SICC Finals #1: WAC'ed Out

We all got through night 1 of the Seattle International Comedy Competition (SICC) last night at the Washington Athletic Club (WAC), in front of 117 white people (WASP), 10 Asian people (AP), and some of the help (MEX).

We are the last 5 of 32 who began this whole thing on Halloween Night in Kirkland.
The points are all that matter this week. As always, placing is about ego. Just gotta go out and do the set and have FUN. Some guys struggle at this time. I was totally in my element. I felt like I was in a club, able to get a pace and rhythm going.

So here were the scores for the first night:
5th = Leif (The Striking Viking) Skyving
T-3 = Tony (The Boss) Boswell & Geoff (Gas) Lott
2 = Marcus (Monster)
1 = Key (Lockdown) Lewis

We were all less than .25 apart, with .02 btwn 2nd & 3rd, and .11 btwn 1st and 3rd.
The response from the audience didn't reflect in all scores, which is my snarky way of saying I felt I had a better set than one judge scored me (quite low compared to other judges).


So that's that, we're underway. Afterwards, in the limo on the way to the W, the event coordinator's twin sisters told us all the story of when they got matching bikini-line tattoos. It was pretty fun. The W also charged me $9.50 for a Jameson on the rocks, so that won't happen again. BUT, much Love to Tad at the bar for his charcuterie. You got good meat, Tad. I almost didn't make it home last night, but eventually I got out of that hot tub, said good night to Barack, Salma, Reese, Mel B., J-Tims, and Tony, and had our driver get me home.

This morning I had Raisin Bran. Tonight we head to Vashon Island, and I'm excited to perform there. Also, I left my bike there last year and I need to go get it.

Tomorrow, for Thanksgiving, there's a special show at Laughs Comedy Spot, which has hosted 2 nights of the SICC. Tomorrow night's show will feature at least a few of the guys from the Finals, and the ever-hilarious Brad Upton.

Time to dance. Peace.



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But Where Does The Hate Go?

Just now I got a call from something at 206-683-49##. If you really want it, or they harrass me, I'll post the whole thing here and we'll have a field day.

Not recognizing the #, I answered with "Good evening, this is Geoff."
And I was greeted with...

"Hu-luh?"

I think that was a slack-jawed attempt at a "hello" or possibly a "hola." Maybe a "Helen?"

Then I said, again, "Hello, this is Geoff."

And was greeted with a "Uh blamba da miamo fublabama Mike?" No friggin' clue what else it was there.

So that was likely...

1. A person of foreign nationality with little to no grasp of the English language.
2. A person of undetermined nationality with little to no grasp of the fact that they are having a massive stroke.
3. Doug.
4. A kid making the lamest prank phone call in the world.
5. All of the above.
6. Somebody experiencing severe intoxication from inhaling their own flatulence all day.

Regardless, having had a long and illustrious career of prank phone calls, including the infamous "Hey, uh, I'm pretty sure I left my condoms under your bed. Oh wait, is this Karen's mom?!!?!?", the prank call has been demolished by Caller-ID, Call Tracing, and rising handgun ownership.

Parents? Kids? Education system? Crank Yankers? Somebody must be hated at for this idiocy. I really don't have time for it, either.

I have hate backed up to like March at this point. Maybe I'll just call 'em back and F with 'em from work. Sweet.

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SICC 'em

Last night was the final show of the SemiFinals in Rochester.
Huge room. About 750 people. Flat, like a room you could have bingo, squaredancing, and/or tractor auctions in.

I'm just gonna get to the meat and give details later...

I AM IN THE FINALS OF THE SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL COMEDY COMPETITION, 2007!

That's Marcus, Key Lewis, Leif Skyving, our MC this week - John McClellan, Tony Boswell, and Geoffrey Lott.

I had a couple of great sets, but mostly just steady and consistent and knocking it out from venue to venue. I stayed true to my form, my jokes, and myself. Got rattled once in the 2 weeks, and had way more fun this time around.

I gotta get outta here, because we're going to the Seahawks game and we wanna tailgate.
I'll write more for ya later. Details, dirt, snark, critiques, fashion reports.



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SICC'th Sense

Just a quick note for y'all...

I'm hammering my way through the Seattle International Comedy Competition. It's a big deal in the comedy world, in that the last few winners all have been on TV, gone on tour with big acts, and are generally well-respected and $5,000 richer at the end of it all.

First round I just plowed through, I stayed consistent and made the judges wake up and come to me, having good and great sets each time.

This week I've had issues, and I'm trying to put 'em behind me. It's all my own "Stuff" because I won't concern myself with a numerical value placed on my ability and material for stand-up comedy by somebody who just got off a double at the Swifty Lube. It's all blustery and fun and these comics are awesome, and I've learned a lot.

Right now my key point is to chill out. I have to just do my comedy, not worry about all kinds of things I need to run around doing, and get that little niggling voice out of my head. The one that says "If you make it to the Finals, that's another week of driving, work hours missed, time with Alicia just GONE, gas money... and you probably won't win the whole thing."

You know that one? That's the one that is really saying "it's better to just say "good enough" right here and let the others move on."

But it ain't good enough anymore. Not for me. I love this too much. I have too much fun up there to just step off and let somebody else hack their way to a lead. I'm going to go do the stuff I'm known for and let it happen how it's supposed to happen. And play as many mindgames as I can to make the Finals!

More to come as news warrants...
LIVE FUNNY

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The Gaul Of Some People

Dealing the past 3 days with some of the client relationship folks in our France office. I say "France" instead of "French" because an office itself cannot be French, unless it's smoking and snooty and blaming others for its misshapen shoulders.

The France office Frenchpeoples, or "Fraunch," were telling a number of their clients to use "product x." Turns out, they were telling them the wrong thing altogether, and wondering why our customers weren't able to use Product X!

They should have told them to "use the code associated with Product X," like using the Key to start the car, instead of the name of the car.
The response back from the contact there in France?
"I wish somebody would have told me earlier.(sad face icon)"

In checking my email, I saw that I told them to use the codes I sent, not the product name. Then I thought to myself, "Golly-jee! Our folks in France sure have a funny way of saying they screwed up and f'ed a bunch of work up and caused a lot of panic for other people because they don't read their messages!"

So all I can really do is shake my handsome head, shrug my brawny shoulders, accept that not everyone has a full catalog of business ettiquette, and turn the other way the next time a marauding gang marches over the border into Alsace.

Foie gras dans vous yeux! Or whatever. Thanks for the onion soup. Grow a manner.

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That SICC'ening Feeling

I was in 5th place going into the last night's show, not 4th place. Some math problems in Bellingham made that possible. I didn't care. It honestly did not affect me. Everyone else came up to me saying "DUDE, you're not in 4th! What now? Aren't you pissed off?"
But heck, I knew what I could do in the homebase of the Comedy Underground.

So I went up 3rd, calm and commanding in my head, loving the moment of being there to entertain make people laugh, and I, ahem...
Kicked ass.

Came in 2nd for the night (Andy "Dream Crush" Haynes went undeniably into 1st with a great set), and secured the 3rd of 5 spots for the week. I'll move onto the semifinals next week!

For more in-depth editorializing and somewhat overdramatization of the emotions of the entire contest, go see www.SeattleComedy.net, written by Wisconsin-to-Seattle's very own Peter Greyy.

And see some recent less-fat pics of me there, also. I have to go help my sister move now. I'll write more about other stuff another time.

On to Walla Walla and Whitman College on Tuesday, 11/13!
11/16, I wanna see your hotclogs in Kirkland, at Laughs Comedy Spot, Precious.

Seriously though, love you guys.
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You Gotta Be SICC To Do This

I'm back in the saddle for the Seattle International Comedy Competition, or SICC, the month-long comedy contest that is judged by nearly nobody who knows anything about comedy whatsoever. In other words, judged by your average comedy-goer.

