Screwing Old Guys on Craigslist Over A Mirror

A few years ago my wife wanted a mirror for our place that was simple, elegant, and didn't carry a reflection of long-dead Pig War participants. She found one through West Elm ("World Market items at Masins prices!") and we ordered it and hung it up. It was/is a nice little piece. Rectangular, borderless, with a glass shelf in the lower-quarter of it. It's a nice addition to an entryway, bathroom, Swinger Shed, what-have-you. And after a few years and a move to-from California, we just don't have the place for it anymore. Couldn't garage-sell it, so we did the on-line garage sale that is Craigslist.

You can find anything on Craigslist, from pagan roommates with fish allergies to 18" rimz fo' yo' whip (that's a car, mom), to strangers who want to teach your kids stuff. I said "teach," not "touch," right? Okay, just checking. You can also find somebody to send 38 emails to about your desire to meet the right person just beforeyou bail on meeting somebody face-to-face, a key component of GETTING THE SEX. And you can find old people to screw for $20.

We tried to sell the mirror to a guy we'll call Smokey. He smokes a lot. I know because he had 2 packs of Liggett Red Kings of various fill in his Camaro. He dressed exclusively in black & white. His car is white with a black rag top, black & white steering wheel, white mods to the dash, etc. He wanted the white-backed mirror for his condo. I know because after we posted the mirror on Craigslist for $20 (it was $100 originally) he emailed saying he wanted it for his condo, which is all black and white and chrome, which is what he told me about his place. I went to meet him in public because you just don't let people know where you live, especially if you are going to screw them.

So I take this $100 mirror to a parking lot mid-way between our homes. He's inside the ROSS looking for something black and/or white and/0r chrome. He chooses this lifestyle. He comes out to meet me, tells me he doesn't get outta the house much because he's fighting cancer, hands me a $20 bill, and I carefully help him transfer the mirror to his Camaro, which I have already set the scene for. Cigarettes. Black & white (like the ashes of the cigarettes). Godspeed, Sir.

I get a voicemail 20minutes later saying this:
"Hey there GEOFF, this is Smokey, and boy you really pulled one over on me, boy. Good job there, Geoff. Yeah, this mirror's no good. Totally ruined. There's moisture behind it, probably been in a bathroom, it's junk. I'm trying to clean it up but I don't know. And there was a price tag on it for $15, so you got me good, but hey, YOU came out ahead $20, so there ya go."

1) I'm down $80 plus gas, I'm not ahead $20

2) No pre-inspection of the mirror in the parking lot, caveat emptor, this is a garage sale scenario

3) If you can see yourself in the $20 mirror, it's not ruined

4) It is never my intent to put the screws to somebody, that's bad karma, and worse when it's $20 off a guy who is battling cancer... AND SMOKING

5) Buyer's remorse/guilt can be easily swayed by spreading the blame around, just kick it right back to them and act very put-out

I need the karma more than the $20, and while I'm usually a "tough-love" kind of guy, I called the old cancer patient back and took his still-folded $20 back to meet him in the same parking lot. Anything that wastes my time pisses me off. Anything that takes away from my family or my happiness pisses me off. And this was doing both. So this self-weathered asshole was pissing me off. And he does this kind of thing because...

1) He has no family

2) He has no hobbies

3) He is bad with time management

When you're fighting cancer and have shit-else to do, save that time for something important like not thinking Craigslist is some kind of factory-direct shipping company catering to your every need for decor and/or ashtrays. Hell, don't even wait to get cancer, just act like that now, don't waste your time nor others, keep your ethics high, your expectations low-to-moderate, and you probably won't get cancer. Take a good long look in the mirror, Smokey.

How much more black & white can I get?

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

Big Brother Sleeps In, Farts On Little Sister

Let's all admit right now that we have no clue how the government works. You can state all you just copied from a Wiki entry, but on penalty of asshole-waxing you cannot tell me what the Checks & Balances are. (it's how Government sets the standard for all corporations to stifle anything before it gets out of control and actually gets work done) But somehow our government, where the average representative - that's the place where there are 435 of 'em pulling a $174K salary - works a 3-day week in between committee meetings. And getting Lobbyist luncheon BJs. And bathing in slime.

