Like You've Never Had A Craving?

There's a certain energy to a day at the Empire when you can tell something big is going on. A beta release of a video game, maybe somebody kissed a girl they didn't pay, BIG stuff. Today is one of those days.

In the cafeteria they are showing the broadcast of the World Cup of Cricket, as many of the people working at the Empire are from parts of the world that understand Cricket. They must be way smarter than us, or just don't over-complicate things. The match is being projected onto a screen slightly larger than the bedroom I grew up in. It's a pretty intense game. I started picking up on it slightly before a riot broke out after one of the bowlers complained about a wicket call, and the overs were starting to dwindle. I digress.

So I'm watching the World Cricket Cup unfold between Bangladesh and another team, and I hear a rumbling behind me. A talk-rumbling. A full-blown "hub-bub," bub. I wonder if perhaps there's a new Halo-3 poster being hung near the free soda closets. Or maybe somebody said "I prefer a Mac." I had to inspect.

I drew closer to see a line, easily 50 dorks deep, each of them twitching and giggling and jovial in the way only Mt. Dew and a lack of sunlight can do to a malnourished body. What is this line? Is this like the pie line in "Revenge Of The Nerds," or as it's referred to at the Empire, "Holy Story Of Best Life Ever Told On Screen And Too Short But Still Awesome With Boobs and the Down There Of A Woman"? Oh no. The draw?

Taco Salad bar.

Your choice. Tostada bowl. You fill it with ground beef (seasoned!), chicken, or vegetarian option. By the time I saw what the rush was on for, the line had swollen like a geek in sweatpants on High School P.E. Push-up test day. Amazing. They were Texting each other on phones, talking into their watches, and using telepathy. Freaky stuff. For Taco Salad bar day.

There's no real social relevance other than it's funny to watch people who act like they've never had diarrhea.

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The Seeds Of Patriotism Cannot Be Dug Up!

I don't smoke marijuana. I don't ingest it. I don't look down on those who do, or do not.

But THIS is ridiculous.

She needs to wise up and understand that the laws of this country are there to protect her from the drug dealers and the hardships of drug addiction. Does she want to be addicted to weed the rest of her life? She'll be way better off without it, much more clear-headed and able to enjoy the last few months of her life, fully cognisant of the pain coursing through every inch of her withering, patriotic body.
==
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Why Good Always Wins Out

This past weekend I, along with a couple hundred other people, crammed cheek to cheek into an over-hot theater to watch "300," a movie about a comic book. The comic book told the story of the Battle of Thermopylae (translation: Fighting The Hot Maple), a battle where 300 (roughly) Spartan men stood to fight an advancing, demolishing, unbeatable Persian army. The Persians were led by their king, Xerxes, who was portrayed in the movie by RuPaul. The basic idea was to make this a dramatic representation of the actual events, for which the home videos are in a box somewhere in somebody's cousin's basement. It was really going to be tough to make it accurate.

Persia, which is now better known as Iran, was once a marauding force under Xerxes. They crushed rebellions, enslaved other cultures, burned and pillaged, you know, the yoozh for the day. It was a LONG time ago, mind you. Like before TV was made, LOOOONG ago. So now, after a $70,000,000 opening weekend, "300" is poised to rake in close $200,000,000 before Memorial Day, the opening day of "Bad Movies For Summer" come out. It's really a pretty great movie to see, though the writing is pretty cartoonish.

ANYway, I saw a headline recently about how Iran is upset with the filmmakers for the negative portrayal of Persian culture in the fake movie about a true story. The quote from the article written in a Chinese newspaper is:

Javad Shamqadri, an art advisor to President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, accused the new movie of being "part of a comprehensive U.S. psychological war aimed at Iranian culture", said the report.

Shamqadri was quoted as saying "following the Islamic Revolution in Iran, Hollywood and cultural authorities in the U.S. initiated studies to figure out how to attack Iranian culture," adding "certainly, the recent movie is a product of such studies."

Wow. This guy is saying that the U.S. movie industry, responsible also for "Wild Hogs" and other pig-sh*t movies had the forethought to PLAN to make this movie to DEGRADE the Iranian culture that was over 2500 years ago, at least in the sense it was protrayed in the movie. And for a minute I thought the Iranians were hot-headed, short-fused, humorless, bearded nutjobs who couldn't tell a joke from a nuclear reactor fueled by enriched uranium, propaganda, and paranoia.

The story of "300" is that King Leonidas of Sparta took 300 troops, illegally and without full consent from his Council, to Thermopylae in order to head-off an attack by the Persian army. The idea was that he would slow them down and kill enough of them to allow Sparta to vote for a full defense in the time he and 299 of his spear-tossing, leather-girded loins-sportin' Spartans were plunging metal between the organs of the Persians. Eventually he would make the Athenians and Spartans retreat, only later to have his Persian forces pile-drived into their own asses. The word spread that the Persians could be defeated, so people started doing that more. It was like their version of Text Messaging.

So anyway, at least one Iranian is all pissed off about the movie. The best policy here is what I like to call the "Go Eat A Steamer" policy, where, if he wants to, the offended party can go eat a "steamer" or "log" or "singular doo-doo formation." I hope he dies of a massive coronary on the can. It was 2,500 years back.

Let it go.

An interesting side-note... China reporting that Iran is upset is like your miserly drunk uncle complaining about all the beer cans in the neighbor's lawn. Propaganda, look that-a-way... or is that what they WANT US TO THINK?

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Picture The Perfect Wedding

Dearest of Readers...
Some of the wedding photos snapped by Brian and Jennifer of Photo Elan have been shimmied into a slide-show. Their work captured the entire spectral spectrum of feelings that day.

The song playing is the song Alicia and I had our First Dance to, "Forever" by Ben Harper. Feel like crying? Look at the smiles and you can hear the laughter. Glasses clinking, people cheering and hugging. Tears of happiness were the developer's fluid of those pictures. I never knew it could be like that.

I am so ridiculously blessed. We cannot thank God, our families, and our friends enough for all of it. What an amazing day it was, when I married Alicia, became a husband, a son-in-law, and in many ways, more of a Man.

I will wax poetic another day. Just go check out those photos.

Love you.

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Dustin' For A Conspiracy

My hometown of Maple Valley was hit with a massive dusting of dust this past weekend. This normally laconic town, nestled between Renton and Enumclaw, woke up Sunday and Monday with a dust covering most everything out-of-doors, including trucks (operational and not), and the pile of shootin' cans.

I saw this on the news, how far the dust had spread, how freaked out some folks were. This is big doin' in the Valley! There were news cameras and news men and news stuff! I knew right away what this was truly about. Dusting a few small towns is nothing new. It's been done for over 500 years in order to spread anything from water to wheat to hallucinogenic mind-control compounds.

I was pretty sure that Maple Valley had finally come up on the list of towns to dust. An experimental vaccine to fight tobacco-caused mucous? Perhaps. A massive coating of Splenda to sweeten the air in general, or the other use for Splenda, killing wildlife and sickly children? Hmmm... It's hard to say.

So some dust "Samples" were taken to a "professional science lab" where a "person" looked at the dust "under a" micr"o"scope. "." Their official release was that there was a lot of Cedar pollen in the air, and this dust was that pollen, but not in the air. Perhaps this is an issue stemming from global warming, where a few warm days and some decent winds spread the seed of the cedars to the far reaches of Ray & Myrna Jackfield's fields, covering the better part of their outdoor washing machines and cow.

Personally, I am keeping an eye on old Maple Valley from now on. I was always wary of the place, even while I lived there. As it has grown, so has the pool for random samples. But this... this isn't "random." This is some X-Files stuff, I'm sure of it. This is not the government. You can trust them. It's the other groups (Nickelback, the library system, whomever bakes for Starbucks) that you have to watch out for. Nothing is going to make me paranoid, mind you. Just keep an eye on Maple Valley. If I go back for my 20th reunion and the water flows upwards, the kids have oversized eyeballs and only one lip, and I only see half-hearted stripmalls and white people, I shall relievedly wipe my brow to see things are normal.

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This Heart Is A Reservoir, pt. 2

The amount of smarts, maturity, intensity, and wine it must take to run at Killorn's pace, I would stand in amazement were it piled high in a room. She is a friend of the highest order. If you let her, she can make you feel as though you've known her forever. If you can hang, your life will be enriched. If you can't, you are really missing out.

One of the first times I ever hung out with Killorn and ended up getting flaptardedly drunk with her, the next day she drove me to my car. Which had been impounded. And like a good friend, Killorn did the right thing. She laughed about it. If she thought I was truly some nozzle, just a twit, she would have said "Sorry dude, grab a cab. CLICK." But no. She laughed about it like I had just been the victim of a prank by the Universe, and not only was I starting the day off hanging like Grover, but I was already $130 in the hole, and wasn't even on my way to work. In my face. Ha. That's one reason I love her. She knew it was a "eh, tow happens" moment, so laugh it off, weirdo.

I have seen the genius in Killorn's writing come to life. I have seen her mind at work and at play. They are each humbling and inspiring, equally. If you give her a reason, and your defenses are down, she will DESTROY you. Then she will apologize, and usually mean it. She is great when under pressure. She is terrible when under-utilized. She will not sit and stare, unless Joel McHale is involved. Her engine runs hot. That's another reason I love her. She wants in the game. She ain't wearing a cup for nothing, even if it is on her face.

If Killorn wanted to, she could be President. Considering the travel, however, it pays for shit, so consider her "out." She will, one day, run the kind of company you wish you worked for. It may just be her, me, my Wife From The Near Future, and a pugnacious pug named Mort, but everyone will want in. Probably for the riches. Probably for the respect in the community. Likely for the philanthropy, not to mention the three-story high-rise offices. She won't say this to anybody, because she is truly humble, but she already has it figured out.

She GETS Tenacious D.

She's the cousin I never got to grow up with. Killorn encourages by giving you reminders of your accomplishments, not by cheering. She's had that moment. Over it. Whatever you know about pop culture, she forgot about it last week. Do not talk to her about Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, or Kevin Federline. She knows already. Lindsay LoLo isn't worth the breath. She is a cheerleader of freaks and goons, wanting to see them blossom into full gooniness. That's why I love her. Between a rocket launch and a train wreck, she'll go with Train Wreck at least 7 times out of 10, but she will ALWAYS hope for survivors.

Never cross me about Killorn. Killorn is Family. If you don't like her, keep it to yourself until you're out of my space. And MySpace. She has been told by other people that I would one day leave her behind as a friend. I have had a number of moments to do that. And I'm sure I have laid a few steamers on her doorstep that would warrant a firebombing. Yet as my wedding day draws nigh (check THAT off my list of "jaunty phrases to use"), I know I picked the right person to stand in the position of my Best Man. She is traditionally unconventional. She is my KillornsMan. She is my dearest friend.

I love you, Killorn, you stress-causing, Wynn promenade-tirading, Visionary of Self Realization, Life-Long Friendship, and Flow Charts. Thank you for introducing me to Alicia. I will forever be grateful, for that, for HAX, for Vegas, for Mexico, for Fremont. And many more. You ass.


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Just Us And The Peace

Completely maxed.
Work is very busy.
Alicia is planning her tail off.
I have a short week of work, making work busier by 2 days.
I have a great gig in Las Vegas awaiting me, making me feel bittersweet about leaving Alicia. Then again, after two nights with pug puppy feet in my neck, frankly I could use a break.

So this is "getting married."
Yeah, right now? Not smelling the magic.
Alicia, however, is kicking major planning ass. Majorly. If it weren't for her, I'd probably be in a crappy apartment in Kenmore right now, wondering when somebody was gonna come hand me a shot at happiness.
Thanks to her, I realize you have to go take it. And if you take it while saying "I'm getting married," somebody will charge you at least $500 for Happiness.

Wedding Industry. They have trade shows. Like boat makers. Like gun makers.
Think about it.

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You Did This To Yourself

Carmelo Anthony, who up until the season started was one Nike's "Golden Boys" of pro basketball, did not make the NBA All-Star Team this season. Some people are calling it a "snub." Much like his "keeping it real" persona lacking any real credibility, it's right-on.

About 2 months ago he was involved in a fight with the New York Knicks. Anthony stands about 6'8'', weighs in around 230lbs. Top physical shape. Strong. Young. Athletic. He threw a punch at a guy... well, "punch" is being generous... He closed-handed-slapped another guy from just within arm's reach, then backpedaled away like the dude had the results of Anthony's drug test. RAN BACKWARDS away from the guy while being held back by his 47 year-old assistant coach with a surgically repaired hip. Had Carmelo been holding a purse, it would have looked like an old Ruth Buzzi sketch. So with the All Star ballots counted, what does Carmelo Anthony,

Anthony's quote, much like most athletes who "just want to move on," and have yet to grow a pair of adult testes and apologize for doing something dumb...
"I hope no one holds that over my head over anything," he said. "Things happen. One incident like that is held over one person's head, life ain't fair.
"I did my punishment. I could've easily kept my name out there by appealing it and doing other stuff about it, but I just did my 15 games suspension and hopefully put that behind us."

You're right, 'Melo. Life ain't fair. You are a famous multimillionaire without a college degree, you've had far more handed to you than you've earned. A lot of people work as hard at their jobs as you do at being a professional jackload who plays basketball really well. You didn't get arrested for assault and battery. And yet you are complaining.
Eat.
Sh*t.

I think we have all learned the real lesson. Next time he goes to throw a punch, try to throw at least like an adult, if not a man. Scratching another man's face is not worth a 15-game suspension. More like 30 for being a giant p*ss.

Here's the video:



Keep it "real."


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Paranoid yet?

The city of Boston was recently a target of an ad campaign for a movie to be released this Summer. The ads were outdoor, live ads of little Space Invader-like aliens from a show called "Aqua Teen Hunger Force," a cartoon I love that is not about water, teens, or hunger. It's a meatball (Meatwad), a milkshake (Master Shake), and a box of fries (Frylock) who reminds me of Samuel L. Jackson. ATHF is releasing a movie in March!

Anyway, the city of Boston shut down completely when people thought the blinking-light, notebook-sized doo-dads. Quote from an AP article:

"It's almost too easy to be a terrorist these days," said Jennifer Mason, 26. "You stick a box on a corner and you can shut down a city."

O'Connor said there's nothing wrong with being vigilant, but said she said it was ridiculous to shut down a city "when anyone under the age of 35 knew this was a joke the second they saw it."

Now, here's where you decide for yourself.
Everything must be questioned and perused and zeroed-in-on, dissected and perceived as a possible threat to our safety, both nationally and locally, due to the threat of terrorism in our nation. And when that threat arises, we can run the other way while our government, local or national, steps in to help us out and save us. (Katrina, AHEM... 'scuse me, must have had a Social Security Payment receipt in my throat)

OR

You can understand that this is exactly what the terrorist WANT YOU TO THINK, that you are safe and that you don't need to pay attention and nobody is a suspect! Then they will pounce! See how it happens? Who can you trust? The government that really accelerated our position in the Middle East for the sake of one man makin' his daddy proud? Or the terrorists who want us dead because of the daddy-proud-makin' guy?

Personally, I trust the meatball.


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Barbaro, We Hardly Knew Ye

Kentucky Derby winner Barbaro was euthanized this week after contracting a disease in other hooves. Hoofs? Horse feet.

He was a true Champion, a spirit wherein he hung in there long after most horses and some people would have been put down faster than a new redheaded fat kid at an inner-city junior high. He really hung on to get as much treatment as possible, teach his doctors about treating the situation, and give people some hope. In the end, he couldn't walk, and would quickly get worse.

What I really feel bad about is that Barbaro was just 200yards from a lifetime of studding out. I hope that his final months of life did bring some relief. Perhaps they had someone go ahead and handle the situation of reaping 1/2 of the Champion's Recipe for Success... They better have.

When they go in 3's, who would be next? Buchwald, Barbaro, and then maybe Castro? Give it a week, but I'm taking El Presidente by two lengths.

GO COLTS!

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The Death Of Barbaro

Today marked the end of the life of Barbaro, a horse that was slated to win the Triple Crown (Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Breeder's Cup) last year. In what I believe was the Breeder's Cup, the horse took a nasty step and fractured, badly, a hind foot.

Yet the horse lived on, worked through rehab and a number of surgeries, seemingly indomitable. Thousands of cards and well-wishes poured in. Barbaro was set to stud later this year. Yet the extent of his injuries and continued worsening of his condition led to his owners deciding to euthanize him today. Sad for any animal lover.

Why is it that, when I read stories like this, I purse my lips in a frown and think "That's sad," while, if I see a video of a kid on a skateboard try and railslide a set of steps and end up in heap at the bottom of it, I can't help but laugh my hindquarters numb?

Just something that occurred to me.

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This Heart Is a Reservoir; Part 1

My Wife From the Future, Alicia, is constantly loving me. In my life I have been, many times, unloveable. She has not just "Been there" for me. She has challenged me to be there for myself. She has pushed me beyond a "comfortable" existence. It has frustrated me, because part of me felt like saying "Oh, so I'm not good enough for you?"
That is not the case.

She understands, fully, that my dream is worth chasing, worth working for, and worth pushing myself for. And sometimes I need that push to get over myself. Nobody's gonna bring it to me, so I have to go convince them that I can bring it.

She loves animals and babies. She understands their innocence, their need for affection beyond mere attention, and values the affection they return. She will be an amazing mother. The kind that would cradle her babe in swaddling wraps 'neat her left arm, while bootknife-gutting anybody who tried to harm the child. And the kid probably would never stir. Through her clenched teeth, "This baby is SLEEPING, do you have any idea how long that took? You (RIP) stupid (SLICE) a-hole (DISEMBOWEL)?"

She has given me the safest place to be myself. And that's what we all need, that is Love. And before that, she encouraged me to find what it was that I needed to do in order to fully Love Me. To become so fully Self-Aware, without being Self-Important, because I can FEEL IT when she loves me, is the greatest way to be loved. Her understanding of the importance of letting people be who they are, as simple as it may sound, is the most complicated thing in the world. She gives everyone a fair chance to be themselves. (doesn't mean she won't cross you off the Christmas card list if you're a turd)

She has exhausted herself some nights, in the planning of our wedding. It is one of the few days of her life where much of the attention and affection will be for her, and for us. There are not many days like that in our lives. And her desire to have a great day on February 24, 2007, the care she has put into the invitations and colors and arrangements and menus and guest list (THE F*CKING TEAR-INDUCING GUEST LIST! THE BLESSED LOVELY GUEST LIST!) shows me that Feb24 is NOT just about her. I truly hope that anybody involved in that day will take the same lesson Alicia has taught me, just by loving me the way she does:

Everyone deserves their time in the spotlight. Allow them that time, and they will be forever thankful.

Attempt to dim that light, and you best watch your eyes. Your turn will come soon enough.

If anybody has ever deserved her perfect wedding, it is my Futuristic Wife, Alicia.

I love you, Alicia. More than I can write. More than I can show. I hope and pray to be the husband you deserve. So much, I love you.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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MySpace Sued For Touching Somebody'sSpace

Technology again proves to be a bad mother. At least in the eyes of some moms and dads. Check it out...

MySpace, for those who have fulfilling social lives, is like a second internet. It's like an ever-growing yearbook, full of people from your high school, home town, and people who slept with people who slept people who are now teachers back in your old home town. It is open to anybody who wants to share their stories, their favorites, or just show off.
You get a "Profile" that you build to suit your personality. Some of them are perfectly suited to the people who built them: All flash, no bang. Bare bones. Dumb. Hyperactive. Busy-bodied. Some even have backgrounds of a waist-up-naked Bea Arthur painting. I have blogs over there, too, many of which are a little more hard-edged than this one. None of them touch the edge on the face of a breezy Bea in her late-30s.

Mostly, MySpace gives anybody who wants one the chance to express themselves. And most of the time, the folks there meet expectations: They have nothing to say. Just a few pictures of themselves getting drunk, pictures they took themselves. Tongue-out, hands extended, friends on the arm. Over and over. Siiiiiiigh. Life was so much simpler before other people's lives became public domain. Then again, it's got kids of all ages, some famous people's profiles with tidbits, and the rest of the hoi polloi.

It's fascinating, it's weird, it's voyeuristic, and it's almost as addictive as coffee ice cream-flavored heroin sleeping patches.

MySpace, like any other piece of technology involving people, has little to no built-in screening process. All one needs is a computer and an internet connection and they are likely to get on it. I use it as another way to handle comedy and events. Lots of bands and others like me do that, also. But like any other people-connecting technosphere, perverts get into the mix and things get unseemly.

One of the best ways I ever saw to stop this was when a comedian, Doug Stanhope, would go into chat rooms and pretend to be an underage boy or girl and bait scumbags into inappropriate situations. Then he'd copy the text and paste it to his website, and spring the trap on the scumbag. If nothing else, it would nearly force infarctions on those bottom-feeders. But we have something worse now...

Kids on MySpace are getting baited into meeting people they communicated with via MySpace, and some of those kids have been beaten, molested, and abducted. The natural reaction of the parents, any parent whose child went through this terrible ordeal, is to... RIIIIIGHT... sue MySpace! MySpace has a lot of money, mind you, and it should really be a better parent. It should make sure everyone plays nice and brushes their teeth. MySpace should be held responsible every time somebody with an account on their has a car accident, DUI, or diarrhea!

I feel really terrible for those kids. Their lives are changed forever, and part of that equation was MySpace. I cannot tell you how terrible it must be for those kids to realize they get more attention from strangers than from their own family. That doesn't excuse what the scumbags who should rot in prison (in between games of "Prison MySpace Invaders") did to the kids. Nothing does. I just really wish that parents would monitor what their kids are doing on the internet. First it was the dangers of being in public. Now it's the dangers of being on the computer. I guess all that's left is the safety of low-income housing, with no malls and no internet connections.




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Act Locally

I understand that this may anger some people.
Fine. You're paying attention, at least.

But this was from a county manager in Colorado, printed a day or two after their recent, pre-Christmas monster of a snow storm. Obvious references to New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina aside, I really attached to the section after "What did we do?"

THAT is how we will get through crises. Neighbors helping neighbors. The world is changing globally, in climates both natural and political. Looking out for each other is sometimes the best we can do, while our government decides the best plan of action on how to look out for us.

By the way, a LONG time ago, FEMA should have been handed over to Ty Pennington and the Extreme Home Makeover crew. They do more in a week than FEMA did in a month in New Orleans, per capita.

What's "capita" mean?

Please, read on.
+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+
WEATHER BULLETIN
Up here, in the Northern Plains, we just recovered from a Historic event---may I even say a "Weather Event" of "Biblical Proportions"---with a historic blizzard of up to 44" inches of snow and winds to 90 MPH that broke trees in half, knocked down utility poles, stranded hundreds of motorists in lethal snow banks, closed ALL roads, isolated scores of communities and cut power to 10's of thousands.
FYI: George Bush did not come.
FEMA did nothing.
No one howled for the government.
No one blamed the government.
No one even uttered an expletive on TV .
Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton did not visit.
Our Mayor did not blame Bush or anyone else.
Our Governor did not blame Bush or anyone else, either.
Nobody demanded $2,000 debit cards.
No one asked for a FEMA Trailer House.
No one looted.
Nobody, I mean Nobody, demanded the government do something.
Nobody expected the government to do anything, either.
No Larry King, No Bill O'Rielly, No Oprah, No Chris Mathews and No Geraldo Rivera.
No Shaun Penn, No Barbara Striesand, No Hollywood types to be found.

What did we do?
Nope, we just melted the snow for water.
Sent out caravans of SUV's to pluck people out of snow engulfed cars.
The truck drivers pulled people out of snow banks and didn't ask for a penny.
Local restaurants made food and the police and fire departments delivered it to the snowbound families.
Families took in the stranded people - total strangers.
We fired up wood stoves, broke out coal oil lanterns or Coleman lanterns.
We put on extra layers of clothes because up here it is "Work or Die".
We did not wait for some affirmative action government to get us out of a mess created by being immobilized by a welfare program that trades votes for 'sittin at home' checks.
Even though a Category "5" blizzard of this scale has never fallen this early, we know it can happen and how to deal with it ourselves.

"In my many travels, I have noticed that once one gets north of about 48 degrees North Latitude, 90% of the world's social problems evaporate."

It does seem that way, at least to me. I hope this gets passed on. Maybe SOME people will get the message. The world does Not owe you a living.


=-=-=-=-=-=
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Seriously, He Said He Was Liberal

How is it that the self-styled "Liberal" in our society is the least-likely to be liberal about speaking their mind? Isn't freely throwing around your opinions and ideas, caring about the general welfare of all people and trying to help what being Liberal is about? Or am I confusing that with people who don't give a crap about which column they are lumped into on the news talkshows?

I say this only because I am finding that Liberal is, for more and more people, merely a label of "hip"-ness, and less the actual pragmatic iteration of balancing Social Welfare with Political Pull. I consider myself neither liberal nor conservative. I consider myself Logical, which is why I am forever banned from politics.

=-=-=-=-=-=
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America Has Spoken

Last week, I think, there was an awards show where Queen Latifah (sassy!) hostessed a night of giving celebrities some awards as voted on by "America."

These were the "People's Choice Awards." People none of us know somehow worked their computer or wrote their favorite band, actor/actress, movie, and chain-restaurant commerical onto the back of a WalMart receipt in crayon and cast their vote. Fewer people voted in our last primary than dropped their Heart-Dotted-"i"s on their "ballot"/Claire's receipt into a mailbox in an envelope marked "Hollywood!" and hoped for the best.

Here is a snippet of "The People's Choice"s.

• Favorite Band: NICKELBACK (I should stop right there, huh?)
• Favorite TV Comedy: "Two And A Half Men" (over the S-plop that is "King Of Queens" and the sublime genius of "My Name Is Earl"? )
• Favorite Movie Comedy: "Click" (didn't see it)
• Favorite Funny Male Star: (are you ready?) ROBIN WILLIAMS

I can't even go on after that last one. I will be comedically famous one day, I'm sure, but I hope it's because I am one of the least-liked comedians among people who think Charlie Sheen, Adam Sandler movies, and Nickelback in the iPod-clone equals "a great, if very lonely, evening."

Some people have spoken...
in a slack-jawed gurgle.


Oh... how I've missed you...
=-=-=-=-=-=-

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Video!

From The Paramount show.

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The Election Results Are In

But nobody's gonna hear crap about them until we get an impacted ass full of the Britney Spears announcement that she, having listened to everyone, finally, CANNOT SUSTAIN ANYTHING MEANINGFUL OVER A GIVEN PERIOD OF TIME.

Britney, who believes we should follow the President right now no matter whut (her word), is getting divorced from Kevin "Sperm For Sweat" Federline (his word). They have two young sons together, not to mention years of total screwed up-edness to look forward to with the OTHER kids Kevin made with another woman I can't remember, but whom does not bother me in the least, and therefore is my favorite of the Kevin Federline Baby-mommas.

I, as a man soon to be married (her word), cannot tell you how important it is to give marriage not ONLY a solid two-year run, but also to just pop out kids and make a circus of it and do everything you can to focus on your marriage being focused on, instead of focusing on the Marriage. It's much like putting chrome 18-inch rims on a tractor. Then using that tractor to pull a VW Corrado to a Chuck E. Cheese, before the Corrado tells the Tractor to be careful with the tokens, "them games is like gambling, I sway-ur to Pat Sajak (my words)."

I wish I could say more, but I am off to revel in victory of Votes! Money doesn't buy class, just everything else that matters to classless people.



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Duhmocracy In Action

Each registered voter has a duty to perform next Tuesday: Use the turn signal and get in the flow of traffic. On the other end of that jaunt, at some point, there is a voting ballot with your name on it. That makes it easier to track your movements from the cabal headquarters, which isn’t where you may think it is. (You didn’t hear it from me, and you didn’t hear the words “time-share in Estacada.")

The past few elections and opportunities to vote have raised a lot of questions in our society. Who controls voting procedure? Why is it different from place to place? What would generate a larger voter turn-out? Why isn’t there any free food at voting sites? Does question 4 answer question 3? Why vote when I rarely seem to win, no matter how many ballots I complete?

Democracy is a form of government For the People, Of the People, and By the People. The common thread to all of those tenets is “People.” The common flaw to those tenets is “People.” By the People? Have you seen The People? Bad drivers, cell-phone wireless earpiece yappers, 15 items in the 10-Or-Less line, and their vote counts just as much as yours and mine. But I am not deluded by our Democratic Voting Procedure. I am encouraged by it. Without The People, the computers will take over and control the voting, and luckily we are hundreds of minutes away from that happening. Eventually the computers will take over the voting, too, and it’s going to be terrible! Computers will be voting based on logic and numbers, instead of feelings and politics.

Oh no.
The horror.

I am an American. A tax-payer. A homeowner. I have a Bachelors Degree. I read. I bathe regularly, whether I need it or not. I vote. I vote so that a victory of one of my favorite initiatives will crush the dreams of its opponents. I vote to get one of those “I Voted!” stickers that remind other people to feel guilty for abstaining. I vote, even though there is no veggie platter or meat tray available. And I know that when I make my marks on my mail-in ballot and send it in if I can find a stamp, my vote will arrive safe and sound to a highly trained volunteer. And then my ballot, my VOTE, will OFFICIALLY not count.

As stewards of our environments it is a very small, yet very important effort to partake in something many people have died to defend: Our freedom to let our neighbors screw things up because we didn’t go vote. Be American. Vote Like It Matters.

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The Post Office = P.O.

Couple weeks back I go to the Post Office to send some stuff to a buddy of mine, a couple of comedy promos, headshots (ones I stole), and a brownie wrapped in toilet paper. Went for a padded mailer envelope, runs about $2 at the P'Office. The line is 9 deep, running about 4 minutes/transaction, listening to every old MF shuffle their feet to the counter before asking 5 questions about stamps. I can't wait to be that old and just completely throw people's lives off-skej (schedule) with my pre-planned "folksiness." Then again, maybe these oldsters don't have any friends still alive or family around to help them, which makes me think "Wow, your family won't help you? What a pile of crap you must've been."

I grab the mailer, 10th now in line, and it's just taking fo-rever. I say quietly, "Oh my, this is most unpleasant, this wait. I have so much to accomplish that I simply can NOT wait any longer. 'Tis best now to excuse myself." So I f*ck-off to the self-serve kiosk where I can weigh my package... AND what I'm sending to my buddy... buy the postage for it and get on with my day.

I bag my goods in the envelope, deftly and gorgeously scrawl the address on the front of it, seal it with a mucous-laden loogie though it had the adhesive on it already, and weigh it up. $4-ish bucks for 3 day, fine, hit it. I slap the thing on it, drop it in the thing, and get the F outta there. TOTALLY FORGETTING TO PAY FOR THE ENVELOPE.

I guess you could say I "stole" it, since I procured its use without the proper exchange of currency for the sundry good. I decided that my life and time was too valuable to wait in line for that $2, so I'd return soon when it wasn't so busy and drop the $2 on the mailer without a big explanation. It’s the right thing to do, and it’s got an air of neighborliness not seen since Eddie Haskell commented on the Beauty of the Beaver’s Mom’s pearl necklace.

So I head back to the P’Office and do the math… what I make per hour = X, and the cost of the envelope = Y, and Karma = Z. So (X/Y) = Z, or X*Y/Z = Public Education In Math. After about 7 minutes in line, with no hope for moving any faster (who the hell are the elderly sending everything to? Are they willing off their figurines early?), I say quietly, “THIS NONSENSE IS NONSENSE AND I’M GONNA LEAVE.” I turned on my heels and headed right out to the door, and the F to my life.

Then I realized, hey, how about a quick explanation on a piece of paper about the situation? I could tuck a couple of dollars into an envelope, or a check! I could write a check and drop that in and throw it in a processing bin and they’d see it and run it up front. Well, that may actually screw up the whole process, slowing it down EVEN MORE (call Steven Hawking, his wormhole is in Bellevue) while they take the envelope up to get rung in. That is assuming that they didn’t just rip it open and take the cash, or hell, even the check and then assume my identity and write blogs and end up in my car some morning swearing at people in Pig Latin. I’d cut in line and just drop it on the counter, in hopes they didn’t think I was trying to rob the place, if they could put F & CK together and figure the deal out. Nope, too risky.

You can’t trust people to do the right thing, I guess.

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I Need Your Opinion

Thanks for swinging by here.

I'm at the point where I need to leap and know that the net will catch me, or keep eyeing the cliff. Let's not get into where the cliff is or what it offers vs. the exhiliration of the leaping. I need your ideas...

To the right of this blog are some truly outstanding works of literary stuff.

WHICH ONES ARE YOU FAVORITES? Let me know. Because, see, I have to leap, eventually, and it can be a controlled leap with a harness that I can secure to the cliff and let out more rope each time I leap, but the effort to climb back up can tire you out. I need to find what my best writing was and is, and take it to the next level, which means I gotta step up, which means I need to get booked for about 10 gigs at a high rate so I can not worry about this bullshit day job.

Email me, lemme know!

Love,
Geoff

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Bursting The Dam

My recent trip to Utah started the way most short flights do: scanning the gate area for unruly children (see previous blog, “You Can’t Afford NOT To”). There was one kid who was nuts, doing the screaming that only kids can scream when they want to see how loud they can be. A well-dressed older man on a mobile phone (cell = cellular = old technology) nearby said into that phone, “One sec…” hit his mute button, then yelled “AAAAAAAAAAH!” His outburst was unexpected, but necessary, and effective.

The kid stopped dead in his tracks, wide-eyed staring at the man who had just interrupted his yelling. The look on the kid’s face can be best described as “I lose.” EVERYONE turned suddenly, and the gentleman put his hands up to his mouth and said “Oh dear, I thought it was yelling time! Sorry fella!” His jovial tone made everyone giggle a bit, and I’m pretty sure I chuckled as I sent his aura a metaphysical Starbucks card. The kid did not peep the rest of the afternoon. This yelling trick is now in my repertoire.

Let’s reverse field a bit. I got through security in my usual “extra 5 minutes because of the rod in my leg” situation (see previous blog, “How I Got This Scar...”). I always get pulled aside because the rod in my leg sets off the machine. Every time. I’ve been through without the rod, nothing. I went through with it, DEET DEET. Then I get to sit in the little Plexiglas corral while they wave the wand over me to make sure I’m not getting on the plane with any extra dignity or expediency. Security is of the utmost importance, until some of these wussies get on board with my Vigilante Justice movement. Then I gather my shoes… SHOES!... book bag crammed with belt, phone, watch, and my clown nose and I’m off to pay $8 for a Balance bar.

This time through I needed water like Courtney Love needs water. I paid $2 for a 20oz bottle at the little shop, and moved on to my gate. As we boarded I held it in my hand, walking past the gate agent, a flight attendant, another attendant, and then one more attendant. It was in plain view. Nobody said anything about it, seeing as there IS a restriction on liquids being brought through security. I understand the gels, because people who wear hair gel shouldn’t be allowed to fly.

I made my way to my seat, an aisle seat across from two people whom the field of medicine would label “mastodon.” They wore matching shirts… SHIRTS!... as if they would not be able to find one another in the event they became separated. Just look for the sweaty head. Immediately upon sitting I hear a voice that is laden with the echoes of needing to have some sort of control in life. The tattle-tale. The one who got left out because she complained, and then proceeded to complain because she got left out. A World-Class Nag.

“Excuse me. Where did you get that water?”, she asked, emphasizing water like it were a stack of Valrhona 70% cocoa bars. (I really like those)

“At the news stand,” I replied, very nicely for someone who was on his way to Utah.