Comedy is whatever's funny. Funny is subjective. Judging is fun! I'll fill in details later, but here's how it's going so far...

1st Night, 10-31-07: I had a great set but F'ed up my closing bit, took 6th place.
Turns out, the scoring for that night kind of f'ed a lot of people. Here's why.
One of the judges scored everyone pretty low until the 5. 4 of those 5 got perfect scores, which is reeeeeeeeeally rare. Those 4 also placed in the top 5 for the night, places 1-4. So their scores were already pretty good, but that one judge's "oh well" attitude screwed the other 12 comedian's scores. Those comics had good sets, very funny stuff, but not THAT MUCH better than everyone else. Just my o-pining, of course.

But that's how it goes in these things. You never know who will be judging or how they'll score it or what they'll think is appropriate for the crowd. A room full of 400 people could love you. 3 of 4 judges could love you. 1 person could tank you. And your score drops, and you're out of the running. That's what the comics put ourselves through for this competition.

But at the end of the week, it's about consistently-good performances, being likeable and accessible, and above all, being Funny.

2nd Night, 11-01-07: I took 4th place. Haven't had a really tight set yet, that 5min35sec amazer that causes the other comics to either decide they're going to up their game or watch me run away. But I had a decent set. Not fantastic. Good. I'd say it was an 89 of 100. I scored the previous night's set about a 91, and had I hit my closer, that would have been 100. But there's another set tonight.

3rd Night, 11-02-07: I go FIRST tonight, a spot that most comics DREAD. I would, too, if I weren't funny. If I stunk. If I hadn't opened the show at the Paramount a year ago and killed. So tonight is a perfect setting. Step up and deliver, Lott.

I'll post more later. Details. Gory and weird. Conversations. For real, yo.

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An Anthem For The Nations

Watching the NFL game from London yesterday... the game was, I wasn't watching it from London... they sang the anthems-national of both America and England.

The English National Anthem, or whatever they call it in their language, is "God Save The Queen." This is a great reason to have seceded from all things British, in that they are demanding that God step in to save the Queen above all other people. And the tune it is sung to is the same tune AMERICANS use for "My Country 'tis Of Thee."

My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountainside,
Let freedom ring!

But our national anthem, "The Star Spangled Banner," is about our flag and what it stands for, namely the triumph over an oppressive nation, England. And all others that oppress America, like America, f'r'instance. What a sneaky little thing we did there, singing our big F-You about our ramparts in the white, soggy belly of the beast.

Good thing we beat those British, too.
Otherwise, heck, we'd all be speaking English.

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NEW BLOG SOON!

Hey gang...

like I wrote previously, Google's got their heads in their stockprice-rich asses so far they have completely renarded their technology...

therefore, since they can't figure it out over there to get my accounts matched up so I can advertise FOR THEM on this page, I'm going to another blog tool soon.

I'll leave a note here when the other's ready to go.
In the meantime, go take a Tylenol PM and have a glass of pinot noir and enjoy the ride down the slide of relaxation.

By the way earlier tonight I took a cocktail of 2 Lipitor, 1 Xanax, and 1/2 of a Cialis, or as it's called on the streets, "The Hefner." I feel like I'm in the Lost & Found at Victoria's Secret modeling school.

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Communication Degree, part 1

TV was on, so I came in and MUTED it for a second.
It had been on most of the day, as I went room to room with laundry or what-not, and the NFL provided a nice soundtrack. I was busy all day. All day.
All F'ing day.

Wife, in the kitchen, had returned from a quick trip East for wine re-con, returned with 3 botts I can't wait to go belly-first into. DE-LISH.

So I MUTE the teev, and say "aaah, quiet, that's nice."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean the quiet, it's nice, it's a nice break to have a little quiet."

"So, what, I'm making all the noise?"

"No, it's just nice to have the quiet. Which now we don't have, ironically."

"I wasn't making all the noise, I was watching a TV show."

"I know (head spinning at the ridiculousness of this)... "

Long story short, I love PERSPECTIVE. It is the litmus, the acid-test of a moment. Feel good and recognize it? Because you've felt bad before, that's why, so enjoy it.

Sun warming your back? Because you've been cooled by the shadows, is why.

Brain and body feel calmer with the peace and quiet? Because the constant noise of the TV and the commercials was vibrating in you at an unpleasant frequency, that's why.

And I couldn't even have that. I wasn't allowed to. I had to explain myself.
I had to explain why I liked the quiet. I had to talk, outloud, about my feelings about the QUIET.
I had to zombie-stomp what I needed in order to explain why I needed it, justifying my need for it while it resounded in the ears of the person who couldn't underF'ingstand why I would need it, and why, for the love of Manilow... I WOULD DARE EXPRESS MY FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

Next time I need to say something, I'm gonna do the right thing, and keep my mouth shut.


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For The Ladies

A few weeks back, almost two now, I was in a house full of nearly all the women of my family tree. We were at the home of a friend for my sister's wedding rehearsal dinner, all in town for the big day. Gathered up for the din-din were Ellen (bro-in-law's mom), My Grandma Sunny, Aunt Judy (dad's sister from Georgia), my Mom, Aunt Sandy, Aunt Sue, Carol (brother-in-law's sister), cousin Julie (also from Georgia), Katie (hermana), cousin Sonya, my amazing wife Alicia, cousin Jenny, Journey (Julie's daughter), and Dakota (Sonya's daughter). Also there were the ladies of the graciously-hosting family, including Gay, Tammi, Kim, and Grace.

Four generations of women 'round the Lott/Rider/Hennessey tree. Three 'round the Fout's. A little bit after dinner, I looked around the room and got choked up, like the big baby I can be when I realize a Life moment. The room was full of, literally, hundreds of years of life and lessons and stories and love. Kids. Kid's kids. Mother's mothers. It may never happen again in my life so I took stock of it.

In that room were the strongest women I've ever met. The most Faithful, Intelligent, Loving, Gracious, Funny women I have spent time around. Dynamic and yet normal. Realized and Optimistic.

Wives. Ex-wives. Wives-to-be.
Mothers. Grandmothers. Great Grandmothers. And those "to-be."
Caregivers of ailing husbands. Caregivers of ailing children.
Teachers. Students.
Survivors of addiction.
Survivors of divorce.
Survivors of breast cancer.
Survivors of the weight of Life.

And they have each come through the stories of their lives with tales to tell. We all sat and smild and laughed and moved around the room to send more time with each other. I didn't get to make the toast that I had wanted to make, the timing of the weekend all seemed a bit accelerated.

So I'll make it now:

Your strength is a cornerstone, your love the mortar, and your wisdom the roof. It is our blessing as men that you grace our lives, and that we may work to provide and protect you in our words and deeds. We become better men because of the amazing women you are. Thank you for your presence, your gifts, and your grace.


Thank you all for all you are. This blog can't do justice to all you've been through in your lives, and how strong you all are to this day. I am blessed to share love, family, blood, and stories with you. I would totally give you a kidney. Maybe even mine.

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We Can All Agree On Food That's Free

In the kitchen at work, which has two vending machines and - if you're quick - a "surprise buffet" known as a refrigerator, there are some randomly-donated food items.

Somebody left a plastic freezer-bag full of "snack mix" on the counter for general consumption. Made almost entirely from cereal, it features multicolored rings of cereal, chex-type cereals, and cranberries.

Those dark spots are the cranberries. It's fuzzy because I was stifling a Vomiggle, a cross between throwing up and vomiting.
This picture was taken at 2pm. This bag's been countertopped since the morning.

Free Food.
Workplace.
No way should this have gone so long.

I work in a very diverse work environment, with people from as far away as Iowa. But this attempt at sharing should be pointed out as a shameful excuse for emptying the cupboards. Either somebody's kid is wondering where all the breakfast went, or somebody's kid just got their car-seat cleaned out.

Chex -like cereal, which I tend to love.
Frooty Loops, which I understand the appeal of.
Cranberries, fantastic through the mid 1990s before faltering around 1999. Did we have to let them linger?

So let me explain this to you, in case you're thinking of "brightening up" the workplace with a donation of free nibbles.

DO THE RIGHT THING...
Candy. Chocolate. Cake, Pre-Cut. Pizza, always good. Donuts will rocket you to sainthood in Accounts Payable.

Just a primer. People are pigs, they'll eat what's there even if you dropped a donut, sprinkles-down in baby diapers. Just run it under the Purell and eat up. Don't drop the randomly assembled burnt popcorn, lime Tootsie Rolls, and a barrette in the breakroom and then pat yourself on the ass for a job barely noticed.

What a shameful attempt at impromptu workplace catering. That second handful tasted terrible.

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The Family News! A Final Blogger Blog

Dearest, dearest Dear Reader...

This will be my final Blogger Blog. I'll be moving on to another blogging tool soon due to some technical BS on the administrative/technical side of Blogger's workings. Long-story short, there's a way to synch this up with some adverts and get some extra cheddar for it. Google, the owner of Blogger, can't seem to do anything about a small snafu in my account, however, because, golly... they can't really say "WHY," it just ain't to workin'!

So this will be my final Blogger post, right on the 500 mark for those who're counting.

I'll keep my blog about my Dad, and this will always be up and running and I'll do whatever I must to keep it alive for future generations to learn about life from. But for now, I must give y'all the following update. It's a great one!
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October 6, 2007
That will forever be my sister Katie's anniversary day, the say she married Brian, one of the best, funniest, sweetest men I've ever met. With highest praise, he reminds me of my dad in many ways. I will keep too much information off the pages here, out of respect for their privacy, but I hope their matching "K&B LOVEMACHINE" tattoos are healing up nicely.

It is with deepest congrats and some extra cash that I welcome Katie & Brian among the Married Couples we love. So guys, any kids in the plans or what?!?!?!

It was great to be on the outside of the wedding so that I could get some extended family time in, also.
My parents-in-law couldn't make it due to illness, so that was a bummer. I hope my Smother-In-Law Stacey feels better soon. Dang that expired banana bread!

I did get some quality talk with the Brad unit, Diana, The JJ Vanderlaans, S-Harmon & Dakota1 representing the Michigan peeps. Very impressive group of people there, the kind that, were I not related to, I'd try and adopt-in to the family.

Aunts Judy, Sandy, and Sue were all wonderful to see again, I have a really incredibly fun family tree. This was the 2nd Seattle/Wedding trip for Judy and Sue this year, and I realized how much I enjoy hanging out with my family. Good stock in the genes.

My cousin Julie also made the trip West, a lovely sight after nearly 2 decades gone. And of course, her daughter, my 1st-Favorite-2nd-Cousin Journey racked up another 6,200 frequent flier miles before her 12th birthday. The kid's got plans!

My Grandma Sunny is also in the midst of it all, as spry as ever. I see a number of dinners coming our way with Sunny telling us to "get it together, hey." Hopefully it'll be at an I-talian restaurant.

My Mom, Pam, well hey, there isn't a more impressive person in my life lately. She really is a model of Grace, Love, Patience, and Hospitality. I may have to switch it up with her soon, get Grandma off mom's hands for a while. Totally happy to do that, as long as Sunny is consistent with the $20 per diem.

My wife, Alicia, of course, is the backbone of the quickly-growing Lott Empire. We've been taking financial planning classes at our church and it's about the most calming thing we've done as a couple, except the couple's massage on the deck of the cabana in Hawaii on our honeymoon. I married well, and I married smart. And I married beautiful. And awesome. And the right woman for me.

So that's about it. I have a lot to cover in my next blog, up next week, and I will post all the news here for you when that's ready.

In the meantime, if you know anybody who wants a sitcom, joke, comedy, or script writer, let me know. I've got skillz, baby.

Love you. Goodnight, Blogger. It's not me, it's Google.

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Blog 499... Takin' Care Of Bees-nest

Every now and again, you hear a story about a guy who had a problem with something and the extreme measures he took to rectify the issue.

Booby-traps, gender-reassignment, potato gun, whatever it was, the guy's legend grew each time the story was told.

With the advent of digital photography and people needing attention, the legends can stand on their own merits.

And so, I bring you...

SAVING THE APARTMENT COMPLEX SWINGSET FROM A BEE INFESTATION!



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At A Loss For Words

Lately, I feel like I've been nothing if not consistently good at making molehills into mountains, and then hiking into those mountains, getting wine-drunk and throwing a torch into the underbrush to set that mountainside alight. Then I say something like “Oh man, I can totally clean this up.” I’m not afraid of taking my medicine, I’m just sick of feeling like I should be on meds.

The past two shows I’ve done have been lackluster. They have a luster quotient not being totally fulfilled. I feel like I get to a point where I lose the audience, and that’s just not something I can put on the crowd. When a room full of people aren’t laughing, they aren’t laughing about the same thing; Me. So I gotta figure some crap out.

Here are some things I’ve been doing that may be turning audiences off:

1. I’m too quiet
2. I’m too loud
3. I’m too expressive, and therefore they think I’m being “fake”
4. I’m not expressive enough, and they think I’m phoning it in
5. My material is too smart
6. My material is too dumb
7. My material is immaterial
8. My performance is too low-energy
9. I’m too high-energy
10. I suck.
11. I am going too fast.
12. I am going too sloooooow.
13. UNLUCKY!
14. Something, I can't tell what, but you know, it's like, there's a THING and OH DAMN, if I could draw it there'd be like a brick on it and it would be like, There ya go, but you can't just draw it... CRAP...

So I’ll work on figuring out what the hell I’m doing and get it dialed in. I have shows this week, and heading into November I gotta be on my game for the Seattle Comedy Competition.

Personally, I think I'm starting slowly and not defining myself from the moment I get on-stage. I've learned more about who I am since I started comedy than I ever did in any relationship I was in, not to mention the therapy that followed it. So I'll keep working at it, and hopefully the audiences will keep being kind of nice and laughing.

I am happy that I’m upset that I’m not doing better, however. I think the day I quit caring about how I do on-stage will be too many days AFTER I should have said “Thank you, and good night” for the last time. If I’m not getting laughs, I’m not getting the job done, and that’s just not fair to the 60 and Older crowds I’m playing to these days.

This was a very, very unfunny entry. Sorry.

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I may lose a few of you by posting these videos.
That's not my intent. My intent is to share things that come to me from all over the place, ideas and sources and flat-out TRUTHS. If a politician says ABC and then says a month later that they never said ABC, guess what?
It's all on videotape now, and it's time to check our facts, and check our sources, and check our politicians on their words.

I'm outraged that people believe that standing on a street-corner on a Saturday afternoon holding a sign that everyone agrees with the message of, is the equivalent of "doing something." I'm about to careen into those fuckers.

Quick, somebody call the President and say "8 people in Lake Forest Park are upset, and their wearing socks with sandals! We gotta stop this waaarrr!"

Did They Lie?


This one is for all of us...
There's a moment in this video where you may wonder "Why am I watching these lions bring down a water-buffalo calf?" HANG IN THERE, for about 30seconds.


Things you can do:
Stop watching the local news channels.
Give 10% of your money to a charitable cause.
Watch more than just one cable news channel.
Laugh more.
Give your friends a card this Christmas that says you donated the money you were gonna spend on their gift to a charity. Then get them drunk, they'll appreciate both gestures.
Exercise a little more.
Stop taking it all so seriously. Sometimes, it's okay to just sit there and play 4 hours of Madden and then masturbate and take a nap. But don't make it an every day thing.
Vote. A lot. Every time you can.