So our Government cannot find a budget that works so they'll just quit and not show up? Sorry, there's no money to keep the lights on for a day? Bullshit. Get in there and fix that shit. This is the GOVERNMENT, it's somewhat important to people who think community activity isn't worth the time. It's maddening, truly. Big Brother wants to sleep in. Wants to roll over, take a rip off the bong, and nap until the weekend. Aren't we throwing firepower down Libya's throat for some reason dressed up to make it not look like oil?

They need to just go in there and push some shit around, look busy. Until now it doesn't appear anything has been done anyway. Seriously. And we're all too upside down in our tent mortgages to have the bag to skip a day of work, and REALLY shut the show down. You want to enact change, you don't vote. You get 50% of a workforce to dis-a-fucking-ppear for a Tuesday with no explanation. Send a message about who is in control.

Same thing in Washington, DC. This article tells the tales of those who are really affected by the stoppage: People making the $30K-$50K a year who're just scraping by in the economy's wet-fart of a recovery. The people who make the coffee, sweep the floors, shine the shoes, cut the hair, fold the shirts, make the meetings, unlock the doors, mop the bathrooms... they disappear for ONE DAY... shit'll get changed. Kinda like a "Day Without A Mexican," but documented.

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Backing Up

It's been a while since I was regularly on-stage. I don't really know why, but I can easily misdirect any number of reasons to my job, my disinterest in my act, being wiped-out, lacking a stage-hunger, being happy, or any combination of those. There's something lacking in the FIRE department, wherein most of my act should be scrapped while I build up something meatier, more reflective of my attitude towards society. At least the parts that most folks wouldn't label as racist.


After headlining in December, I decided a lot of my material just isn't fun to do, or should be more deeply extrapolated, if not looked into further. I think extrapolated is a great word. Recently I went to a chiropractor for the knot in my back and the displacement of my hips. Turns out that sitting on a wallet for 25 years has pushed my right hip forward and under. It's a half-inch lower than my left hip, causing some issues that include tingling in my leg, a strained right erectus muscle in my back, and mild bigotry. Pain can push us to horrible places. Pile that on top of all the stuff in the first paragraph, and you can start to see why I don't hit the Tuesday night bierhaus shows for 5 minutes between the 2 guys who just broke up with non-existent girlfriends and smoked pot at their sister's wedding.
NOT
INTERESTED


So now I have 3 weeks of shows to handle. Feature work, headline work, and a headline gig at a bar. 2 clubs, one bar, one private show. Mostly I am at the point that the best thing for me is to stop relying on material that works and just let-fly with what I want to do. This of course is the same for Life, overanalyzing every little move to the point that I ruin my Gavin chinos instead of just going into the open stall and gettin' some Tank time. Drop that shit, kid, you have LIFE to do. And a big part of my life is stand-up comedy.


So as I look forward to, and at, the next 10 shows I hope to get some new material to share as it goes along. This includes being able to just go in and riff and be loose and let whatever happens, happen. Being tired, happy, and sore is how much of my life has gone. It's part of the gig. And I have learned to embrace the moments of calmly explaining to people why they are fucking up the process for everyone else. If we let ONE person bring their dog into the store, soon we have to let EVERY Eastern Bloc trashbag bring their Mastiff-boxer mix into Babies R Us, or else it's discrimination. People are not generally good, people are generally BORING. And many of them are decent. But those that stand out are either attractive or annoying as shit. And that's where my comedy comes from. I know I can be that annoying. I just have to try harder.

So really, what I am saying for now is that I am maxed out. I can't take on any more work from the day job. I can't do any more work in comedy. I am at the mercy of a changing, incommunicative bus system (and a socially retarded driver on the 7:23 255 route), and basically unable to do anything more than make money and not power-drink at the bus stops. I am doing all I can to find time to work out to keep the nervous energy low(ish), and operating on adrenaline and the love of/from my family and friends. Without those cornerstones (Love, Effort, Faith, Chocolate), this isn't a workhouse, it's a tent in the wind.


This was pointless. What a crybaby I am.


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

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.

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

Scan You Believe It? (WITH PICTURES!)

The Safety Assholes have implemented a new "security" procedure you will be forced to partake in the next time you decide to fly instead of drive to Vegas.... OOOH, LOOK AT THE HIGH ROLLER! Between a dose of radio waves shot at your carcass - in hopes of finding that bootknife ticked nicely 'neath your man-teat, or perhaps a few extra ounces of Pert you think you can't live without in Iowa - or gruff pat-down by a TSA uniformed person who passed their most-recent drug test, we, as American travelers, are safe at the security checkpoints. I would like to believe these agents are all cast-offs from the CIA, having missed that Director position by just the sliiiiightest of drug tests. They needed someplace to go, someplace to work for and with the United States of America, and the TSA is way better than work-release programs. Usually.


Due to an unplanned interaction with a very sober motorcycle being ridden by a very intoxicated assclown in 1998 and my left tibia, I have a rod in my leg that sets off airport metal detectors. It has done so in all but 1 scanner I've gone through since 1999 (Oakland, CA, 2006). I'm pre-9/11 "Homeland Security" Agent-bait; white guy who usually flies alone in coach with one unchecked bag. Oh yeah... Danger. By now I should be in a database when I check-in for my boarding pass that says "This guy's got a rod in his leg, and acts like it's a stick up his ass. Take it easy."

Usually I get pulled aside, stood in the glass corral and made to wait until the "Male Assist" shows up to frowningly lead me to another area where he waves a wand over my entire body to make sure I'm not lying when I say my body has a rod that cannot be trusted. Takes a minimum of five extra minutes each time. The wait is entirely dependent upon how quickly the Male Assist makes it over to the pen to lead me past other travelers wondering why I'm getting yanked aside, do NOT pardon the pun. It's not fun. It's a nuisance. And it's usually me or some old broad with a re-built shoulder waiting to be given back our effects and get to some airport DRANKIN'. There's a brief pat-down of my bod, then I get to put on all my shoes and belts and grab my stuff and think of jokes to write about how lucky I feel to be getting on a plane where I won't be troubled by dignity. It sucks, I understand why it's done, and issuing me some sort of government-approved card/bar scanner with my photo-ID that says "Cleared, leg/ass-rod" is not an option, because eventually somebody will F up and try to smuggle some beverage on-board instead of just buying the $6 Skyy.


The new TSA scanners grab pics like this one:
This is a test-photo wherein the scanned woman (I believe it is) was digitally reduced to a glowing white, giggling, .22cal-packing ghost. She was not allowed onto the plane in this state of being, deemed by Virgin Airlines as "underattractive." Sorry there, Backfat, better luck on Southwest.
The scanners emit 10,000 times LESS radio activity than your average cell-phone conversation, which is still 100,000,000 times longer than mine, I'm sure. Still, you should be opting-out for the pat-down. And YES, it will include a feel between and under the lady's breasts, and a firm-but-fair hand-saunter through your undergarden. Grandma needs a go, I guess. You're welcome. MEN, if you're truly worried about the radiation, do the right thing: TUCK YOUR FUNDLE UNDER & BACK.

Or if the pat-down is your thing, just sit back, and with a blissful look on your face, repeat the words to the 4th Amendment of the Constitution (link there is for a t-shirt version you should wear):

"The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized."

I do believe that a "reasonable" (i.e. a pre-targeted and ethnically-profiled) search of people getting on a plane is perfectly fine and legal.

We do complain about being REACTIONARY instead of PRECAUTIONARY, going all-out post-facto before the fan stops spinning the shit off itself. However, after 11+ years of groping and wanding and extra time sliced from my calendar with these measures, I have but one thing to say...

http://artsytime.com/x-ray-by-nick-veasey/

Nobody wants to look at your ass any more than you want to have it waxed AGAIN, you beast.
Get the fuck in line and shut up. I've been living this crap for over a decade, and nobody came to my defense, not one time.

And another thing, when you DO go through every metal detector's buzzing alarm and you get used to it time after time for 49 years... that ONE time it does NOT go off... don't say "Sweet, it didn't go off!"

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

Calling People On Their Shit

In the past 24 hours I have encountered 2 big steaming shitpiles in the form of men. People, I suppose. Dudes. F*cking idiots. One at a gas station. One about 15 feet from my back patio, walking his dog.

Smoking Turd At A Gas Station
Technically, this human skidmark was still in his car while smoking. With his window rolled down. While he made a 37-point turn to get his car into position at a pump to pump gasoline, a highly flammable liquid, vapor, and industry, into the car he was in that he was smoking inside of. His window was rolled down. At a gas pump. The tank was on the driver's side. CLOSING THE DISTANCE BETWEEN HIS CIGARETTE AND THE PUMP. Which had gas inside of it. And a cigarette in the dumb face of a guy nearby.

The algebraic equation of these ideas that (A) Cigarettes are slow-burning fires and (B) Gas is Flammable works out like this.
A + B = CrapOnFeet could have blown the block way the F up.
Did not seem to phase him. I yelled out my passenger window;
"HEY! You're smoking at a gas station! HEY DUDE! YOU ARE SMOKING! AT A GAS STATION!"
Nothing. Did not hear me. Or did not understand me. Perhaps I should have Farted it in Morse Code? Farted Smoke Signals? Anybody know where I can get an airhorn?
I drove the F away. The gas station was still there this morning. I'm partly sad about a learning moment being missed-out on. I'm happy nobody got hurt, except for that guy. We need to make a law and/or a gigantic sign that says
"SMOKING AT A GAS STATION WILL BLOW THE SHIT OUT OF THIS FUCKING PLACE."

= = = = = = = = = = = =

Human Dog Shit

This morning I went out and got in the truck, and as is the yoozh in our neighborhood, a dude was walking his Rottweiler. In this case, it rang true that Owner Resembled Pet. Rotts aren't real common in our neighborhood because most people are either walking Pugs, Pits (lots of dour, Eastern-bloc'ers in velour), and mutts. But this guy's Rott was easily 95lbs. And was squattin' for a loaf-leave in the area outside our patio marked, clearly:

NO PETS PLEASE

We are anti-dog shit, not anti-pet. But not a lot of snake nor piranha-walking goes on, so it's PETS and we keep the left-behind doglogs to a minimum. So this guy's dog does what dogs do, and doo he did. Here's where the stank comes in.

The guy sees me see the doo get done, fiddles with a little doo-collection baggie, then walks off. SO NOW I HAVE TO SAY SOMETHING. Because ShitGuy can't bend over before 8:30am. So as he's walking away, wearing his FDNY hat (I'm positive he's never been a firefighter), sweatshorts and headphones and the smell of Smug, he's already looking for me to stop and say something.

So let's get it straight: He balks at a common courtesy, then gets mugged-up about anybody saying anything about it? Dog Shit in Man Suit, this one's for you.

I roll down my window and say "Excuse me, I see you neglected to pick up after your dog."

ManDogShit: (curtly) "Yeah, I will."

Captain Doo-Not: "We try to keep the area clean because kids play around there, and we all pick up after our pets."

DogManShit: (holier than thou) "Yeah, I'll get it on the way back."

Captain ShitYouNot: "Thank you, we all gotta do our part."

HumanDogAssPoopBreathDivorcedShit: "Right, yeah."

Then I go off to work. And don't think I could not wait to get home and see if there was shit outside my patio! I hoped there'd be shit outside my patio! BIG OLD DOG SHIT PILES OF SHIT!!! Because I was gonna say something about it!

There wasn't. No doo. He picked it up. Or somebody did. Or maybe he hid it somewhere nearby and I can't find it. Mostly it's The Attitude his sphinctered-forth that was a bother.

We all have shit to clean up in life. Shit happens. It's Part Of The Gig. And you know when you have to clean it up, AND NOBODY LIKES BEING TOLD TO CLEAN UP THEIR SHIT...

So don't make somebody have to.

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

Bus or Karma

Hey, just a note...

Aiesha Steward-Baker, the 16 year-old girl who got beat up in a bus tunnel earlier this year, was today sentenced to 15-36 weeks in a juvenile detention.

NO, not for getting her ass handed to her.

Instead, it was for an unrelated crime...
wherein she and another girl her age...

ASSAULTED A 50 YEAR-OLD WOMAN, beat her up, pulled hair from her head, and stole her purse and cell phone. She was arrested for this.

Then she was beaten in the bus tunnel.
So heads-up, folks.

Karma rides Metro.


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

Eating Out: 2nd Hand Canlis

I've eaten at Canlis ONE TIME. It was ethereal. It is the Highest of Classes. It is expensive. It is worth it. Every moment from the valet to the final check to walking out with most of your understuff not exposed, worth every bit of the $190 I spent on appetizers.

Kidding. They don't have "appetizers," dirtload. Frigging great food. They do a few things and they do each of them perfectly +2 (including "surprise" and "butter.").

We have a "dress code" where I am consulting.
It basically can be summed up in these words:
"Don't wear jeans before Friday."

Not $180 jeans. Not $20 jeans. Not well-washed, properly-fit-to-flatter jeans. Not baggy jeans wit' yo ayass hanging 'bove da sagg. Nuh-uh. No jeans.

Cargo pants? Sure.
Luau shirt? Aloha.
Smell like a batting helmet? No problem.
Khakis that upon closer-look are denim? Okay, nobody's gonna tattle.
Utili-kilt? Evenutally I will find out.
Utility camping pants that zip-off above the knee to become shorts? YES.

This last choice was made by a guy who works as a database blah-blah and wears his beard and hair "unkempt." Skullet to a ponytail. Long beard. Usually eating loudly somewhere. Grumpy. In pants that could zzzzzoooooooeeep! into a pair of pasty leg-baring shorts in a heartbeat.

Long story short, the eye-test doesn't show him to be somebody who would saddle up at a 4-star restaurant long-known as THE 4-Star in Seattle (up there with Rover's) and settle into a well-versed meal. Yet he DID that over the weekend. Then walked around complaining to people all day about how expensive it is. And the service was bad. And how he felt uncomfortable.

You dine. You do not EAT. There is no GORGING. You ask for a wine suggestion if you're not sure. You don't point to the cheapest and say "THAT."

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him understand that not all horses should be drinking at that particular trough. High prices keep the riff-raff out. I'm sure a pair of well-pleated khakis and a shirt with long sleeves was in order. Now damnit, bring me my cheese stix.
I've been there. I knew what to expect. And I was half this guy's age. Sounds like he wasted his time and money. Next time, zip those pantlegs off and get you some food on a stick. Leave the dining to those who'd rather not see your skullet.

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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!

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

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

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

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.

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MC, HOST, SEATTLE, HOSTING, CORPORATE, EVENTS, NPO, GEOFF, LOTT, PUGET SOUND

Where Ya Goin' In Such A Hurry?

This weekend in the Puget Sound area all us drivers will be under tighter scrutiny by the Washington State's Patrol Officers for "Speeding." Speeding is anything over the posted speed limit for the area you are speeding through to get A) To Work or B) Home from Work.

Why are you speeding... TO GET TO WORK?

If you have a job you can't be late for, other than neurosurgeonist or my bartender or the headliner, you need to find a better job.

If you have a job on-salary, chill out, you've done your part.

If you're speeding home I hope there's a hawt love basket waiting for you, or expensive carpets and a small-bladdered dog. Otherwise, relax. Your neighbors will be there to bother you any ol' time.

In the meantime, here are a few ways to not deal with speeding tickets.

1. Stop hitting your snooze button 8 times. Every 5-8 minutes is adding to your commute and stealing your sleep. Sleep a little longer, hit fewer red lights, and stop tailing people in your shitty car.





2. Stop tailgating in your shittay car. If you can't afford a nice car, you can't afford to back-crack somebody who's trying to listen to their GPS directions. When is the last time you were tailed by a Mercedes E-class driven by somebody for whom English is the first language? Ever been rear-ended by a BWM 5-series? No. Not a 5-Series from the 2000's.





3. Go, like, SUPER F*CKING FAST. You can't get caught if they can't catch you. Although that Sanjaya from American Idol was recently nabbed for doing like 105 in a Mazda 6, so unless you can get beyond 106, don't even try. You'll just look like more of an asshole.

The state needs to generate revenue, and stopping speeders is a great way to do that. Tickets are coming, folks. It's going to be a bigger hassle to fight the ticket than it is to take your foot off the gas pedal and get within 10miles/hour of the speed limit. The people who bitch the most about the cops and their invasion of our rights aren't reading this blog, so I'm fine if they get popped for doing 75 in a 50 in 95 Neon. This doesn't target "poor people," it targets people who make BAD DECISIONS with money and cars.

Body kit = 2 months rent outside of parent's home.

Hey... let's be careful out there...

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Customer Disservice - Verizon Edition

Soooo... I got hooked up with Verizon for home phone, innernat, and a TV package through DirecTV which was a whole different bag of lazy. For some reason - likely a major miss on the part of the web-design team at Verizon - they aren't updating their billing system when they receive my money. In effect, their record that I see - "my bill" - shows I'm 2 months behind on payments, while my records and those of my bank show the payments having been processed every month.

WHILE I DON'T EVEN HAVE A FULL TIME JOB, in case any of you are lenders. I make payments, monkey face. We do money right!

