO, GEOFF, LOTT, PUGET SOUND

Bookin'

Los Angeles is still the hub of entertainmental living. You can't not do something once you leave the 1-Bedroom you pay too much to sleep and shower in thrice a week. After last night's foray to 3Clubs for the Montreal showcase (went First, great set, Seattle hang-out), I spent today back in Culver City working on The Book and talking with a few people who I respect greatly, and not just for their fantastic hairlines.

So as I ponder re-writing The Book to encompass a few other lessons about corporate management and survival, I came across the "Self Hurt" series at a kitsch store in Westwood. Their titles include "How To Get Fat," "How to Procrastinate," and a great tome titled "How To Traumatize Your Children." (I'm thinking "clown posters," but I'm old-fashioned). So that may be the way to go. From there I had to get to a show that did not go well... let me explain...

I was "supposed to" go up at this show, but didn't. The guy "running the room" was basically bumping me, allowing his friends to go long while he waited for people he already knew to show up. In other words, he was working on the idea that what MAY happen was better than what WOULD happen for sure. I think this is what THE SECRET was based upon. I have very little Ego. But I do have Pride. And a career of making people laugh of which I am rather proud. So, meh, I shrugged and left. I'm not waiting until 11:45. There's a difference between Passion and The Need for Validation. My bit about Assisted Suicide will have to wait, though it would have been very fitting in that situation.

It reminded me of every reason that LA is a terrible environment, at times, to do comedy in. At least at that show, which I have only ever seen go well ONCE. Another reason to love and appreciate the Seattle comedy scene.

I'm out. Good night.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

What Are You Saying?

In the world of communication, getting your message across is as much WHAT you say as HOW you say it. In fact, the latter may be more important. For example, let's say you have an empty bottle, a full bladder, and a meeting. What makes more sense to say?

1) I'm going to fill my water bottle, use the restroom, and go to the meeting.
OR
2) I'm going to the meeting, after I use the restroom and fill my bottle.

Many, many, far-too-many people are clinically annoying in how they speak, and when they decide to pipe up. Read the comments section of any local news story in an on-line news site. The internet has given people who have - and some who have not - clamored for years to be heard! To be SEEN! To have their existence made known to dozens of strangers who will eventually refer to their FaceSpace profiles before hiring them and cause the hire-er to wonder "Who is this dipsh*t, and why are they always making hand gestures with the hand NOT holding a cocktail?"

I am always delving into my mind and the works of the great cartoonists to find new ways to speak, to communicate, to express what it is that buts a burr in my figurative butt.

So as we get closer to the end of your life, and mine, please take into account a few important quotes about speaking:

A wise man speaks because he has something to say; a fool because he has to say something. -Plato

That's all I ever needed to know.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Be Your Own, Anonymous Person

Sure as I am that many articles, blogs, and pr0n-spam links have been made about this, I would like to weigh-in on an issue that affects us all when it comes to the use of the Internet.

Our Constitution (for Americans only, I hope) has a number of Amendments, which is to say, the first go-round didn't quite get it all. One of those Amendments is the First one. Luckily, it's the most important one in a society full of people who our Forefathers thought would be smarter than they are. It guarantees our Freedom to Speak, Print, and Worship. Not sure how those all tie in to each other, but ink was pricey then and if you can't tell somebody to read the Bible, what's the use of stealing one from a Hotel?

So we've got this far now into the Web2.0 thing, wherein WE are the contributors of content. This blog, that goat-fighting video, keyboard cat, CHICKEN TETRAZZIIIINI, and your video that nobody was supposed to see.

Oh... who's a pretty little Thai Schoolgirl NOW?

And in the Cyberscape we can often become anybody we want to, and live anonymously, vicariously, and usually, slovenly. And we contribute what it is we (think?) the world wants to hear from us. Or, more narcisistically, what WE want the world to know about us. These plops fall into 5 categories:

1) Boring
2) Pointless
3) Profane
4) A link to some sort of hole
5) Something enraging the easily-enraged shut-in

So yeah, the 'nets full of nobodies. If I were really poppin', I wouldn't be cheek-liftin' blogs out this monster for nobody. Love for my readers, always always. But hey, if I had my druthers, I'd be inaccessible 40 weeks a year. Until then, send me a drink in MafiaWars. Nobody talks anymore...

To prove it, here's a cam pic of me writing this blog.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Freakuency

I've taken to calling-out people doing rude and dumb things in public. Recently, at Swapper Jack's, a man's left arm crossed my face to reach for a chutney. It wasn't preceded with any sort of "Excuse me," nor a "pardon, I'm sorry, but there's one guy here who needs some mango chutney on the regular, and it ain't YOU, mang." THAT I'd-a be down fo'.