You are, afterall, a Human Being. And what is peddled as Absolute Truth and Life Is This Way Because The News Said So is an assault on all things Good and Right in our lives.

ST0P
WATCHING
THE
NEWS
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My Friend Fahim Anwar's Hilarious Video

I had to give props and direct you to my friend Fahim Anwar's video, "Preparing For An Afghan Wedding."
Fahim is from the Seattle area, is a great comic and very good engineer for Boeing. Now in the Los Angeles/Long Beach area, Fahim put this together for everyone's delight.

Even if you've never been to an Afghan wedding, you can relate to the fantasticality of this 5minute 36second funtacular. Grab yourself some Korma Sabzee and enjoy!

Afghan Wedding

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Seattle to LA to Seattle to Vancouver, BC to Happiness

In the last 2 days, or 48 hours for the stat freaks, I put myself through the following:
1,277 miles.
3 airplanes.
1 hair-gelled clown-ass "Business Guy."
14 minutes of comedy.
10 of my favorite comics, and now "people," in 100 square feet of minglin' space.
2 totally different atmospheres.
1 lesson to be sussed out and absorbed later.

How and where you ask?

With the magic of mirrors.
And behind the refrigerator, I answer. These are, of course, answers to questions you will ask me in the future, but I've already answered them to save time.

So let's talk about my trip. And it wasn't travel, it was a trip.

Tuesday morning I flew to Los Angeles to take part in the California Comedy Festival. I was invited to perform at the Hollywood Improv along with 11 other comics, part of a "contest" format for the audience and some judges to vote for and advance their favorites.

I took unpaid time off of work to go do this. Because it's the Improv, that's why. Because I needed to do it, that's why. And there was the hoping hint of "industry" being in the house, like agents and managers and players. There were managers. Of retail. There were players. Of the "drugged girlfriend" kind. There were agents. On the phone from afar, a great guy I had already made contact with a while back who couldn't make it. And another big-namer in the comedy world who left prior to my show. But hey, it happens.

Not complaining at all, because this was a shot to go showcase in LA for SOMEBODY, I hoped. There were some great performers there, but I think some of us, perhaps THIS GUY (thumbs pointed at me), missed an email or an idea. I was chosen for the "Comedy From The Edge" group, the Light Blue gang who can pretty much let it all hang out, but still not get ridiculous or raunchy for the sake of raunch. Bottom line, I was surprised at how tame some of the other sets were in my group. Tame, lame, or boring, you pick it, but I had hoped somebody would knock a sock loose. FFFFRZZT, nothin'.

Oddly enough, I had chosen to do ONLY material that I have proven through research and DOING IT ON STAGE to have a reputation as FUNNY AS SH*T. At the Improv on Melrose. So I was ready to strap it up and lower a shoulder, deliver a set that would at LEAST get me a free friggin' JagerBomb.

I think I got laughs on 70% of the material, 40% of THAT did very well, and 10% of the Very Well was EXCELLENT. The other stuff, and I'll have to watch the tape to confirm, was either totally F'ed up by me (I inexcusably flubbed one line in a very comfortable bit, my fault), or spoken in such a way as to alienate the audience. It may have been where I said "You guys make sure you only eat healthy, organic bullets, you f*cking RO-TARDS." That was only in my head, of course.

I also blame the crowd for some of it. Front table had a few ladies who were among the top 2% of Gorgeous, and one woman who was a professional killer of fun times. I felt empathetic for her, being dragged far from home to sit in a room where people were trying to entertain a room full of people OTHER than her, and maybe that annoyed her and her bad hair and caused her to sit... FRONT ROW... with arms folded. For 95% of the show. The rest of the room, I could see them laughing, but not really hear them.

But I performed decently, I'd score myself a B- at best, and I was chosen to move on to the next round. That's NEXT week all over the LA and Orange Counties!

SUMMARY: I performed at the Improv on my own money, time, and hustle. Were it not for my lovely wife getting my ass to get my press kit to UPS on time, I wouldn't have made the trip down. Totally worth it. Met some really great comics and people, and probably pissed them off by not mentioning their names and how great they were and how they've never made a bad sandwich. But really, why would I say nice things about Kara Walden, Mark Serritella, Rick Kunkler, Rick Younger, and Dave Becky when you already know they are lovely? Yes, I said Rick Kunkler.

Got to chat with Marc Maron, one of my all-time faves, and with Tracy Tuffs, another one of my all-time faves as a comic and person. He'll be all over Seattle in the next week, so go see him! He's awesome.

Flew back to Seattle the next morning after about 45min to 1hour of sleep. It just wasn't takin' hold, I was too wired from the show.
At the airport, new issue. Got in line for the mad rush, about 50th of 75. Light load = STRETCH OUT TIME! SLEEPY TIME TO OAKLAND!
I get to the gate and mistakenly hand the agent my boarding pass for Oakland, not LAX, as I had a layover in Oaktown. So I step to the side for 3 seconds, or about 2 more passengers to go by so that I... and this is very important...
DON'T HOLD THE F*CK UP THE F*CKING LINE AND LIVES OF OTHER PEOPLE.

Crazy, I know. I step back in line, having already paid my dues by waiting in the right spot for 45 minutes, and begin to hand the agent the correct boarding pass when I hear a voice behind me say - in a voice best described as "this guy is aaaaall business, me, I get things done..." - he says just loud enough that I MIGHT hear him;
"What's wrong with THIS line?"

I think a second, and decide that it's too much energy to deal with that guy.
But I'm also too tired to let go of shit slung from a guy who slings but rarely takes, judging from the gel in his hair. So I say, calmly...
"Oh, I was in line ahead of you for an hour, I just grabbed my layover pass, had to grab the right one. I'm hope there are still seats."
That sounds harsher than it came out, and I'm sorry. It should have had at least one "c*cksucker" it. But somebody had to learn a lesson, and by the grace of God, it wasn't gonna be me.
When's the last time he decided to go rhetorical on a stranger, and the stranger called him on it? Last I saw of him, he was personifying "khaki" while grabbing his briefcase.

I got about an hour of sleep on the plane I got back into Seattle around 1pm on Wednesday, and had to act like I was awake enough to drive alone to Canada. I always sleep well in the car, so I was looking forward to the drive North for my show at the...

VANCOUVER COMEDY FESTIVAL!
If you don't believe me, look HERE.
Holy CRAP my bio is lame.

I'll skip the antics and give you these details, because if I don't go to bed soon I'm pretty sure I'll forget how to sleep.

I got off the elevator in the Georgian Court Hotel, a twill and velvet embrace of a hotel on Beatty in the 'Couve. First person I see is David Cross. Yes, THAT David Cross.
David.
F*cking.
Cross.
#8 in my Top 10 Comics I Don't Know But are Awesome. Amazingly cool guy, just funny and cool the way one would hope somebody you admire would be. But cooler. And funnier. Got to watch him perform.

I performed at Yuk Yuk's in Vancouver. GREAT Club, and you should visit them when you get to Vancouver, BC. Matthew is a fantastic manager, the staff and crew were great, and I'm angling to get back in there for a weekend soooon.

Performed with Pilcher, Barth, and Brousseau. Loved every second of it. Somebody threw in a side of Sigurdson, Clark, and Dixon. It was spoiling. Two-hand-shovel that into my face anytime you wanna. They should all get more publicity and heat, these are some funny-ass people. Sorry if I forgot your names, Toby and Foxx. I was hanging out too awesomely to watch your whole set(s).

Duane Goad continues to impress me as a comedian and funny guy and cool dude to hang out with. But as a man who dresses himself, um... yeah, we get it. You're "professional."

Went to another show and as I'm milling about the balcony, DAVID CROSS comes out to perform. Watched it, loved it. Satire gets almost no better than David Cross.

So it can't get better, I get ready to get outta there and PAUL F. TOMPKINS comes out to perform. I have never seen him live, and HOLY CRAP, amazing. That guy just OWNS it, waaaaaay too funny.
Had Goad almost on the floor, and Goad only laughs at Tracy Tuffs and when I eat it.




Getting ready to leave then, tired, over it and HOLY CRAP you are NOT going to bring Marc Maron out to perform. Yes you are. So THAT's why Maron left the Improv so early the night before. Again, humbling and real and worth missing sleep for.

Saw THIS GUY's ass. Don't worry, it wasn't anything weird. It was all normal, in the street like usual. Very hetero.

Back to the hotel, we go to the "Lounge Party" for a drink. A. Drink. One. Too tired to deal with it, ya know? 4 hours of sleep, including what I got in the car on the drive up.




Well that idea lasts about 15min when Cross, Todd Glass, Tompkins and some other people I mentioned all come in, post-show-we-were-at. There is NOTHING more fun than post-show hanging with comedians. You will never laugh harder if you're in the right mood. This was the right mood.

I went to bed about 1:30, slept about 2 hours total, got up at 5:30 and headed back to my day-job.

SUMMARY!
I missed my wife a lot on this trip. I am sure I married the right woman.
I met and hung out with some of my favorite comedians.
I performed at two of the biggest clubs in North America.
I performed with some of my best comedy friends.
In 24 hours, I went from feeling like a Road Dog to the opening act of a really popular comic.
I loved every second of it.
I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed tonight.
I am thankful, happy, blessed, and lucky to be doing what I love to do.

I cannot thank these people enough, so please support them and their endeavors:
Dave and Angela for hosting the showcase that got me to Vancouver at the best club to come along in a long time;
Laura and Will at Destination Funny for their work in getting us Americans into BC for the festival, and organizing a GREAT week of comedy;
Everyone at Destination Funny for organizing a festival dedicated to MAKING PEOPLE LAUGH. I metaphysically have loved you all;
Canadian Government and Citizens for having a budget spent on the Arts each year, allowing us to stay in a PHATAZZ hotel - The Georgian Court - and entertain you lovelies;

TK and Will at the Cali Comedy Festival for their efforts to pull it all off, I hope it swings big for you guys!;

and last but not least...

You, family and friends and readers and fans of me and of comedy and of my comedy, for your support and teasing and being yourselves and taking time to be at shows or read this or say "yo." If it weren't for you, I'd perform to empty rooms, and love it not nearly as much as when you laugh. Your laughter makes me happy.

I quit.

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In A Rage Over 'Roids

Vince McMahon, the owner of professional wrestling, is again about to crack-down on steroid and drug use in his entertainment sport. It’s not a “real” sport, mind you. It’s a circus of body-building caricatures of men and women who sacrifice their bodies to advance story lines and drama to people who are out of shape emotionally and financially. I was once very much into professional wrestling. That was about 14 years ago.

I’ll cut through the crap here and get to the opinion part of this Op-Ed piece:

Professional Wrestlers should be forced to used steroids, even at low levels. They are there purely to entertain. Steroids are the CGI, the special effects, the Light Sabers and Pixar programming of the human body. I think they should be legalized, but also tested-for in professional sports. If you want to level the playing field, either a full ban where everyone gets tested, and the positives get banned for life, or it’s agreed-upon up to a certain level of use, and anything over certain levels wipes out a player’s season. Kind of like a gun. Given the right to use one, would the right ones use?

Like any drug, ‘roids come with their own pecadilloes. Testicular shrinkage as testosterone rockets through the body. Hairloss in men. Women get more manly in the voice and growing a penis.

Erupting, fertile fields of back acne, or "Bacne".

High cholesterol. “Roid Rage.” Buying every Pantera t-shirt you can find and tearing off the sleeves. And there are some bad things, too. Becoming a Raiders fan, for instance.

But in Pro Wrestling, they went through this in the late 1990s. The wrestlers looked softer and more “normal” and less like the “superhumans” they are marketed as. Attendance lagged like Ric Flair's 61 year-old man boobs. Right now, WWE wrestlers look like they are about to split their skin.

But now, with the onslaught of Mixed Martial Arts, watching a guy take a fake punch from a guy in pink tights is less intriguing than seeing a 200-lb man get put to sleep with a real punch. The Sleeper Hold is nothing compared to a Guillotine Choke. Watch this MMA Kick vs. this WWE Kick, and tell me which made you say “HOLY JAMES EARL JONES” faster.

If you could take a pill or slap on a patch that made your job easier, how fast would you do it? What if the side effect of heavy use was that you would lose your fingernails and really like Nickelback, but moderate use – and taking 10 days off of it every month – meant you’d probably just have bloodier-than-usual stools from time to time? But hell, look at all of your collating and calling and cross-referencing! Like all-world levels. I would double-hand-grab the chalice of enhancement, hit a knee, and glug till I saw daylight through the bottom. While blaring Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer.”

If it’s natural, great, go that way. Nature has a cure for every ailment, except being a total ho-bag. Oh wait, STDs, nevermind. So anywho, where was I…

I don’t really care what happens to WWE. I have no stock – financial or emotional – in the organization. But when it comes to what we as a public wanting to be entertained by athletic feats, in sports real and imagined, remember that those men and women sacrifice a LOT to put on a show for us. Many of them do not live very long after their careers. And last time I checked, steroids and the like were called “performance enhancing” drugs. Two-tenths of a second faster in football. 10-pounds more muscle. 6-inches more vertical height. For Glory. To wear The Belt. For example, had I enhanced my performance with caffeine, this blog wouldn’t have batted .189 and left 2 men on-base.

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Practically Joking

I work in an office with about 7 other people, and on our door is a non-functional security keypad, numbered 0-9 and #. The door is never locked, but the handle doesn’t turn. You just push and it opens.

About 20% of the visitors to our office knock on the door without ever trying to open it. I thought it would be funny to post a code over the vestigial keypad to see if anybody tries to punch it in before entering.

So I posted a 22-digit code with some numbers that look like 1s, 2s, or 7s just to confuse anybody who tries to punch in all 22 digits. The idea is that they’ll look at it and think “Oh, sure” and at least TRY to push the door open.

Somebody today was caught punching in the “code” to get in and get a mug from a co-worker for a post-launch freebie. When she saw him, she told him “Oh, that’s just a joke." To which he frustratedly responded “Well it’s not a good joke. Where are the mugs?” My arms raised in victory.

And thus, I will be razzing this guy from now until my contract runs out. I d0n't know his name but we know each other's faces. I could chalk this up under "being a jerk," but I'd rather put it under "Harmless fun," and reference "lessons, taught."

The moral is, hey, if you can’t laugh at yourself, I will.

LIVE FUNNY!

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Another Way To Create Hatred

The U.S. Travel Safety Administration, which has on a number of occasions allowed me to get harassed and annoyed by any number of people who don't understand that flying is a PRIVILEGE and not a REASON TO NOT SHOWER AND GET DRUNK IN A TANK TOP FOR 5 HOURS WHILE THEIR KIDS FIGHT...

Recently stopped a 7 year-old boy 3 Times because he shared his name with a Pakistani man who was on the "watch" list. Full Article is all up on THIS LINK.

Mind you, I'm all for keeping kids off of planes, but the problem runs much deeper here. Like Rosie O'Donnell back-fat deep.
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EXCERPT!

For seven-year-old Javaid Iqbal, the holiday to Florida was a dream trip to reward him for doing well at school.

But he was left in tears after he was stopped repeatedly at airports on suspicion of being a terrorist.

The security alerts were triggered because Javaid shares his name with a Pakistani man deported from the US, prompting staff at three airports to question his family about his identity.

The family even missed their flight home from the U.S. after officials cancelled their tickets in the confusion. And Javaid's passport now contains a sticker saying he has undergone highlevel security checks.

(the boy's mother) Dr Nadeem said: "The system should cross reference the name, then a date of birth or some other information."

The name Javaid Iqbal was blocked and flagged up as a security alert on each airport's computer system set up by Homeland Security, a US organisation.

A 39-year-old Pakistani man of that name was arrested in New York two months after the terror attack on the World Trade Centre in 2001.

He was never charged with any terrorism offences, although he was convicted of fraud for having false papers and deported.

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To think that I am being soft on terror or softer on children, BITE YOUR TONGUE. I dislike them equally. But eventually there must be a scaling back of the situations so as not to burn images like this into the minds of children from nations filled with people looking for reasons to hate America, Americans, and E! Television.

Javaid Iqbal is 7 years old. I somehow doubt he was leaving New York a few weeks after 9/11/01 with a passport unless, you know, he was freakishly overdeveloped for a one year-old. That would be highly suspicious, and I'd probably Shiite myself.

As somebody who is stopped at Airport Security every single time I go through, (Thank You Nic Frisk and your wayward Harley Sportster, pre-9/11!!!), I can tell you it sucks. And it sucks so much that I plan to make sure that I will always arrive at the airport with enough time to get through security, and have a drink before getting to my gate.

Because when I get to security and they ask me "Would you like a private room?" My answer will always be "Yes." And I will take as much time as is needed to make sure that I am not getting on a plane with any dignity or way to defend myself against a 7 year old.

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BACK CAPS!

We meet people every day who inspire us to do great things, like make fun of them.

This will be the only time I actually come right out and say this, so as to not taint the taste of the tea:
I LOVE SATIRE AND LAMPOONING

There, now we can enjoy the show!


BACKCAPS!!!


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Further Proof That Being Nice To People Is Often Too Difficult

I give everyone a fair chance.

Really, I do. I have few expectations of anybody's behavior, other than thinking that they won't try to hit me or pee on/at me, or at least not until I've paid them.

Sometimes, people just strike you funny. Socially awkward. They call themselves "outdoorsy," while you know they hike a lot because nobody wants them at their party. That sort of thing.

Maybe they say inappropriate things or act in a way that makes other people uncomfortable, squirmy, dumbfounded, or grossed out. They don't see it that way, and nothing is going to turn them around.

Fast forward to now.
Then hit REWIND to about 30min ago.

I sat down at my desk after a brief trip to the kitchen to make a small bag of popping corn, 100-calorie mini-bag of Kettle Corn. Not great, just needed a small nosh before I get on the roads and kill somebody by way of low blood-sugar.

As I get back into my office, a guy, whom we'll call Wordy, is in my seat. I say "Oh hey, I'm back, can I get that from ya?" Very cordial.
He says "Oh sure, just keeping it warm for you."

I jokingly reply "Alriiiight. Weird." I don't know the guy other than a few meetings and emails to and fro.

I sit down with my bag of corn, and he moves to my right with the group he's working with at another desk. I grab a few kernels of corn and start back doing what I was doing at work on MySpace, and believe it or not, that happens at work, too!

About, oh, heck... 2 minutes later, Wordy circles his group, makes his way around me, grabs my bag of popcorn and begins to stick his hand in it. So I say "Uh, you're not going to put your uninvited hand in my popcorn, right?"

His response?
"Hey, I'm giving you material! How are you gonna write blah blah blah..." I tuned Wordy out mostly because I was shocked at the forwardness and lack of boundaries. It was like something out of "The Office," but unfunny.

"You're giving me material, well I'm giving you a bag of popcorn, bon appetit!" Still trying to be fun about it, but still a little miffed at this basic stranger sticking his hand into my snack.

Not that I wouldn't share, but I wasn't going to interrupt their convo to offer corn.
Nor should their work be interrupted for a guy with corn needs that overshadow his manners.

So we go back and forth while he's trying to make it look like I "don't get it," and that "everyone in the midwest shares," I shouldn't be at all upset about having to share. I keep saying "Wordy, it's about boundaries. You don't stick your hands in people's food, right?"

By the way, a lot of people in the midWest live very near to corn, and I am hearing more and more reports about the proliferation of ignorant, slow-talking, chain restaurant-eating idiots that live between the Rockies and the Mighty Miss'ssip Rivah.

Bottom line is, my corn, like my boundaries, were violated, and then there was an attempt to make ME feel like I should just accept it or admit I'm being an ass's hole.

Stranger's hands in my food, and I'm "missing the point."

I mean this in the nicest way possible, but that guy is a f*cking re-nard.

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37 Years. IN A ROW!

Today is my parent's 37th Wedding Anniversary.

37 Years of Marriage. I got married earlier this year, for those who are just dropping in, and already can see the amount of work it takes to keep things going in a marriage. Finances, friendships, time management, shared schedules, time with each other, all of it takes a lot of communication and loving intent.

And loving intent, for anybody who has ever worked in customer service, ain't always easy to come by.

My parents are human and I have heard them laugh, sing, tease, laugh, joke, fight, yell, sigh, groan, and be fully themselves around us as a family. That made it much easier for me to understand that being a husband isn't about being SuperHuman, or Superman. It's just about being as loving, patient, and open as possible. My dad did a phenomenal job of loving and providing for us. My mom did a fantastic job of keeping us on schedule and coordinating family time and doing it with love. And they each gave Katie and I more than enough time and space to become ourselves, and still nurturing their own marriage and relationship.

Today is also the anniversary of two other Husband-Wife combinations that had a profound impact on my life. Bruce & Marilyn Amer and John & Barb Reeder. Happy Anniversary y'all!

Love somebody a little more today, even if it's just an extra $1 tip getting coffee, or letting someone over in traffic and withholding the middle finger greeting.

Happy 37 Years, Mom & Dad!

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I Wrote Me Some Spec

YO!

This goes out to anybody who can help a brother out.

As you know, my background in cookbook photography led me to my current love of writing and small-animal drug-testing. Marmots "like," they do not "love" cherry NyQuil. Another time, how 'bout?

I wrote a spec script for a popular TV sit-com, or "show," and need to get it in front of every person with any kind of connection that I possibly can. I have it in the hands of two agents right now, but they are too busy representing people in Los Angeles who are in movies and television and commercials and make a lot of money doing what I ought to be doing.

SO, if anybody reading this has that kind of connection, and/or a good stuffed chicken-breast recipe, send me an email at GBLott at Hotmail dot com.

If I put the address there, it's gonna really get spammed. And honestly, if I could pay $660 a month for a $500,000 mortgage, I wouldn't need a boner pill.

Not that I need one know, I'm just saying, you know, if that were TRUE, you know, a rate like that... no need for a pill that... you get the picture.,

Geoff Lott, ME... I need some help!

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Cork Your Whine

Wow, you're really talking about this again?

AGAIN?

What you need isn't another 2 minutes to talk or another beer or a cigarette. You need a mirror from Emotional Home Elements, take a good look at yourself. You're complaining about all the crap in your life without seeing how much of it you brought in, and how much of the good you drove away.

What happened then is what happens when people do what you did. You end up where you are. And then you have the gall to complain and disrespect the people who are there to support you. Wow. You are completely blind to your own bleeding, deaf to your own rants, and congested to your own stink.

All anybody hears you do is whine. Complaints are counterpoints to situations with a valid antagonist. Whining is noise with no intent, other than noise. You're pitiful. Pathetic. Stop it. Seriously. Darth Vader has no legs or arms, ran a very successful business for decades. No whining. DRIVE. Understand? Darth put himself in that situation and moved ahead regardless.

Everything you complain about to everyone you talk to, it's all your own doing. These aren't bad luck, bad breaks, bad timing. It's bad decisions. You did this to you.

So stop the whining. I'm not listening any longer. Nobody wants to hear it. You tax everyone. Grow a pair and man-up. Or whine on your couch. Or get your head fitted for a plastic bag. But stop carrying around a bag of crap and asking others to hold it for you while you wallow in the parking lot, hoping someone will chase you and see if you're okay.

The only thing that makes us Okay is that we accept that it's not Okay, and that's okay for now.
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This wasn't about YOU, but take from it what you want. And give it to whomever you think needs it. Hugs!


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Get Your Act Together

A little note to all the comics out there who have yet to post any of their career on-line, before I get into a dumb fight with my wife about raspberry sauce... because Life isn't about money or cars or objects, it's about wasting time and effort figuring out how best to make a glaze...

If you are a comedian or performer who doesn't have an on-line catalog at this point, I'd like to point out that al-Qaeda, and specifically Osama bin Laden (great, now I am FOR SURE going into The Database) are posting videos left and right. From caves.

This is also a note for me, since I have yet to get my CD together. I should go underground.

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Your Dog Is Puny

Every now and again, a genetic mutation works out FOR the gene's mutated carrier. We're all mutations, slight changes and combinations of other genes being stirred together and baked at 98.6 degrees for 9-ish months. Not all of us had proper time to cool on the counter before being served, some didn't rise, some fell in the transfer from all the loud noise or humidity or cigarettes.

But we're starting to see a NEW type of mutation called "hypermuscularity." It's a mutation that leads to natural hypertrophy of skeletal muscles or "meat piece." Usually it's a gene that suppresses MYOSTATIN, a growth-factor thingy that keeps a body from getting too muscular. If you are TOO muscular, you wouldn't really be as attractive as you think you would be, not even for a bouncer.

Three observations on this:
1) At some point in the genetic sifting of humans, there were SOME humanoids who were freakishly muscular and probably didn't live very long. They were more meat than they needed to be, and Living demands a balanced approach in all things. These were considered the first professional wrestlers.

2) The Dietary Supplement industry wants to harness this gene suppression ability, so that they could sell that magic "muscle-stacking" bullet. Much like real bullets, something like that cannot be trusted in the hands of the general public. It should be reserved for people with muscle-wasting diseases or brain-wasting diseases, like professional baseball players.

3) If you were to see an animal with this suppression going on, how would you know? Well, you would simply mutter "HOLY SHIT." If you think NOT, check out THIS ARTICLE, about a whippet with this suppression in action. Whippets are normally long, lean, racing dogs. This one looks like it's ready to engage in cage wrestling with a bison.

Only part of me wants to be that muscular. The other part of me just wants to be a dog.

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Harry Potter: To Live? To Die?

In just under 2 weeks, the final book in the wildly successful "Harry Potter" series (so popular, people dress their pets like characters!) will be released. The title of the book is rather ominous, Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows. This was also the original idea for something that later became known as "The DoodleBops." By going with the latter, they not only entertained children of a younger demographic, they also gave the parents of those children what Harry Potter's friends refer to as "a wicked-good acid flashbackery!"

There is speculation as to which of the main characters will meet their end in the book, because the author JK "White Oprah" Rowling has said "one of the main characters will meet their end in the book." But said with British accent, oh my, so charming. The "JK" must stand for "Just Joking!" HA HA HA oops I farted.

So, this book is coming out and people are up in cloak-sheathed-arms over the story line, the surprises, and to find out who dies. Websites more popular with nerds and virgins than mine happens to be (that's a compliment, sugarpoo) have wildly speculated which character will die, how they'll die, on which page they'll die, etc. Basically a Dead Pool for muggles. (yeah, I know a little H-Pot'speak).

I will go out on a limb and say that Harry Potter will not die.
Harry Potter is a fictional character who has made JK "Laugh Out Loud" Rowling very wealthy, and created a star in Daniel Radcliffe, the young actor portraying Harry in the film versions. So the character is fictional, not actually breathing, and therefore he cannot die.

And THUS, I spring forth unto thee with a waving of my wandle-stick (not near the open windows, please)... Sha-zam.

Honestly though, the story of JK Rowling will also make a great movie someday. She was once a homeless mother who took hold of life and got an empire of stories moving. Amen to that.

(there, that oughtta keep the nerds off my junk for a DAMN IS THIS STILL ON?)


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Science Proves It Again! (Post 495!)

From "LIVESCIENCE": (addictive website for the Thinker in all of us... well, maybe not YOU, but you, yeah, you'd like it)

Laughter is one of the least understood of human behaviors. Scientists have found that during a good laugh three parts of the brain light up: a thinking part that helps you get the joke, a movement area that tells your muscles to move, and an emotional region that elicits the "giddy" feeling.

But it remains unknown why one person laughs at your brother's foolish jokes while another chuckles while watching a horror movie.

John Morreall, who is a pioneer of humor research at the College of William and Mary, has found that laughter is a playful response to incongruities--stories that disobey conventional expectations. Others in the humor field point to laughter as a way of signaling to another person that this action is meant "in fun."

One thing is clear: Laughter makes us feel better.

And thusly, I present to you...

DRAMATIC CHIPMUNK:

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We'll Always Have Paris?

Very soon we will witness the release of Paris Hilton from her commoner lock-up in LA County jail. Well, not exactly Commoner; her case is far from it and I won't go into all the details here because they aren't nearly as scandalous as everyone wishes they were.

Paris Hilton is shopping her first post-jail interview rights for $1,000,000. Instead of just taking it like an adult, as she said she'd do, she wants another $1,000,000 to talk about her 23 days in jail away from the general population.

NBC has already turned her down.
GOOD.
Barbara Walters may take the bait, for all her self-righteousness and ability to coax tears from the softest of sponges.

Does anybody truly give a plop anymore?

I would hope that nobody buys the rights to the interview. Paris hasn't done anything to deserve $1,000,000 in her bank account. She has not earned it. She is not talented as an actress, singer, or human. She was lucky to be born to where she was, in her grandfather's wealthy tree.

And when a network does buy the rights to it, I will not watch the interview. I will be elsewhere. They won't get any minutes of my life that I would hope to grasp onto in my old age, seeing my great-great grandkids landing their jet-bikes outside my moon-surface mansion (the dolphins will have long taken over by the year 2073 when I check out, and we'll be on the moon). When that day comes, as I lay there dying, shot in the back by a jealous lover, I would hope the last words out of my mouth will not be "I'm happy Paris learned a lesson in ja..."

But that's me. I don't want to tell you what to do. So don't force me to.

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A Note About the ACLU

The American Civil Liberties Union is a highly reactive group of highly reactive people who believe that everyone has the right to do anything they like as long as it doesn't hurt anybody else. Their mission statement is far longer than that, I'm sure, but you get the point.

This is a quote from a newspaper article in today's Seattle Times about a police officer who went undercover a few years ago at Redmond High. He was 22 then, and was actively buying cocaine, prescription drugs, marijuana, etc. from students of the school. And STILL getting his homework done at night. His identity was known only to the principal.

But placing undercover officers in high school has drawn criticism. In Los Angeles, where police have been doing such operations since the mid-1970s, the Los Angeles Unified School District found that many of the students arrested were in special education, and critics said the amount of drugs seized was usually small.

"It's scary. You have non-students, non-teachers sneaking around talking to kids," said Jennifer Shaw, legislative director for the American Civil Liberties Union in Washington state. "Our kids should be sent to school to learn. To bring somebody in to do undercover investigation is frightening."

I fully agree with Jennifer. It is frightening to think that some kids in our high schools are so loosely parented that they are dealing drugs in the hallways and therefore it is necessary that police officers and undercover operations are going on to put a stop to things that parents and school administrators should be handling.

Oh wait. That's not what she said. Maybe it was implied, but I'm sure she was NOT saying that all kids, even the drug dealers, have a right to attend school, because how else are they going to make money? Who is going to look out for the misguided youth?

Something like that, I don't wanna put words in Jennifer Shaw's mouth. If I did, the words would probably be "foot," "handful of anti-psychotics," or "common sense disguised as a fist or maybe a Chevy half-ton pick-up."



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Way To Show 'em Who The Boss Is!

America stopped 4 terror people this weekend before they could terror American airports that are busy!

It's awesome and it's in the papers and news TV because you gotta know that America is on your side! American government workers are here to protect you, and we should trust them. A couple weeks ago they also caught some terrorists in New York who took a video tape in to have it turned in to a DVD, and the guy transferring it saw the contents of the tape and knew right away it was a terror plot and notified the FBI. The tape was a show called "Martyrdom For Dummies."

I am funny!

Go America!

It's always best to tell the terrorists all the ways that we are catching them so they are afraid of us and never try those ways again. Don't just catch them and whisk them away and say nothing about it. The terrorists read newspapers, too, so while it may look like the government guys are really only saying "Hey, we protected you!", what they are really saying is "Hey, Terrorist John, we know how you tried to get us, and we stopped you! Now you have to find all new ways to get us!"

That's awesome to do that all the time. Keep telling the plotters all the ways we stop them. And that way, much like a game of poker but where you tell the other players what cards you have, they will know exactly when to hold 'em... and when to detonate 'em.

God...
Bless America.
Please?

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Somebody Had To Say It

Well... I finally did it.

I often tell people to open their mouths to the inconsiderate folks in their midsts and let that inconsiderate person, or "assclown," let them know they need to pick it up a notch.

I took a pull off that bottle tonight at the grocery store.

I worked 10 hours today. I was there about 10 hours, is what I'm saying. Cut to the chase, I wasn't in the mood to be held up from getting home. Not by traffic. Not a woman who did F-all for the entire day except find her favorite navy blue capri pants and a shirt with stars on it to match those pants. And wear sunglasses inside.

Why did we invent the roof?

So I saw this woman moseying about the store, cart packed with all sorts of items. She pulled one of my favorite moves: Cart parked in random spot, shopper flits off to find something three rows over, cart is in everyone's way. I usually move the cart to a safe spot. Not until I've deposited cart-ward the most expensive item in the vicinity. This time it was a multi-greens powdered shake mix. That'll run ya 'bout $33 a tankard. Enjoy.

Oddly, I go over my 15 items so I have to go into a regular line, of which 2 are open. I get in behind, you guessed it, the Shaded Wanderer, or "Bitch Nose." I asked God to direct my focus elsewhere, and He answered. I turned to my left, and behind me was a nice older lady (older as in "High-waisted lavendar pants", not older as in "Dude, your aunt is single, right?") She had only two items in her cart, both of them for a surely aloof if not near-death cat. I asked her if she'd like to go ahead of me, she had only a few items.

"Oh, that's so nice, but no thanks. I'm going to lean here on my cart for a moment," she replied. "Sweet ass, though."

I made part of that up.

She had on red pants, but I digress...

As the Lady Still Wearing Sunglasses Indoors (5'6''-ish, bottle-blonde, spray tan, lots of gold jewelry, no discernible income) is finishing her transaction, including $33 for GreenShakes!, her credit card slip is handed back to her JUST AS HER PHONE IN HER PURSE ON THE FLOOR RINGS.

I wouldn't answer it. You wouldn't answer it. Then again, we don't drink box-chardonnay until 5 and then burn it off with a shopping trip. Even though we've been meaning to.

Of COURSE she dug through her purse for her phone before signing her slip. Why the hell else am I writing this in a mu-mu?

So as the guy hands the slip back to her and she launches into a conversation about what to have for dinner, she gets at least 45 seconds (count it off, it's longer than you think) into the chat as though nothing else was happening around her. No shopping. No other people. Zoned out. Until finally she says "Well what do you want me to do about it?"

And I just kind of nonchalantly said "Signing your credit slip would be nice."

The check-out guy had a look of surprise on his face. Ten seconds later, she said "Well, I have to go, I'm at the store and I need to sign my slip." Ten more seconds. An extra minute of time. Of life. Burnt by someone else. My favorite moment was when she hung up and acted exasperated and said to the cashier "Gosh, my daughter, she's done with school and moving back home and she can't figure out what to do for dinner and I'm trying to get settled into my new house, ya know?" She just tried to blame the last minute on HER DAUGHTER and HER LIFE.

The cashier was very nice to me, and laughed as the lady walked away.

Nobody forces you to answer your phone unless you're in a hostage situation, which this ALMOST turned in to. Very simply, being aware of the other people around you, common courtesies, the simplest of niceties can take you very far in life.

The lady behind me with the cat supplies nearly threw out her back trying to lift her 10-lb bucket of cat crap-sand. I offered to help her again when I put the little grocery divider down and said "You should really get smaller, lighter bags." Jeez, what an idiot. Some people, huh?

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Coming To, And Staying In, America

The main problem with President Bush's Immigration "Reform" bill, besides the fact it had a LOT of margin-doodles, is that it okays immigrants who are already here illegally.

Not just Mexicans. Canadians. Irish. Brits. Germans. Chileans. Cubans. Yes, Virginia, even some Afghanis, Iraqis, Iranians, Chinese, Japanese, and perhaps even an Aussie. Some are good citizens, working and shopping at ROSS and not smiling and, most importantly, keeping their music down. Some may be criminals escaped from their home nations. We don't know. We may never.

Any bill that says "You fooled us! You win! But the rest of you, well, you get in line there, you cheeky buggers!" is just far too jaunty to hold agua. One bill. One law. For everyone. It can't be gray, it's gotta be Red & Blue. (I'd say "black and white" but God knows somebody would take that wrong and call Jesse Jackson and then I'd have to straighten him out again this week)

If somebody breaks into your house and just kind of hangs out in the attic, but then comes down and starts bathing, even if you're not there, or eating food from your coffee table that you passed out before eating thanks to your pill habit, hey, THEY STILL BROKE IN. The limits of compassion stop when it is taken more than it is given.

I fully understand that many thousands of the people illegally, and legally, immigrating doing a lot that we just could not bring ourselves to do. Like working fast food. Or getting really bad dye jobs (fright-blonde and meat-red are big). But someone has to do it, there's a need to fill those jobs, and it's likely that working in America beats not working in a country that cares. Kids gotta eat. Mother-in-law needs to have those moles cut off her cheek. Dollaz get paid.

America doesn't owe anybody anything. Not a free hand, not a free job, not a pass to the Disney Store. We are a nation that has an identity as a melting pot, but somebody still has to monitor the contents of the pot to make sure it's cooking evenly. A lot of people in this country illegally (some of them lazy F'ers masquerading as "stand up comics") are taxing our public resources. I bet a large number of uninsured, non-English-speaking immigrants have received better care in the past year than soldiers sent to Walter Reed, or even many insured, tax-paying dog groomers. We owe the world common courtesy, but we don't have to keep the doors wide-the-F-open to prove it.

I am all for diversity, brotherhood, and the common cause of humanity progressing on the basis of a need to progress. It will eventually come back to governing ourselves, filling in our own pot-holes, and taking care of our neighbors because the government is too busy trying to figure out how to double-tax tapwater used for car fuel. When that day comes, it would be really great if I could understand the language of the guys siphoning off my garden-hose as I spray them with buckshot and fright-pee at 3 in the a.m.

FRIGHT-PEE is probably the funniest thing you'll read all week.

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