“Well they said I couldn’t bring water on the plane and I’m diabetic and I have the kind that I need a lot of water because I get thirsty,” frumped she.

“Oh.”, I exclaimed.

“Yeah, I need water for my…” she trailed off looking for something in the distance. I was a little flummoxed because in all my travels I had never had this encounter. I understand that she wasn’t asking me for my water, but it suddenly seemed that water was the great equalizer! I was in POWER because I had a bottle of water, and how could I be so callous as to just flaunt it? HOW DARE I! Everyone knows that diabetes can only be cured by Dasani! (made by Coca Cola, also a cause of diabetes!)

As she continued railing against the gods and flight attendants keeping all water out of her body, a man, a woman, and a tiny baby being held by the woman approached. They looked at their tickets, at the empty seat to my right, and the man said “Well mine is back there.” I said “Hey, I can move back to your seat and you two can sit next to each other,” which is a really nice thing to do, unless the guy was looking forward to time away from his wife and baby. Life isn’t perfect, stop groaning.

They say “Sure,” I stood, grabbed THE WATER BOTTLE OF DESTINY!, and moved back two rows to a middle seat between a guy wearing a NorthFace parka and some other guy wondering who wears a NorthFace park in the Summer on a plane. (man named Craig, that’s who) They weren’t any happier to see me than I was to smell the unwashed parka, but there I was. And it wasn’t very good camouflage.

Five minutes later a flight attendant of the female persuasion was stopped by Diane Betes (of earlier Water Fiasco fame) who started pointing and yammering on. Flight Attendant (FA) came back to ask me if I had a bottle with me, and I said Yes. FA then mentioned with a sigh that she had to take it, I understand, but she’d BRING ME TWO MORE BOTTLES. Of Dasani, mind you.

Mrs. Betes TOLD ON ME instead of just asking for a couple bottles of water. Her problem would be solved by simply asking for water, but instead she had to bring me into it as though her disease were my fault. As stated earlier, I walked past a number of FA’s who saw the bottle and didn’t say a word. And now I’m getting tattled-on at the age of 32 by a woman wearing a man’s polo shirt from “Extra Room Clothiers & Fudge.” I wish I were kidding.

Throughout the flight to Salt Lake City it was mentioned to me by a number of FA’s how much trouble my bottle had caused. They had all heard about it. The only threat my bottle of water posed to anyone was to the tattler’s piehole. I could only shake my head. They got their message across loud & clear: Some people, ya know? This wasn’t a patriotic move by the complainer; she was concerned only about the fact that she was put-out by not getting her share of water, and therefore, someone needed to suffer. For the record, when the drink cart came through 30 minutes later, The Betes Twins ordered Cokes.

When returning through Salt Lake City’s security, planning on grabbing a seat for the leg wanding, Latter Day Saint style, I pushed my bucket of goods into the scanner and set to walking. There is some very high-tech stuff at Salt Lake’s airport in the security section, mind you. X-ray scans, a water-sniffing turtle, etc. So I was surely going to trigger 1,000 times the number of alarms my leg usually sets-off.

But I didn’t. When you think you’re going to set off someone’s alarms, yet you don’t, it’s best to not blurt out “It’s about time I got through with this thing!” Just shut up and move on with it. It works, sometimes.

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An Argument For Robots Everywhere

Customer service, dead websites, people who speak English but don't understand logic, and people who DO speak English but can't figure out the difference between "helpful" and "pointless yammering."

I swear, I woke up in a nearly good mood today, too.


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Coming Soon...

The new website!

A new blog on the pleasures of detoxifying your large intestine!

Until then, go read Killorn's blog. Awesome read for those in Seattle who have ever dealt with the attitudes of coffee shop patrons.

!!!

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George W. Bush Is One Crazy President!

This is an editorial from the New York Times.

It is harrowing, unsettling, and overall a giant beacon of hope on the snowball rolling down the hill. That ball is heading straight for a little thing called "Right."

Published: July 25, 2006

Over 212 years, 42 presidents issued signing statements objecting to a grand total of 600 provisions of new laws. George W. Bush has done that more than 800 times in just over five and a half years in office.

Most presidents used signing statements to get legal objections on the record for judges to consider in any court challenge. For Mr. Bush, they are far more: part of a strategy to expand presidential powers at the expense of Congress and the courts. His signing statements have become notices to Congress that he simply does not intend to follow the law, especially any attempt to hold him accountable for his actions.

Some of Mr. Bushs signing statements have become notorious, like the one in which he said he didnt feel bound by the new law against torturing prisoners. Others were more obscure, like the one in which he said he would not follow a law forbidding the White House to censor or withhold scientific data requested by Congress.

But all serve the unitary executive theory cherished by some of Mr. Bushs most extreme advisers, including Vice President Dick Cheney and his legal staff. This theory says that the president and not Congress nor the courts has the sole power to decide how to carry out his duties. According to a study by a bipartisan panel of the American Bar Association, Mr. Bush objected to 500 provisions of new laws just in his first term the majority of them because they conflicted with the unitary executive theory. The A.B.A. said that theory was specifically mentioned 82 times.

The Bush administration often says the president is just trying to stop Congress from interfering with his ability to keep the nation safe, and that other presidents also included constitutional objections in their signing statements. Thats just smoke.

For one thing, under this president, all laws are screened by Mr. Cheneys staff for violations of the unitary executive theory. Presidents Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush and Bill Clinton had the Justice Department report constitutional concerns about new laws to the White House. Mr. Bush often does cite national security as an excuse for ignoring an act of Congress but that is almost always because lawmakers are trying to rein him in on issues like the treatment of prisoners, and the withholding of information from Congress.

The A.B.A. called Mr. Bushs use of presidential signing statements contrary to the rule of law and our constitutional system of separation of powers and recommended that Congress enact legislation clarifying the issue.

We agree on both points, even though we fear that if Congress passes a bill, Mr. Bush will simply issue a new signing statement saying he also does not intend to follow it.

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This all means one of a few things:
1) If taken for his word, W is saying that he needs to have full powers in order to keep America safe from terrorism and/or telemarketing to recruit said scary people. To protect his ability to lead the small group in his cabinet, he's got to have as much power as possible to go where he needs to go and do what he needs to do without hesitation in a moment of crisis. He learned his lesson that day in the kid's classroom in Florida.

2) Congress cannot be trusted to do what's right to keep America safe, making the rest of us either the most blind citizens in the world, or W the most paranoid President since Richard "THEY'RE IN THE CARPET!" Nixon.

3) He and his administrative staff know something we don't, and they want to keep it that way, so that they can look back at these signings and say "Hey, aren't you glad now that I/He/We signed those things?"
=+=+=+=
While it's good that the audacity and ferocious bumbling of an administration has got us all talking about politics again, the downside is that it is so frustrating to most of us. To think that we need a Patriot Act, or that we witnessed the horrors of September 11, and that right now another soldier has died in Iraq or Afghanistan or anywhere else, is to know that something set this ball in motion, and nothing has been done to keep it from stopping.

America has been at war pretty much since it began. In one way or another, we've been ejecting shell casings and going after enemies, or defending against the enemies, since the 1700s. My only suggestion is to focus our materials and mental powers on diplomacy, building and creating alternative energy resources (wind, solar, and rain, what with our Global Warming, are in high supply), and staying out of everyone's business for at least one year.

What do I know? I'm just a voter.


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The Good News

The good news is...
if you eat healthy, get a lot of sleep, don't drink too much, stay off drugs, and stay out of the sun, you can live a very long life!

The bad news is...
it's going to be on Earth, where you will be facing a set of TV cameras on your 112th birthday and end up boring everyone at your party into submission.

If you love what you do, you're living enough for two lifetimes.
Still give me 85 moderately good years over 62 over-indulgent ones. Those last 23 will be spent teaching by example, mostly through annoying the face rings out of the youngsters.

Damn meddlin' kids.


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This is all I have to say about Friday.




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Some Stuff to Share

The new website will be up this week, since I do not want to just throw out something that doesn't have worthy content to it. I'm adding the fun stuff as you read this. Okay, maybe later on, I'm not always able to just dive in and start adding stuff. But you know what I'm saying. Good stuff is on the way!

I have a show at the Capitol Hill Arts Center on 8/1/06. Check out www.PRoKomedy.com for more information.

GO TOWARDS THE LIGHTs! I have a show THIS SATURDAY NIGHT at the Northern Lights Casino in Anacortes, 9pm. Last time I was there I showed up and rocked it with Gabriel Rutledge. That was just four short weeks ago. Guess what? I HAVE NEW MATERIAL TO ROCK. Email me for more info on this show. Then hang out and watch my Wife From The Future clean up a roulette table.

And finally, a lot of cancerous and pre-cancerous moles are getting attention lately. I would like to offer my services on these moles, both in extraction and disposal fees, very low. I can even suture what I need to, when I need to, though I am much, much better at full removal.
After having quit smoking, I thought I wouldn't ever get to use my cigar punch again. Pssh!

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MySpace Is My Anti-MySpace, and p.s. IT'S ASS HOT

In a show of unmitigated arrogance, power, and assholery, MySpace has been inaccessible for the better part of the last 24 hours.

Good. Wean me off it. I go there like it's a drug, which is probably why people say "Are you on MySpace?" I need away from it. It's a decent way to network, but that depends solely on the other people you are "Friends" with deciding to care enough to stop by your profile, read your bulletin, or come looking for their $61.33... AMERICAN.

GOOD RIDDANCE. MySpace, now a holding of the Rupert Murdoch Media Empire (and who knows the "NOW" of contemporary technology better'n a fella name of "Rupert?"), is consistenly giving us every reason to get off the junk. Errors. Slow page loads. Allowing ANYBODY to load up on it. The fun is gone when the 17 year old cheerleader can take her shirt off for attention, but commenting on it is considered "Inappropriate," even if the comment is proportionate to the picture's skank factor.

So yeah, there ya go. I'm sure I'll still put stuff on there because I'm a writing junkie and it's another blog I can fill out (sorry, I meant to tell you...), but overall, eh, I'll leave it to the hornies, homies, and people who have nothing to say.

Btw... My NEW website will be up and running THIS WEEK! Check back to GLRules.com when you can.

BTW:
This weekend was the appropriate weekend for Killorn O'Neill's Hot-Talent Of The Season:
Projectile Boob Sweating.

Seriously... when did Tabasco start making air?

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Tri, Tri Again

The Maple Valley Triathlon, suspiciously lacking any kind of "chugging" or "mudding" leg, was cancelled. The website said that the city cancelled it.

Previously, the same organizers had their Chelan Triathlon, suspiciously lacking any kind of "tenting" or "fire dousing" leg, had noted that the city of Chelan cancelled THAT triathlon.

When a city cancels an event sure to bring it hundreds of thousands of dollars of revenue via visitors and quality reports, it's usually because some permits were not filed.

And those permits not being filed do not, I repeat, do NOT, quench the burning of my nipples. I shall run on, I shall bike hard, and I shall swim sleekly.

I bought SPANDEX, for the sake of nipples!

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The Golden Years

Once and for all, I'm asking you to tell me if I am being a flaming a-hole.
Seriously.

Yes, You, oh literate and fantastic in those pants Reader. Am I purporting myself in the style of a butt's hole lately? I ask because I've had some really odd interactions with others in the recent days, and I wonder if I'm putting off a stink of some sort.

My first one was with an elderly lady who cut in line at the drug store. (again, I give no props here unless, sponsored, but figurative Cleveland Steamers come free) She shuffled ahead of me, as I was 4th in line, and she wanted to be 4th, apparently. She seemed to be moving much more slowly than previously when I saw her in the store, but I figured it was just the passing of a kidney or past the time she usually stares out the window and reminisces. But for whatever reason, she was at the druggist at 6pm on a Tuesday.

At the same time, I cleared my throat, but only because I had to clear it, not because I wanted to draw attention to the fact that she, being elderly, was not allowed to just CUT in line. Instead, I figured if she'd asked nicely I would have considered giving her the spot before telling her to beat it. But she took, and I was probably just choking on the words to right the situation.

A small blip in my head went off, and I thought "What's the harm? Honestly? None. Zero. Nothing. Let it go." And in that moment, I breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, and I Let It Go. I felt peace. I felt At Peace. I found Zen. There was no harm. No resistance. I made my purchase, paid with cash, and walked out with my Crosswords and my Riesen Chocolate Chews, and felt good about it.

As I stepped outside, I heard "Hey prick. Yeah YOU."

I turn around to see the old lady glaring at me, finger pointing.

"What's with all the huffing and puffing? Whaddya gonna do? Tell on me?"

I replied with "No, I just took a deep breath and let go of the fact that you cut in line."

"Oh did you? Must make you feel pretty big, huh?"

"No, I just... you're crazy."

"Yeah, I'm crazy like a fox, jerk!"

Next time you see an old person at the front of line acting confused, remember that it's hard getting older, but you don't have to suffer alone.

=====
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A Bit Nippy

I'm training for a triathlon, okay? A sprint-tri, wherein I will swim 1/4-mile, bike 12 miles, and run 3 miles. In a row. Without dying. Or worse, public pants-loading.

The other night I did a Double, wherein I did a training session in one event, then went to the next. That night it was a 6.5-mile bike ride, then a 3.5 mile run. I wore a Nike Dri-Fit shirt, one of those wickers of moisture, and I was sweating like Star Jones walking up a flight of stair.

Long story short, I will be looking for some other shirt to wear during my race, or at least an undershirt with my Dri-Fit. Hopefully THAT will keep my nipples from bleeding again.



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A Niche In The Wall

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a fan of the Pink Floyd band. I think I "get" them, but I don't get them. I get their lyrics, but their music goes to a certain level of masturbatory unseen before or since they arrived. One of the founding members of the band just died, too. I think it was Syd Viscuous.

I think I could name about 3 of their songs, including "the Education chanting song," "the money sound song," and "echoing Hello song." I once dated a girl who had a very annoying habit of sleeping with other people. Less annoying, but still annoying, was that she loved Pink Floyd, only slightly less than she loved another of my less-liked bands, The Grateful Dead.

I'm not here to bash either of these bands or that rotten whore. The bands put out music that was the soundtrack to many a good time to many a good person over the decades. For that they should be applauded. But as for my opinion, I wouldn't walk across the street for a free show of theirs, and not just because the parking lot of the Morningwood Highlands would make for a sparse venue. First off, parking would suck.

That annoying habit I spoke of earlier, the one where I dated a rotten whore, she did this thing that a lot of people do when at topic comes around to something they LOOOOOOOVE. Usually it's a niche item, like, say... Vegemite.

Vegemite, a pasty concoction that is a marvelous source of gross and vitamin B, is a product of leftover beer-brewing yeast. It's wildly popular in countries that have words like "flavour" and "footie match." I've tried it. Didn't throw up. Don't care to try it again. Done.

But should my dislike of Vegemite bubble over in the presence of somebody who is unnaturally fond of Vegemite, an annoying habit comes forth in the following manner:

"Whaddayoo mean you don't like Vegemite? Have you ever tried it? It's like the BEST. It's soo good for a hangover, not to mention when you drank too much the night before!" and it goes on until I throw up, or until ad nauseum.

So YES, I tried it, that's how I know I don't like it. I have a long list of things I have tried. Not all of them roll on to hallowed ground. Some of them have to lose. And my not buying Vegemite, yet giving it shit-tons of free advertising here, isn't going to matter one devalued American dollar to the Vegemite fortune. So sit there and be gross and quiet about it.

My point is that not everyone has to get along, nor like the same things, nor agree on what to do with Carson Daly's dead body, nor Ryan Seacrest's soul. That's OKAY. That is FINE. Those things that are DIFFERENT are what make THE world gO arOUnd. That's aNnOyInG, huh? Let people be who they are, like what they like, dislike what they dislike, and if they happen to dislike things you like, you can simply ignore them.

Or sleep around on them like a rotten whore. All in all, it's just another brick in the wall.

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Comics Who Look Like Movie Stuff, and My Dumb Tattoo

Joey Gay, a New York comic best known for his appearance on Last Comic Standing 4 as "The Yelling Comedian," has the biggest smile of anybody I ever done seen...

'cept one person thing.


I'm just saying.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Tattoo story to follow...

=========

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Complaining White People

This morning I was standing in line to pay for a banana, because I like potassium, but only when it comes in a peel-able skin. And can be peanut buttered. Which it would be. Hold a moment, let me rewind a bit.

The cafeteria at work is really as nice as you can get in a work eatery. Carpeted floors, comfy booths, and tons upon tons of options for food. Healthy snacks which can be deep fried. Buffalo burgers. Tamarind chutney! Also, it is run with a certain amount of care, run by a few people who have mixed degrees of Hospitality and Customer Serviceness. For most of my tenure here it has been run by one of two men, one of them so fiercely dedicated to proper customer service and PC'ism that he came to my office to apologize to my co-worker. His apology was due to the fact that, during what I think was Korean Heritage Week, my co-worker (who is Korean by way of Ottowa), asked a cook why they were serving Pho (fuh), a Vietnamese soup. The guy came to the office, with a chef in tow, to apologize. They genuinely cared about not appearing to be a-pipes, and for that I have a certain amount of respect.

It appears that new people are runnning the show over there. The two guys who appeared to manage the cafeteria were always around, helping out, saying "Hey Kortek! Nice digitial watch!" and the like. Not any more. I haven't seen them in a few weeks. In their stead is a woman whose demeanor is perfect for the restaurant industry, because she reminds me of steam burns and cheese-grater-nipped fingertips in a salt bath. Just a peach of a gal, she breathes as though put-upon by the world. When ringing up your total, she stares off into space as though, were it not for a few bad years there after her second marriage to her third husband, she would probably be managing that truck stop by now. She's a solidly-built woman of about 5'9", sturdy in the hips and fluid of movement. Probably has a little self-defense and/or women's rights march-training under her SansABelt.
Her bouquet is melange of old coffee, Newports, and sweaty nylons. This is work. There's no time for fun.
And everyone...
Has to...
Deal with it.

The rest of the staff is fun. The gal at the grill would make me dance when I ordered a buffalo burger, and I always hesitated before dipping into a soft-shoe or maybe a little jig. I don't worry about looking silly; I work at THE Software Company, surrounded by grown men who tuck their silk-screened Wolf motif T's into their denim shorts.

Most of the counter staff are Latina, very friendly, upbeat women that make it feel less like a coffee purchase and more like a cultural experience. I don't even care if they're talking about me in Spanish, they do it with a smile. To that I say ARRIBA!

Back to this morning. While walking to get in line, the New Boss Lady, or "White Heat," is barking orders to one of the Counterstaff bonitas, "Then when you pick that bag up, put it in here and wheel it out. I'll be back in ten minutes." The woman she was talking to has worked there longer than White Heat. But White Heat doesn't get paid to let people work, she gets paid to MANAGE. (print that to a T-shirt, NOW)

I'm in line at the coffee counter behind a guy holding a breakfast burrito, while I stand and listen to the next exchange between Rosa (her real name), and a woman who appears to be the younger sister of White Heat, or possibly a jackal. Lil Sis says "Well I can't get the milk, we have to wait until, uh… the other one… when she gets back," then returns to pursing her lips and longing for a new Air Supply record. I will not even attempt to fathom what "the other one" meant. Rosa, rolling her eyes, turns to help Burrito man, who complains that his burrito doesn't have anything in it, and that he waited a really long time for it.

That's about all he said. When offered a refund, he said "Yes, it has nothing in it, and I should be refunded." He paid $2.45 for it. Nothing in it? Seems like you'd notice that. He got his refund, then muttered something about "bad service" and went back to being anti-social.

I was next, and motioning to my banana, which was in my hand, and was actually a banana, I said "There is something wrong with this orange." We had a laugh and away I went. I also watched Rosa pull the aforementioned milk out of the low-boy cooler and place it on the counter for Lil Sis, who was still wondering how much longer she would have to deal with this crap until rescued by a young Russell Mitchell... Or Graham Russell, didn't matter, just come 'n' get it. And by "it" I mean "sweaty nylons."

Then it dawned on me. The white people in that scenario were all complaining. The rest of the players were just working. White Heat, Angry Management. How do you get a burrito with nothing in it, watching them make it in front of you, AND YOU DIDN'T KNOW? And Lil Sis, wow, what a joy to have to deal with in the morning. You don't HAVE TO work here, ya know? And then there's me, complaining about the complaining.

My only suggestion is to just smile and make the best of the sitch, and when you can, make a joke about your banana.

-Addendum-
I was told last weekend that I was carrying a negative attitude. Perhaps I was. There's been some stress regarding the wedding plans. I'm sure it can all be solved easily with some proper planning or my body in a shallow grave. And comedy plans. And work plans. Etc. Just getting the steam out so the gears mesh and roll the machine forward. I decided then and there to be Positive.

About an hour later we ran to get the propane tank filled for some grilling. We were greeted by a woman who, judging from her disposition, was surely on the last two chemical components that would allow us to create worm-holes for interstellar travel, when interrupted by PAYING CUSTOMERS?!?!

I asked how she was doing, she sighed a "Well if it weren't so busy I'd be better." I replied with "Oh come on. I can go somewhere else if you like?" She said "Well my boss wouldn't like that."

Soon after, I was paid a very high compliment, when told "Her attitude really puts your negativity into perspective."

AND THAT… is why I love Alicia. She can almost admit when I'm not as big of a poopyhead as she thinks I am.


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What A Rush

In topical humor...

Rush Limbaugh was stopped in a Florida airport after his bag was searched and turned up a bottle of Viagra. He's already on a plea deal to not be runnin' round with too many Rx bottles, because he was hustling doctors for his pill addiction. Well the Viagra wasn't in his name, showing some fraud was at work, and potentially landing him in the slammer.

He may go to jail. Not for fraud, but because it's a crime for Rush Limbaugh to have a boner.

Gross.

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Follow-up

I keep a notebook of ideas in my nightstand, and one in the car... and 20 or so in my office, so that my ideas and thoughts may someday see the light of stage, or a blog. Or be a burden to someone else.

I usually can cultivate 20% of my jottings. Like taking it from "one idea" to three or four paragraphs, or a couple minutes of comedy. Some of them have that root base, and need a little sun and wine and a mention of some naughty bits to grow.

The following line, however, was written two months ago. I think it stands on its own.

The only way to keep the rebuilding of the World Trade Center towers on-budget is through the use of immigrant labor.

arriba

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Lazy Without Borders

I have really only this thought about the immigration debate:

Kicking out the illegal immigrants will free up a LOT of jobs in our nation. Jobs that many out-of-work Americans could be working TOMORROW, if the INS sweep were to happen today.

Those jobs were open prior to those amigos heading North for work. And if the out-of-work Americans put half as much effort into looking for work as they do into faking L&I claims and drunk-falling in WalMart parking lots, our unemployment rate would drop another couple points.

Some people won't work a job that is "beneath them." I, being someone with a Bachelor's Degree in History, won't work landscaping.
After all that time in libraries and classes, I am underqualified for landscaping.


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Who Wanna Know?

Well, we've made our minds up!


We're going to get married on July 4th, a Tuesday. We decided it was a day neither of us could forget. Sorry sis, your birthday will have to wait until next year!

Also, we're going to have the Old Country Buffet cater it for us, as we get a 10% per-trough discount if we bottom-out the poached prime-rib within an hour of the sitting.

We have commissioned Baskin-Robbins to do our cake. Actually, going with a single-serve theme fad, we'll be doing a variation of their clown cones, wherein Alicia's face or my face will be icing-piped onto the ice cream we choose. Alicia's will be Black Cherry & Walnut, mine is Spumoni.

Now if we can just find the right VFW to host the event at...


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Of Things Purple and Throbbing

Spam is hitting blog Comments, an even cheaper way of invading the public domain with stuff we don't need. I think spammers should all be stripped of their finger meat.

We Get It.
Enlargements, re-financing, OTC, OEM, etc.
If someone has a blog, or knows what a blog is, they are probably savvy enough to search out the remedies for their own situations. We've had this type of marketing for many years, and I don't think many folks thought they needed it when there was a Bible or vacuum involved.

It is the nature of the beast, truly, in a Free Society. Anybody can say anything they want. They should also have to deal with the consequences, which should fall within certain boundaries of the law, and whatever is most easily concealed in an old area rug. It's the nature of the beast, it's annoying, but, eh, it beats not being able to see what's happening on MySpace for GASP... up to 7 minutes.

And if you are getting overly angry about spam it's probably because you have a small cock.

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Communicating And Other Provocations, How NOT To Steal A Sidekick

I am currently paying less for my cellular communication plan than I was in the first few months after I had quit working at Cingular. They set me up... oh, NOW I get it... on some "basic" plan. It didn't include any of the kind of stuff you may need, like the phone actually working. It was my bad, I should have turned it over earlier.

But when I look back at that place, it was like eons ago. And by "eons" I mean "Tabasco-filled hemorrhoids."

I don't have hemorrhoids.

Speaking of searing ass-pain, have you been following THIS STORY? It's what happens when dishonest people do the wrong thing meet up with technology in the hands of the tech-savvy.

To summarize it, Person A lost their CellPhone/Sidekick. Person B found it and claimed it as their own instead of saying "Hey, someone lost this and should get it back." Person B then used it to upload her social life, including a frighteningly grotesque gordo who may be the father of her child (she's 16, he's 20-something), and her brother who is in the military. What unfolds is a step-by-step account of using the antagonist's information and low-class nature against them.
For real entertainment, peek at their MySpace profiles, and look at their "associates."

The police are involved. TV is involved. MySpace is involved. It's captivating, it's voyeuristic, and some dunderheads are going to get some neck-slaps for it!
WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT?

Ooh! Me, too!
GARÇON! MORE PINOT!


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RETORT!

There are many false claims made against people on a regular basis. Those people, in this case, are me, Geoffrey Brandon Amazing Shaquille Shouldermeat Lott.

I have been called a hack, a loser, a fat-ass, a jerk, and a dork. I have had my sexual orientation questioned... in fack I think all of those came in one post on a message board earlier this year. As a side-note, I have found that when one makes a critical remark about someone else, you must be prepared to deal with any sort of consequences.

And thus I move to the most recent remark made about me... at least that I know of.

In Killorn's recent-ish blog about her new car, she included some pictures of what happens when people speed down side-streets after three-too-many double-martinis. In the background of the picture is Killorn's new ride, a Turbo VW Beetle, 2004 or some-such. Very slick ride, very quick off the line. However, the feature of the article is not the feature of the pictures. Instead, a ferociously unusable 1988 Accord Hatchback, minus the hatch and back, takes center-frame. According to Killorn, the reason her car is unfeatured is as follows...

See? GORGEOUS. Even with Geoff and the Giant Melon Noggin effin it up for the people out in the streets.

Interesting... Now, I'm not POSITIVE that Killorn is blaming me for taking the "tortured trust-fundle-turned-art-student" perspective photo, Juxtaposing the Old and Dead with the New and Vibrant, but if you know Killorn the way most of the guys in Kirkland who drive lowered trucks know Killorn, then she settled her sights on me and fired a shot.

To which I retort as such...
Geoff and the Giant Melon Noggin are seen in the background of the photo leaning into the passenger door of the Turbo VW Beetle. While fleet of foot and thick of loin, not even I had the energy to set the timer and then sprint back to the Beetle to rifle through Killorn's purse, which I was not doing for very long.

So eat a crap taco.

And if I'm way off base here, then that's for Killorn and I to work out. Let this, instead, be a lesson to all readers that when I catch wind of injustice, I'm gonna pounce and go for the throat. And you shall wear the hickey of righteousness.

I am a lot of things, but a bad-picture-snapping-Clone, I am not.
How dare you.


p.s.
Note the last photo in Killorn's post...
Self-taken, with her favorite items:
Laptop, digital camera, hairspray, and wine. All of these eventually end up in her hair.
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Loose Ends

The title of this post is NOT, but could be, the name of a stag film.

When's the last time you heard the term "stag film?"

Oh, Tuesday? Okay. Gotcha.

A lot of things are moving along right now for me. I'm usually a pretty private person, when it comes to my life that is the Daily items. That bothers some people, because when it comes to these blogs, reading up on "the dirt" is always sexier than "oh wow, another opinion." Like I have said...
Opinions are like buttholes.
EVERYBODY has one,
and they're saving it for marriage.

I know, I should write greeting cards.

So I'll indulge you a bit with some dirt. Why not? I'm paying for this, one way or another.

First off, the new season of Last Comic Standing!
This is the season I tried out for in Arizona. I wouldn't trade the experience for anything short of a shot at the showcase night and being on the TV show and winning it all. So far, everyone who has been on it is repped. They have an agent, or are dating someone who is involved with the show, or has been bubbling under. We have yet to get enough of Ty Barnett on that show, but mark my words: Ty will rock this thing.

I am not real close with Ty, but I have worked with him in Seattle on a number of occasions. A very good guy, a really strong and smart comic, and frankly the guy's got what it takes to win this thing. He is likely to get even bigger in the next year, so if you get a chance, GO SEE HIM. He is as original as anybody I have ever seen; what you get on stage is Ty's attitude and perception, not a character that is a mish-mash of other voices. Ty gives you what is inside his head when the premise struck him, it is his voice. It will be really fun to watch Ty go further.

Comedians, bands, movies, etc, attract audiences that they appeal to. That's why a "certain kind of person" likes Nickelback, movies with lots of explosions, and anything with Johnny Knoxville. Same thing with the "Sex & The City" crew. Possibly the worst-acted, most popular TV show of all time. Yet, the characters in the show, The Mom, The Debutante, The Worker, The Goody-Good, all appealed to a certain part of each audience member. Living vicariously through the character, that's what Entertainment is about. I, too, have tied terry-cloth "capes" to my neck and run the length of the block, feeling I was about to fly. Yes, that was last Sunday.

Does anybody want to help me get a job writing greeting cards?

In the meantime, the United States military took out the #2 guy of al-Qaida the other day. I can always tell the pulse of America by checking the Yahoo Photos section under "Popular News" on their home page. Usually it's one of 2 things: Something cute, or a nipple. With all of the macabre pictures in circulation, the top-two pics this morning were three tiger cubs, and two kissing parakeets. Aaaaaww... cute beats dead guy again.

Thank you very much, boo the hacks!

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Check Engine. And... A Note To A Friend.

I know.
I KNOW!
Sad, huh?

Yeah, your life. Sad.
Huh? I know it is. You have no drive, nor direction, which is what traffic reporters call "a stalled vehicle." The rest of us have to go around you. The least you could do is catch on fire so we have something to look at while you try and hold everything up.

Don't worry, somebody will be along to get you started again soon. You probably just need an oil change or some new plugs. Check the interior, too. You are likely leaking again. This time of the year does that to some.

You need to lay off the horn, though. That is old news. One note, that's all you got under the hood. One. Note. And it's off-key.

The best part, though, is that you never seem to pay attention to your own warning lights. Gas, oil, temp, battery.

For someone that concerned about paint jobs, it's odd that you can't see your own dings. Maybe best to stay out of the brighter lights, then. That will keep you from ever hearing about them. Or about how much better you could be running, if you would just have that maintenance handled.
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Hey, I know you don't always do this, but could you blog something? You're a writer, and a great one at that, so USE IT.
Some folks may see Blogs as superfluous, useless, pointless.

I see mine, and yours, as an outlet, a creation, the End Result of Talent. Why the hell would we read and retain and work on it, if not to share it?
So you can shit on everyone else's work? that would be easier, huh? produce nothing, complain about everything, but then you'd be an asshole like the asshole in that previous thing up theres.

Hurry up widdit. Asshole.
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The Hitchin' Post, Part 2: Eloping Begins To Look Better

Alicia and I have begun to look at venues that think they could adequately host our "to-be-legendary-if-not-causing-new-statutes-to-be-passed" Wedding Reception. I think a better way to say it is that we have begun to look at places that we will not be having the reception. When I was 23 and looking for apartments, anything that had parking close to the door and on-site laundry was worth my pro-rating a security deposit I would never see again. Sometimes, you just have to see how well the seal on the bathroom door would hold, you know, in case a monster made of Grape Jell-O and Old Crow whiskey were to come up out the tub drain. And as a health tip, do NOT drink wine you left in your car trunk for all of August.

Digression, sorry. I beg your pardon.

Yesterday we looked in-depth at one venue. I got to do two of my favorite things: Find new material, and make other people nervous as I glanced around the room before furiously scribbling on a notepad. We attended an Open House, and this is where the good stuff starts happening. Substitute the word "Free" for "Good," and I think you will see why it was smart of me to not where sweatpants to the event. Besides the fact that I do not own a pair, they would have revealed my "excitement" at the amount of gratis items. FREE SHIT, is what I'm talkin'! Gore-met chocolates, the finest cheeses (including goat), a hosted bar, and breads with herbs INSIDE THE BREAD. Also, a gorgonzola/pear-stuffed flank steak roll, served by a man with one hand.

Yes, he had one hand. He, being the guy in charge of the cutting duties of said meat, well, he would have to do SOMETHING to handle those duties, right? It may sound cruel, but if you were a chef and had one hand, wouldn't you think it a wise move to have an Inspector Gadget-like kitchen utensil prosthetic?
BECAUSE THAT GUY DID! Where his hand once was, there was a replaceable chef's knife! He made the best of his situation. He goes on the Hero board.

With my focus on issues such as the number of hands on the service staff, or what kind of free stuff I was NOT getting (skimpy goat cheese balls!), Alicia had the duties of perusing the various weddingly accoutrements. When a couple does this, usually it is by flipping through a picture book of the vendor's work at other weddings, and therefore, we got to see other people's wedding photos. And that's when the REAL judging begins.

But let's not get there just yet. The place we looked at, while lovely, isn't right for what we are planning. One venue's "rustic" is another couple's "chipped paint and easily-clogging toilets." It is now that I must remind each of us, including you, and you, not you, you , the two of you, you're not included, and ... YOU, yes, right there in the silver hot-pants... Know What You Want. That makes the rest of it easier. Decisions can be made much more quickly, and your options magnify themselves when you are fully aware of what you desire.

So, this weekend, we are off to look at more places to not have a reception at. Before I am too hasty, however, I should refer to my list, have my questions ready, and not act until I feel I am leaving with a properly-kissed ass. These people are going to be working hard and I should give each of them a fair shot of impressing me with their assortment of free stuff and knife-handed kitchen commanders.

VIVE LE CHEVRE!

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Were We Taken

I am not one much for conspiracy theories. I have never, however, believed that the lives lost on September 11, 2001, were taken solely by the actions of terrorists.

Every move.
Every thought.
Every plan.
Every flight lesson.
Every pass through metal detectors.

All of it done in America, under the noses of our governmental bodies. And they never knew of it. We had no warnings. They were just too smart, too sophisticated. They killed thousands.

Over 3,000 people died.
If you want to wonder how the terrorists did it, WATCH THIS VIDEO.
It runs over one hour. You will be amazed, if not sickened, when you aren't outraged.

At some point, you will probably say...
"There is just no way."

If you have seen the M. Night Shyamamaammalalana film "The Village," you know about paranoia, fear, closing ranks, and how leaders can create it all under the guise of "security." The best defense is a good offense. Go to them before they come to us. That will get pricey. Well, War is good for business. Everyone comes out a hero.

I am pro-America, in spirit, at all times.

When you have time, watch the video. Or don't. Watch something else.
I often wish I had, because I will never be the same after watching it.

God?
Bless America?
Please?
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