SO, I finally track down a number to call in to Verizon with so that I can discuss why THEY are behind on my payments and YES that makes sense, and here's what happens:

1. The underpaid person I speak with tells me she has to transfer me to somebody who "handles my area," which I assume is Kirkland and NOT my "fundle." (3min)
2. The next guy I talk to is also likely underpaid, but makes up for it by being nearly unintelligible while speaking. I tell him what's wrong and he says he has to transfer me to a Billing Specialist. Unlike a medical, military, or culinary specialist, Billing Specialists eat lunch at their desks and have a fondness for books with Fabio on the cover. (7min)
3. The Billing Specialist, in the tone of whose voice I could hear an earring and a number of silk shirts, tells me... everyone now!... he HAS TO TRANSFER ME TO SOMEBODY WHO HANDLES MY AREA. Kirkland must have a special corral of friendly, caucasian-sounding reps on the ready at Verizon.
4. The Real Billing Specialist tells me that she shows my payments have all gone through, but the website version of my bill doesn't reflect it. She admits a few weird things going on in updates to the billing and website infrastructure (my word, not hers). Then tells me they have my payments, and that I should speak to the Web team, then tries to transfer me. Hey, I'm not paying you AND doing UAT, assholes.

So now... Verizon IS aware of this problem. It's going on 2 months now. And it's not fixed. While reflecting that customers are behind on payments. Some customers may very well be paying and paying, waiting to see the balance get zeroed. BUT IT WON'T, and if Verizon is aware of this and not doing anything about it, HELLO LAWSUIT. It's 2 months and hundreds of thousands of dollars = Gross Negligence.

So there you go. Verizon isn't showing a lot of wherewithall in getting their shit together to make it easy to deal with them. Ideally, the best customer service is never having to contact customer service. So if you can avoid 'em, stay away from Verizon until they get a few dorks off their chairs and on to fixing the billing updates.

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AGAIN - The Ray/Lee Files

Something about having the middle name of Ray or Lee for a man fuels a life of crime.

The most-recent find was this guy, ERIC LEE GARNER, accused of threatening a Muslim woman and her son with a large knife... just for being in the same place as him.

Is it the shortness of the name?
I wonder if there was somebody named Lee or Ray who made fun of Jesus in trade school?

ANYWAY, enjoy. And don't name your kids Aiden, Caden, Kaiden, Adan, Jadyn, etc... Trendy. Over it.

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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.

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A Guide To Commenting On The Internet

The Internet is a dumping ground for many, many half-baked sketches, knock-offs, pervs, dorks, shitbags, dirtwads, buttwads, buttclods, fartknockers, seat-sniffers, and These Guys.
Does anybody know where this look launched from? It's the OiledCanvas, outback, Aussie Duster jacket and the hat combo, which has been made popular by both Dorks AAAAND Fatties for a few years now. I understand there's a certain "Drifting Highwayman With No Home To Return To" vibe, but usually this guy's outside of a mall eating a corndog and reading a book with a dragon on the cover.
IF YOU KNOW, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT MOVIE OR BOOK THIS LOOK CAME FROM.

Okay, see, right there I throw hate-sauce on a look I will never adopt from people I don't hang out with, who don't read this blog. So why do it?

Because it's what the best-smartest and great people do on the internet. See, when you get laid a lot, and have a lots of money its impornant to make sure you are telling people their wrong when you do'nt like something of there's. So heres how you do it. (Not sex, no, I will show you that at your moms house, LOL)

First, go to a sight like YouTube or a newspaper you read on line. There's a place there for you to sign up at. Like put in a name and stuff, so chose your name carefully. Make sure it says something about you and what your in to, but not your real name. Use something intimidating or from your hometown so people know where youre representing at. Or what football team you like because baseball is stupid.

And then you sign up and go around to whatever's on the websight. Like videos of comics, tell them their not funny. Don't say why it's not funny, neither. Leaving an explanation is'nt what your doing. See its like this that you are there to tell people to shut the hell up and stop clogging the internet with their crap. If they want help they can go to their moms when I'm not on top of her LMFAO. Who cares if your called an ass hole by some faygit?

What ever you do, though do'nt like make your own stuff and put it out. See your self as artist and not some faygit dorkass hole who puts all his own stuff out. People hate that shit, and the people you work with would be ideats all day at work and yo'ud never get any pizza made. So tell people 'YEAY YOU SUCK' and let 'em suck it when your moms not sucking it.



[dedicated to every negative comment-leaving person who actually takes time from their life to anonymously post a dead-end comment. If they ever ponder suicide, I hope to be there when their grandmother walks into the basement to find them hanging from a belt with a porn looping on their laptop screen over a game of World Of Warcraft. F*ck empathy, the world's too small, but I guess somebody has to abuse animals.]

Craigslist Post Of A Loser's Financial Decisions

This reads like somebody got a hold of some credit cards before the ability to understand "Priority" over "Appearances." The stuff's too current to have been a death, unless the Russian Mafia made a call to the apartment.

HOLARIOUSLY ridiculous:

Estate sale All must go now! (east everett)

65 inch big screen with remote 2004 edition like new (NO WAY IS THIS LCD, ENJOY THE TUBE)
2009 blue pocket rocket mini bike (NECESSARY FOR CLOWN COLLEGE)
NBA hardwood heroes 2005 medallion collection unopened mint (OH GOOD, WE FOUND THE GUY WHO BOUGHT ONE)
2 small IKEA adjustable stools (SKIMPED ON THE STOOLS?)
a easton rampage baseball bat aluminum (USED ONLY TO HIT PINECONES AND M-80'S)
nice sunbeam heater (FOR WHEN THEY SHUT THE GAS OFF)
Gold seiko chronometer watch like new (HE HAS NO IDEA WHAT A CHRONOMETER IS)
a very nice prada handbag like new (SWAP-MEET, ANYBODY?)
air assault rifle with matching air pistol (TO USE FOR CLOWN MOTORCYCLE RIDE-BY STAININGS)
24 car opened hot wheel collection (EITHER A SAD MAN, OR A VERY SAD BOY)
3 differant sets of curtains (EMILE DIFFERANT DESIGNS CURTAINS?)
gameboy sp advance with case and 13 games (I'M THINKING THERE'S NOT A LOT OF SEX HERE)
magellon 40/40 maestro navigation system new and in box (STOLEN FROM WORK)
black leather sofa and love seat (OKAY, THIS VIBE IS OFFICIAL)
576 opened but nice hott wheels (250 cash for all or 1 each) (A COLLEC-TOR!)
JVC home stereo system in rack with digital receiver ,200 disc player,deck,18 speakers including 4 15 inch wooffers with remotes (HEY GUYS, COME OVER AND LOOK AT MY HOTT WHEELSS WHILE WE LISTEN TO SOME GENESIS)
versace 1 0f a kind 24kt gold sunglasses (I SMELL EASTERN BLOC)
matching red chairs from dania (AND DRAKKAR)
a red desk chair (AND CHLOROFORM)
a white computer desk (AND COCAINE)
cafe table with matching barstools (AND AMARETTO)
tons of sports memorabillia, autos,figurines,game worn ,franklin mint ,cartwright collectables etc... (BUT NOTHING FEMALE)
lots of DVDs and CDs (MOSTLY PORN AND PORN SOUNDTRACKS)
lots of valuable books (NOTHING ON FINANCIAL PLANNING)
a color tv with built in dvd player and remote (FOR THE MAN-CAVE COVERED IN HOTT WHILLSS TO WATCH PR0N ON)
black leather recliner (FOR WATCHING PORN IN)
ipod nano cases (iPOD NANO NOT INCLUDED, STOLEN FROM WORK)
JL Audio 500w amp 2 JL Audio Subwoofers in a custom car toys box new with receipts for 1,900. will take best cash offer (TRADED FOR COCAINE)
raingear (FOR OUTDOOR SLEEPING... ON SECOND THOUGHT...)(
a brand new mens leather jacket (OH YEAH, THIS GUY'S SEEN SOME HOMEMADE VODKA HALLUCINATIONS)
franklin mint gold plates shaquell oneal and michael Jordan (SHITTINGS ME YOU MUST)
wood tv cart (TO WHEEL AROUND THE PR0N TV)
Nokia cell phone and charger (FOUND)
a nice boys scooter blue
golf clubs set
6 foot ladder
electric leaf blower (TRADED FOR SOME VITAMIN-K)
Piece of a Barry Bonds home run ball framed (PIECE? GOOD ENOUGH, WHERE DO I PAY?)
a car vac that plugs into you lighter new in box (TO FIND THE COKE IN THE BIMMER)
a auto detailing kit (NEVER GOT THIS BUSINESS OFF THE GROUND)
a vintage celtic jewelry box (YOU KNOW THESE ARE HARD TO FIND THESE DAYS)
much much more
===========
I am sorry I missed this sale before the "accidental fire."

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.

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