Time For Potted Meat

No, it's not easy.
Working full-time, being a husband, dad, and comedian equates to a lot of time management. If I had my druthers I would be able to sleep about 4 hours a night and be fully powered to work out every morning, get my son up and play a bit before work, work, come home and play with him more until bath time, put him down for sleepytime, go do comedy, and at least twice a week, have a civil conversation with my wife about how Reality Television is the #1 cause of divorce in this nation... so stop watching it.

But I have to make the most of what time I have. My wife started her own business this year so there are duties for her work, also, on top of being a Full Time Mom!, which is not easy. I've spent days with our son while she's out of town, and it's exhausting. On the days he won't nap, forget it, don't even call me, let alone wonder why I haven't responded to your text about what I did/did not see on the news last night. Thankfully, we have some help with the love of Grandmas (Mimi and Granny-H nearby) and some great friends to watch The Guy when we need a break/drink. But even that requires juggling schedules and attitudes. A friend offered to watch him one weekend, then said "Between 3 and 4."

No thanks, I said, but maybe next time. Honestly, I appreciate the offer and the thought, but the time constraint was too narrow for us to do anything that weekend and...And frankly, I shouldn't have to f*cking explain it. I responded with a "Gosh, I think we're elsewhere at that time, we won't even be home. Maybe next time, but really, thank you for offering." 3pm is not 7pm, and never will be, in the same place at the same time, check your Swatch.

Her feelings were hurt like I'd said "you're a rotten person and you can wrap your hour in a latex sleeve covered in broken glass. And SHOVE IT HOLE-WARDS." Some people can't stomach potted meat. Some folks love it. If you offer it, you can't expect EVERYONE to love it, try it, or be okay with its presence at the potluck. Don't expect an apology if your best effort doesn't meet the standards. You offered, didn't get accepted, move on. (I wish somebody would've laid that on me while I was dating)

What's up with all these analogies and metaphors?
Just tired of the bullshit, that's all. Getting red-assed over the shunning of your potted meat is as mature as being upset that you didn't get a compliment from a stranger on your new haircut. While your efforts should be appreciated, by yourself at the very least, needing constant approval is the sign of a well-developed, oversized lack of self worth. I hope it appreciates, but I can't invest right now.


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

Health, Care?

Not that I know all there is to know about the machinations of working through the nooks and/or crannies of the Health Care Industry, but there are surely some changes that must be made on both sides of the receptionist's desk.

I have had moments in life where I surely needed my health coverage to handle the paperwork and bills that would have otherwise submerged me. Leg carpentry, wisdom teeth, child birth, and general quality of life stuff, thankfully, have all been handled by my health insurance. For the past 19months I have been without my own insurance (THANK YOU, horrible economy, bad borrowers, bad lenders, and California!) while working under my wife's insurance policy (Thank you Touchstone and later, the $1100/month COBRA Payment, and thankfully we had the money to pay for it). Not everyone has been in our position.

In 1999 I was in Ireland where I had a fantastic golf trip completely sideswiped by the evils of having to go to bed early in the morning after a few drinks. One night I was bowled-over by a couple of dorks wrestling in a nightclub (not a lot of women around), which ended when my knee went sideways. The next day it had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, and a trip to the local emergency care was in order. 2 hours later I had X-rays, crutches, and a couple of minor painkillers. It cost me $60, American.

There are so many facets of health care that I cannot go into right now because I have to fold laundry, but I'll tell you this:

* If you have a job that supplies health care, even on just a subsidized basis, think of toughing it out before you bail. It's tough to get coverage if you've been without it for a while.

* If you pay taxes, you should be entitled to getting at least enough coverage to keep you from throwing up too often, keeping your teeth in your head, and surely keeping your kids in good health. A healthy human is a happy human, and that's a productive human. And we gotta produce something sooner or later.

As I move forward with getting private health insurance via LifeWise, there have been some speedbumps, but I've been through much worse. The amount of $ one must pay varies greatly, but with this new plan, hopefully, when you need that $ returned to cover a claim, you won't have to fill out more than 5 forms.

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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!

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.

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