So I said, about 6 inches from his untrimmed ear:
"Do you need to get in here, sir?"

He said nothing, paused, then beat a retreat with what I can only assume is a life-changing mincemeat of mango, bell pepper, honey, and exotic spices.

Today at the Post Office - which I openly mock because I'm comfortable knowing I will NEVER work there - I was 6th in line when a chick in pig tails, yoga pants, flip-flaps, and a hoodie cut the line to ask a cage worker "Um, like, hiii, can I ask a question?"
(Cage worker was helping somebody who was rather stunned)
The cage worker said "mmmhmmm" or some sort of affirmation.

Dipshit asked "My friend left her diary here a while ago, like, do you have a Lost & Found? It was like 2 weeks ago I think?"

Okay, nobody said anything.
The problem is now everybody's issue. Because this isn't a transaction that will benefit the USPS, and will only hold everything else up, and I'll be Catholic Priest-tickled if that shit's happening when I'm in the building.

And I start to think, "Will Cage Worker take a break from the line and go look for the journal of this dipshit's dipshit friend? NOOOOO, she wouldn't. That would be like Customer Service, and the Post Office ain't that."

Well, she DID go look. For about 5minutes, which is 30minutes in Post Office time. I moved to 4th in line. Journal not found.
Dipshit in PigTails starts asking questions about "Could you look again? Are there ANY books?" and this is WAAAAAAY over the limit...
SO I SAY...

"Excuse me, excuse me? Miss, in the sweatshirt?" Now everyone's looking at me. And I will admit, I FELT VERY MUCH ALIVE.

"Um, yeeeah?"

"We're all waiting in line to do business here, your friend's journal's gone. We need to get going here, okay? Sorry."

Everyone's acting like it wasn't said, except me, Dipshirt, and Cage Worker. Dipshirt takes a second, glances around, acts all butt-hurt, sighs, and says "Thanks" to the Cage Worker and flaps-off out the branch.


YOU'RE WELCOME, WEST HOLLYWOOD POST OFFICE.

Say something. Especially when somebody's doing something wrong and it's hurting the community and if needed, you could kick their ass.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

100% Dumbass Behavior

Let me get this right...
You dialed a phone number... listened to all 6 rings... let it go to voicemail... listened to the voicemail greeting in it's entirety...

Then hung up when you could have left a message?

That's the kind of intellect best-described as a "loud HSSSSSH'ing sound."
Get diarrhea and stop using things with buttons.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Sick of It

So... again... at work...

This guy sitting near me, in an office... with a DOOR that closes on hinges and latches and locks... has his door open...
and a now-drying chest cough that spasms in quick, double-bursts every 90 seconds or so. You could set your whiskey shots by it. He works in HR. Imagine.

My problem with people coming to work ill, especially if they are contagious, and ESPECIALLY if they aren't that attractive, is the possibility of spreading their illness. I understand the move if you're the only orthopedic surgeon in the ER for the next 72 hours, or a drywaller who doesn't reek of beer before hanging Hardi-backer in the splash zones. But the HR contact? Dude.

Back in the bubble.

'kA-hhuu, 'kA-hhuu.

But HOW does this message get out? It's the same problem for somebody who is really loud at work, or dresses poorly (not the scooping neckline or short skirt, that's a whole different reason to stay home), or complains all the time. It's a personality flaw, it's in the code of the machine now.

See, in the past I've tried dropping hints, anonymous print-outs, farting in their cube, farting in a drawer in their cube, leaving the water of a tuna can in a cup under their desk, telling them outright, and general embarrassment. The last of those, by the way, is far too underutilized in our society. If somebody is bothering you with any sort of behavior that you haven't paid good money for, it's well within your rights to let 'em know.

I can't handle this. I'm 34. It could go on for Who Knows how long, and dammit, it's time to just do the right thing and tell HR.

Oh right. I gotta say something. Sorry Dude. I'm sick of your sickness.

Another time, earlier this year when I first started this job, I was very ill for a good 48 hours. Some sort of bug that just wracked me. So I decided to stay home for that Monday. When I returned, I was admonished, somewhat "gaily," by a co-worker that I better not be sick and get her sick, dang it!

From the day I started there was a wet, hacking chest cough emanating from across the cube walls, from the same person who was demanding that my presence not THAT FUCKING COUGH, DUDE, COME ON.... that my presence not impact her immune system. Now, my bug was legit. 4 months into the show here, that chest cough prevails, daily, wetly.

It's making me sick. DONE.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad