Short Stack of Hot Shots

Busy. That's what's up. Good-busy. Money-making-busy.

Busy as all get-out. Busy as heck. Busy busy busy biz-eye. Already, just this short bit of blogging feels good inside my brain, like twiddling nobs at a mixing board, trimming back that hum, dialing-down that buzz, plugging in your SuperFuzz BigMuff and gettin' ready to lay down some tasty licks. Sustain your tone. Alriiight.

I'm a believer but not really a loving follower of Henry Ford's saying, "Lose the shoes, honey, you're walking silk runners from here til Sunday evening when the wife comes back from her hot springs."

Also, "The harder I work, the luckier I get." It's true, and for me it is very much the gasoline additive to the engine of the Law Of Attraction. The Law Of Attraction works by paying thousands of dollars to self-help schysters to sit on a dais and vaguely eschew the value of visualization and intent. It also works by deciding what you want to receive, visualizing it in your head with as much reality as you can - such as the feel of a steering wheel of the car you want, or the crack of a leather riding crop across the flanks - and feeling positive and happy about it. THEN, most importantly, letting that go and doing something else so you don't keep hashing it over and over in your head. That's noise. Static. Brain farts.

Just had my first chiropractic adjustment. Post-workout stiffness last Friday, while on my vacation, ushered me into the office. My right hip is about an inch lower than my left, rotating under, and thus shortening my right leg's stride, and causing much of my back tension, shoulder pain, foul language, and barely-veiled racism. Also, there's a major problem with my posture in that I need to be more erect from the head down. It all starts top-down. I need to make sure my head is up and I'm better aligned. No telling what's going on with my language when I'm not paying attention poopassfuckanoodle.

And some other shit happened and basically my entire home is an ergonomic nightmare.

Bye.

Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


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

New Open Mic In Culver City

If somebody wants to express themselves, publicly, loudly, amplifi-edly... great.

And thus, with all compassion and encouragement due a child of God...

What the bag o' farts is going on here?

I'll tell you what's going on here...
This is the parking lot of a business across the street.
They've been holding some sort of A) Fund raiser, or B) Contest For World's Worst SwapMeet all day.
About an hour ago, this lady started setting up shop. In a totally-velvet cape and hat combo.
She's got a laptop pumpin' tunes into the PA, while she sings.
The black t-shirt guy works at the 'cross the street biz. The other 2 folks are haggling deals to purchase items found and fumigation-needed.

I.
Loves.
It.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

The Road Less Traveled May Be Full Of Holes

Last night I worked a road gig in the SoCal area, driving 144miles round trip. The money was bad, the room was great, my set was a bit sloppy, but I did 30minutes (IN A ROW), and worked out a couple of new bits I'd been meaning to lay upon the friendly confines of comedy shows. This is the equivalent of running 7 miles every morning a few weeks out from a big fight. You gotta stay sharp when your boss calls you in and wants to account for the sticky-notes you seem to be Criss Angel'ing into your hatchback. Funky roadgig. Always a good time. This is unlike most shows, wherein the gig is not only in a bar or restaurant, but the booker of the show tags along. And usually needs a ride.

The booker is in his early 50's, from the sound of it, and not robustly into that decade. Decisions, Life, and Women ain't been kind. Nor have the cigarettes that go down in 4 drags. The booker tags along for a few reasons:
1) It's his show, and he wants to make sure it goes smoothly so he doesn't lose the room, nor the income.
2) At the show, he gets to drink and eat for free.
3) There are some control issues at play that start with...
*Where to pick him up, and end with
*Never giving too much credit to a good comic for a good set (keeps 'em working hard!).

I don't fear him reading this post, because he neither has a car nor any solid grips on his current living quarters. Nearly got evicted again, was his story last night.

I wish no ill upon anybody, truly. That always works in reverse. These are just facts of the story. Facts that, perhaps, need not be shared, but facts none-the-less.

Okay, so we drive the 70 miles TO the show. I was moved from the Opening spot of 20minutes to the Middle/Feature spot of 30minutes. Great! It's been a while since I ran 30, and had a lot of newer material to hone, needing some live fire to do it with. First guy goes up, does a good job, riffing with the audience and what-not. The crowd liked him a lot.

Then I go up, and get going, and let's just skip around:
1) I do some opinionated stuff that is backed up by crazy accusations and falsified facts to bolster my case. But the crowd gets it and laughs a LOT at it. For example, The Elderly (62 and older) should be relegated to shop in grocery stores only between the hours of 9:15am and 11:30am, Monday-Thursday. If you've ever run into one of them going the wrong way in a Trader Joe's (yes, there's a shopping perimeter pattern), you know what I'm talking about. This is to protect THEM, too.

2) The tried & true works greatly, including tag lines on the bit about Women's chest tattoos, and a new format of the JagerBomb joke. I totally forgot to do the joke about giving Good People extra rights, but still filled the time. That was encouraging.

3) Hit the closer, THANK YOU I'm Geoff Lott, Be Good To Each Other, good night. DONE. Accolades in numerous forms, even from the other comics and the bar staff. Felt good, but I slipped here and there and wasn't 100% happy with it. I'd give it a solid A- to a B+.

Fast Foward to the drive home. We leave the gig at 11:45. It's an hour back into Hollywood, where I have to drop El Bookerio off before I get to go home. It's late-ish, I'm tired, and he's half-drunk on free beers. And has a steak sandwich in the car, which will make cameo appearances as we get out of Orange County.

Now, the volume level of the average drunk grows exponentionally in a Civic. This is smoker's breath + Michelob Ultra + Hot Steak Sandwich (extra grilled onions) + Self unAwareness-kind of Loud. And I was doing all the work. The whole way home I hear about a few things for my career. These came AFTER... AFTER.... AFTER... he mentioned that he didn't really watch my set because he was busy doing other things. "Other Things" likely means Free Beer Guzzling, and Outdoor Chain Smoking.

The things I need to do to help my career, from a guy who left my car with 4 plastic shopping bags full of food, drinks, or bottles.
1) I need to stay hungry for time and gigs (I took THAT one, on my birthday, on LOST night, didn't I?)
2) I need to, you know, work on, you know, uh... (drunken pause)... the aspect... (pause to bite sandwich)... of delivery (smacking licks of the smoke-odored fingers).
3) The delivery... has to... match the material. (Like what bit in my act has a bad delivery?) Well, (he) didn't watch most of (my) set, but (I) want to hit different words with varied emphasis.

So, he can't pinpoint the advice, because he didn't watch my set.
He talked time and again about how he can't book guys more than 18 hours in advance because it always allows them time to cancel on him (thus putting the blame/guilt on the comic).
He gave me driving tips, yet has no car.
He ate loudly and stunk up my car.
I dropped him off in a non-descript section of Hollywood, far from where I picked him up.
I got home at 1:35am, with better material and a ringing in my right ear, a better comic for having taken the gig and worked the time on stage with the Intent of bettering my skillz.

There are no quarterly reviews in comedy. What you do is judged NOW. Funny or Not, you know immediately. Life is much like that, if you stop and see how it can go from moment to moment. Otherwise, you end up giving life and career and driving advice from one side of your mouth, while complaining about evictions, carlessness, and free steak sandwiches out the other.

Choose Funny. Stay on the High Ground.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad