Last Comic Standing, Season 6, Recap 1

Well then...
I sat through all 90 minutes of LCS6e1 last night. Here's my recap...

A lot of the funniest, best comics you've never seen did NOT make it on TV nor into the next Round for the Las Vegas show.

A few guys made me laugh a little.

Esther Ku did not. The audience - the camera shots of the crowds were very telling about a comic's rapport - sat rapt with indifference. She's not only hacking every Asian comedian, she's one "I date losers" joke away from hacking every female comedian, also. But I'm sure she's super nice!

Marcus, you silly, sweethearted son of a goat... I'm happy for the guy. I don't even wish I could dislike the guy, but hey, crowds like, if not LOVE, him and the way he presents his material. He gorilla-stomped the Seattle Comedy Competition last year. I genuinely wish Marcus a great run in this thing. Don't F up.

Phil Palisoul, this guy made me laugh. Clever, goofy, smart. I think I work with him next month, too. Regardless, it's good to see some frustration on stage, instead of the smiles and the "gee-whiz" crap up until then. Phil's got a new fan in the Geoffer.

Anybody watching the show, please go see a live comedy show at your nearest club. Get perspective. Understand that stand-up comedy is one of the last places for spoken word entertainment that isn't about verbal masturbation and is about entertaining the audience, primarily. If, from that, the comedian feels good about what they perform on stage...

See... as I begin to write stuff like that, I feel less like a comic and more like I have to defend the art. I have jokes about weiners in my act. Art. Right.

Funny is subjective. A sense of humor is like a sense of smell; some folks have a more attuned sense, but we all know when somebody tracked in doodle. Don't accept the crap, folks.

I'll talk more sauce as the season goes on, if I can stand to watch it.


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

The Ca-YOTES

In case you missed another reason to purchase a gun last night, here's THE BEST vidclip of the week from an amateurishly-acted show on TV (a.k.a. Reality Show). This will be making the rounds. It's awesome. Wow. this guy's grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrross.

He's a personal trainer from New York, was among the first men eliminated from the new season of "The Bachelorette," and then went on and did THIS stuff.

http://defamer.com/392230/contestants-werecoyote-secret-revealed-on-shocking-bachelorette-premiere

The stippling along his chest and back isn't pixelation.
That's just the sweet acne of steroid use. I thought he'd be a lot bigger for a guy on the gear.

Flex. And enjoy.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

I've Got Gas

Interesting....
Look at how gas prices dropped around election time in 2004.
Then skyrocketed, DOUBLED, within 6 months after the 2nd W-Bush presidency began.

Then trailed off again in November as it came time to elect local officials... then went UP again...

Now, the trend may show "hey, that's the Memorial Day to Labor Day span! They ALWAYS jack the price up!" The greatest spike is right at the end of that span. And right about the time most major cities start forcing ethanol into the gas to cut emissions.

Not so in 2007. Maybe we "found" some more oil to refine?

Whatever the reasons, we're still paying less than Canada, and perhaps less than we will, eventually.

Exxon's profits last year hit $39,500,000,000.
That is 39.5 BILLION. Profit. Could they live if that was cut in half?

In November 2000, a barrel of crude was $28. Now, gas is over $120 a barrel. We are driving cars that are more fuel efficient. All other driver behavior is probably the same, except for the text-messaging friends from behind the wheel.
"OMG TRAF SUX. SUM GUY FLP'D ME BRD."

So what changed?
Our political leadership, from the Presidency down through a staunchly anti-progressive Congress.
Our relations with the oil-producing nations of the Middle East. They got lucky staying in those boundaries and finding oil, it's not like they are mixing their own recipe in the trunk of their gold Benz'os.

So hey, a lot plays into how and when gas prices go up. They've gone up over $.10 in the past 8 days.

My paranoid conspiratorial side says "The Bush oil cronies are only on-line for a few more months and will gouge until November, then they'll bottom the prices as far as they can around election time." Just sayin'. Hmm...

PERHAPS... It's an experiment to see how much we'll pay for gasoline. What's your price?

=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Customer Holds Serve

I had to call a place today and speak with, shudder, their Customer Service department.
It doesn't say anything about "hospitality," or "quality," just Service. No promise of anything positive.

By the way, dumbass as SRC... you don't have a "Medical Review Board." I know, you called it the "Medicine Review Board." But you don't have that, either.

Knowing that you were way the hell off in left field, I called back, and had to type some stuff at a job that pays for your days off, what what?, I had to use the "voice-activated" menu instead of pressing numbers.

I said "One" for Claims.
"Three" for information on forms.
"Three!" for information on ...
"THREE" for information on the muddyflapping FORMS YOU FART STAIN!
And when The System AGAIN said "Sorry, I did not understand you," I said

"Worthless shit-pile of turds."
"One moment while I connect you to a Customer Service Representative."

So there you go.
=0=0=0=0=00=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Bloating Gas Pain

I have kept track of my gas consumption and prices since November of last year, to chart not only what I spent, but how much I got for it, and how many miles I was getting per gallon.

December 21 of last year, gas was $3.19/gal in the state of Washington.
$40 bought me 12.46 gallons.

Tuesday afternoon, I put in $40, and got 10.99 gallons, at $3.63/gal, an increase of $.44/gal. Gas has not improved in quality, color, taste, nor abdominal prominence. It's still gas.

Now, at this rate, gas will be consistenly over $4/gal by Labor Day. Supply vs. Demand shows us something important here.

If we have less of a demand (buying, using, filling bottles to light&heave at buses of clowns), the supply loses it's value, and the price drops.

FRIDAY is supposed to be one of those "Gas Out! Holiday!" things, where people aren't supposed to buy any gas for an entire day.

IDIOTS.

You don't break addiction by not taking drugs all day Friday, only to take a freeze on Saturday morning. On Saturday, you get up, you use something other than drugs, like exercise or hugs or prayer or naps, and stay away from drugs. Now you have 2 days off the dope. Sunday, maintain, do the same thing. Take a walk. Ride the bus. Ride that bike.

Gasoline is expensive on the West Coast because we don't have a near-by refinery to work it for us, and since we have the Alaska pipeline, you'd think we'd have that in place. But who wants a refinery next to their kid's "School For The Relatively Normal"? Not here, in Washington, one of the most heavily-taxed, under-waxed, gluten-free pancake-stacked states this side of Saudi Arabia.

Car-pool, thumb it, hoof it, jog it, wheel it. If you can, lay off the gas.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Humor, The Sixth Sense

Humor, like Style, but not Substance, is a Trait one has. Perhaps like an odor, if one were to ask my lovely wife, who announces her entrance to most rooms with "It stinks in here, Geoffrey."

I feel that people are Funny the way some are Tall. Born to have a certain amount of it the world will experience, you don't really know how Funny somebody is until you get in a situation with them where it comes out. Like Height, Humor is best experienced when somebody's reaching for something, like a rebound or the sombrero-shaped chip/salsa bowl. You can't tell how huge Shaquille O'Neal is until you're standing next to his dong at the urinal. And you can't tell how funny a person is unless you actually have a gauge of "Funny vs. Not Funny."

So here's where I am going with this:

Today, I was on a conference call with a number of people who I think have a pretty good sense of humor. They would "get," if not really "adore," Mitch Hedberg.

"Rice is great, especially if you're hungry, and want 2,000 of something."

"I have an intense dislike of protests, but I don't know how to show it."

So I'm on the call, and I do a little Roll Call to make sure that I know who's all there. At the end of the list (we have an application that shows everyone who's dialed in, so I read the names of everyone whom I could see had dialed in), I said...


"Okay, I think I got everyone."


Met with silence.




THEN, I say, "Please announce yourself if you're not here."
Met with about a 3-Mississippi of silence...
Then...

"Uh, yeah, they can't say they're not here if they're not here."


... huh... ya don't say... well then...


And thus ends another experiment of injecting humor into the workplace. I fully expect that little exchange to end up in a Reader's Digest. If I put myself in the role of the guy leading the call, I'll look like an ass for explaining that Yep, not being there precludes one from being able to speak in their absence. But if I say somebody else did it, I could be $400 richer.


When at a coffee stand/shack/establishment, asking for "room" with your drink means they don't fill it all the way so that you can post-load it with as much Splenda as your spleen can turn into bloody bits of... okay, sorry... It's the space at the top. "Room For Cream," a great name for a dairy, btw.

I once asked a barista, "You guys ever run out of room for people's drinks, when somebody asks for it?" That got quite the hearty tilt of the head and a twitched eyebrow in the vein of "Don't hit on me, fatty."


The kid behind her laughed his ass off. Barista only said "Like, on the counter where we put them?" The kid behind her explained, "No, like the space at the top of the drinks."


By then the joke, like my hope of ever being as widely accepted as Dane Cook, slid off the counter, to the floor, and underneath some fart-stain's Vans.

So there ya go.
We don't all laugh at the same things all the time, but the Funny is always happening. You may just be too short, or tall, to see it.

Last example...

Why is the guy on the left wearing a watch?
Where does he have to be? Ear doctor? Elephant try-outs? This is why you have to start eating Organic, folks.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Lee or Ray?

This is going to be the first in a series of how men, and perhaps women, with the middle names of Lee or Ray are most-famous for committing crimes.

Jerry LEE Lewis, for example. Crime? Married a 13 year old. Stopped recording music.

Dixy LEE Ray!, double-name score, former Governor of the state of Washington. Was in office when Mt. St. Helens erupted. Just sayin'...

David LEE Roth. Ego savant. High kicks. Lost his mind.

Billy RAY Cyrus. Not enough?

And now, l'idiot du jour...

Charles RAY Fuller. from the AP story: The 21-year-old North Texas man was arrested last week for trying to cash a $360 billion check, saying he wanted to start a record business, authorities said. Tellers at the Fort Worth bank were immediately suspicious — perhaps the 10 zeros on a personal check tipped them off, according to investigators.

This list will indeed grow. Something about those middle names of Ray or Lee just drive a person to madness. Madness, I say.


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Are You Smarter Than a Customer Service Rep?

So I call my health insurance broker (Corey Haim forbid the carrier have their own department to answer questions, always best to handle that through a 3rd party's 2nd party), and tell 'em...

"Howdy! (I speak down-home when I'm about to ask a favor) I need to submit a claim because I purchased some prescribed stuff prior to receiving my ID card from y'all (down-home!) and I was hoping... Could you please tell me what form I need and to where it should be sent?" (I may speak folksy, but I'm not ending a sentence on a preposition, thank you)

The response was to use a form that did not have the words "prescription" or "reimbursement" in them, and to send it to the broker, not the insurance comp'ny.

So I go check out the form, and find one that says "Prescription Claims" on it! HEY, that's odd, nobody told me THAT would be there. Download, print.
And I also downloaded & printed the other one they asked for, to cover all my muffins.

So now I'm going to have to send these to 2 places, one to the Comp'ny, one to the Broker, because somebody gave me a funky answer at the Broker. I fig're one of those companies will deny it. Odds are I'll get a call about some sort of fraud, and I'll say "Yes, the insurance industry is a fraud. What's your next question?"

Because, hey, the best way to have affordable health care, is to not pay people's claims for using the services they pay for! I pay $120 a month, and I work full time. If that matters to anybody.

And the drugs I had to buy helped immensely in both the healing AND the drainage, if that matters to anybody.

GESUNDHEIT!
=0=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Reality Shows

The thing about Reality Shows is that they aren't real. They have writers, and everyone plays it up in front of a camera. It's Television.
The only way to actually get a reality show is to have secret, hidden, no-prior-knowledge the camera is there footage.
And some places have that. It's in parks, and red lights, and sometimes the random foodcourt torlette. And it turns out, guess what???

PEOPLE
ARE
BORING

Yes. Boring. Life is usually mundane. So the TV shows get the best looking people they can to live together, drink together, frolic together, and get arrested together, because that isn't boring. The shows are cast. That is, hand-selected people, not random samples, are smooshed together and told "Work it out. Or even better, get drunk and pee at the cops!"

You want UNBELIEVABLE Real Life? Look at THIS STORY, from the AP Wire, via Bentonvill, Arkansas. A 300-lb inmate awaiting trial for murder filed a complaint about losing >100lbs since being in jail, saying the jail is underfeeding him. W.O.W.

More to follow... I have to go vomit in the jacooz.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Fat? So!

I gotta tell ya... I've been a big, fat-ish guy my entire life.

I look at the pics of myself in youth league soccer, and I look like I absorbed the kid next to me. Big head, big frame, big ol' Northern European field-workin'/bear-fightin' trunk. And for YEARS I despised it.

I've tried more than a few different diets. The two that worked best for me? South Beach and Weight Watchers, both built around keeping your blood sugar in-check with lean meats, beets, whole grains (if you can't see the grain in it, that ain't whole grain foodstuffs), low/no dairy fats (AND THIS GUY LOVES THE FRIGGIN' AGED, FERMENTED, CURDED COW JUICE CHUNKS, people).

But lately I'm on the reduction. For a number of reasons, not the least of which is vanity. Yes, I want to look and feel better about the body I walk around with, and put on stages in front of people. They deserve better. As does my wife. I want to look better for her, too. Also, for LONGEVITY. Dropping 10% of your weight can greatly reduce health issues such as diabetes, pre-diabetes, sleep apnea, cholesterol, and back sweat.

If you have just 75 minutes a day to work out, your life must be very uneventful.

But if you have, say, 45 minutes to work out every other day... THEN CHECK THIS OUT, now with a special word from "The Biggest L0ser" trainer Jillian Michaels.

I don't shill for anything that I don't either get paid for or believe in. And I believe in Turbulence Training. Big time.

(CLICK GRAPHIC FOR MORE INFO!)

I've dropped about 6lbs of my body fat. I've put on about 2lbs in muscle. And I don't spend an hour in the morning on a treadmill only to return after work for another hour of tossing iron. And when I'm done working out? PUMPED. Not sore and aching and torn down. I'm tired, but I feel like I could eat a mountain lion.

Work, quickly, intensely, and you can shape your body quickly, intensely. Or take the loooooooong, slow approach, and we'll talk again around Labor Day.

I'm staying on it. The only thing holding me back, like I said, is not applying smarter eating principles. But these are sacrifices I will make for the good of my Self, Body, and Life. That's worth it, to me.

But I still love Iced Cream and Cheese. Forever.

Coming soon... "pictures" of the Geoff. Sorry.

=0=0=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Phoning It In

A person's cellular phone device should only have as many minutes per year as aligned with their credit score.

Your Bluetoof earwad is no cooler than the phone hanging off your belt. You're STILL YELLING INTO THE ETHER 'bout whether or not you need long-grain rices.

You are not a bigshot. BigShots don't take their own calls. And when they do, they don't take them in line waiting for a half-pound of pimento loaf.

I've never heard a cell phone conversation that HAD TO BE CONDUCTED right at that moment. I always end my calls in public quickly, dashing out of the area, saying "You say a prayer, cut that blue wire, and pray to William H. Macy that we guessed right."

Next time somebody is walking around yammering on their phone, talking loudly, do the right thing. Take notes. Follow them around and write down everything they said. Afterall, it's public, they obviously want people to know what they're talking about.

If you can't describe how cellular communication works, you shouldn't have a phone. Or a registered voter's card. Or children. Ever.

I work with a woman who is having a conversation about her sister-in-law's breastmilk not being enough for the new baby. And she just said "So, wassssssup?"

Cell phones do NOT cause brain tumors... fast enough.




Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Today Is My Wife's Birthday!

409 days ago, my Wife From The Future became My Wife, Alicia. It is perhaps the highest honor I have had bestowed upon me. I cannot think of a greater honor.

Not Guitar Hero III champion,

not Body For Life winner,

nor eating your IQ in Rocky Mountain Oysters.

Today I do my best to celebrate Alicia's birthday, because this woman is amazing. I mean that in the true sense, in that I am amazed by her work ethic, her temperment, her love, her efforts, her drive, and her outlook. I mean that I step back and recount the times I've done things dumb enough to make me want to have an out-of-body experience so I can crotch-kick myself, and she just laughs at me and works through the rubble.

I think one of the keys to a great life is to never, ever stop growing as a person, and Alicia is doing that. She is never satisfied with one thing for too long, she wants to make something better, prettier, or peanut butterier. Her self-motivation is often my motivation. She never stops making me laugh, inspiring me, and almost pissing me off. She is perfect for me, and I am a happy, happy man.

This past year we did something that was both painful AND annoying: We made a budget. Alicia did the real work, hammering out numbers and spreadsheets, I just whined about why I couldn't lay on the floor and play with my shoelaces. But we did it, and she's driven our budget ever since. And the renovations in our home. And it's because of her planning and ideas that we are doing incredibly well, and living a life open to the influx of blessings, friendships, and travel two people who have contrary viewpoints to MTV's programming deserve.

Alicia, Happy Birthday! You are the best person I could have in my life, and someday, we both know that I will be the best person for you. I love being your houseband.

And now a word from the cat.

BRRROWR?

BROWR?

BROOOOOOOOORRROWR!

Mmmowr?

(scratch your eyes)

purr purr purr purr purr

[draaaaaaaaaaaaaag my f*cking claws down your expensive duvet cover because I'm an asshole]

mmmmmMRROOOOWRowrowwworrr?

[Poop, kick it on the wall]

Happy Birthday, Alicia! I'm doing the best I can, and you deserve better!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Iraqi Jumpeen Jaqs

This... is awesome...

If you need to get a laugh in and answers to questions like "Why aren't the Iraqis fully in control of their own situation by now?"... GO HERE.

Thanks be to M-Dawg for finding and posting this.
=0=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Work It Out, Save Your Time

Holy.
Crap.
Tacos.

3 weeks ago I started seriously training with "Turbulence Training," linked over to the right there under the "Click Here!" thing...

too tired to type correctly...

After about 20 years of lifting weights and being on the bike and the stairmachine and all the meat-heads and attention 'bags, I got out of the gym and into the groove with this thing.

45 minutes, 3 times a week. And it will...
1: MELT the fat off your body.
2: Build meat on your bones.
3: Save you time all around.

It goes like this. Time * Effort = Work. If you wanted to do 500 units of work to get a good workout, would you rather have an equation of...

100 minutes * 5 effort = 500
OR
50 minutes * 10 effort = 500
OR OR OR
25 minutes * 20 effort = 500

Turbulence Training is about the latter. When you look at Olympic Athletes, whose body looks like it's in better shape? The long-cardio marathon runner (you have 4 hours to dedicate to it?), or the sprinter (15-45 seconds of pure strength and effort).

An example workout of mine is about 35min long, and consists of warming up, stretching, getting through 10 sets of weightlifting exercises, stretching again, then 15-20 minutes of interval training. The benefits are:

1) I save time and get a LOT of work done. Important when you have blogs to write and recipes to search for.
2) Intense interval training is proven to boost your body's metabolism during and after (up to 48 hours) your work out, including the pathways that repair muscle and burn fat for energy.

Have you ever seen a picture of a lion in the wild? They aren't know for their 4-mile gallops. They sprint for their meals, jog, sprint again.

So if you want results, fast, and without dropping $200 on a "system," check out the Turbulence Training link. I've lost 6lbs, 2% of my bodyfat, and am stronger than I've been in years. This works for women, men, kids, older folks, everyone. Check it out!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Repost of Something Fine

I wrote this a couple years ago and just found it, and I can't say whether it's good or not, but it surely exemplifies the string of firecrackers going off in my head when I'm tired and ready to sleep but the brain won't slow down.
=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=

Last night while driving home, I get to a 4-way intersection. A guy is crossing my right-to-left, and the cross-traffic is stopping. Pedestrian Joe has gotten the Red Right Hand light, but he keeps a-going as though he owns the intersection. I've seen him pee on a lamppost there before, so maybe he does.

Anyway, the traffic coming at me gets the green light, but they have to stop so that he can get all the way across. It's only one car coming my way, but PJ just... keeps hobbling along. Yes, hobbling. He was on crutches, did I mention that? And in a walking boot. And my only thought was "Dude, you need to get your timing down better."

So here's my dilemma. The guy's on crutches and in a boot, just heading to a local store for some refreshingments. He's got no backpack so he's swinging a bag of whatever he fancies, moving slowly... slowly... as he crutches, steps... crutches, steps... Not fully using the crutches to effectively double his stride-length. It's 11:15 at night. Where's the car? Why is he on foot? Do I have any compassion? When should I, or anyone, just roll down the window and say "GET THE F*CK OUT OF THE STREET. GOD BLESS," and mean both of them equally.

I figure it one of two ways: This guy was a cybernaut from the year 2007, when cars are outlawed, our minds wiped clean of their existence and operation, and only the royals shall use walking implements, slowly.

Or he's some guy who fell of a scaffold at the day-labor job, building another Starbucks in a stripmall, working to supplement the payments for his medication he has to take so his renal system doesn't fail. He can't afford to go through the court system for a settlement because his ex-wife, who took the car and the camper in the divorce before blowing his brother at Christmas dinner... at the table... she's gonna find out about the money and come after it.
So he takes a cash settlement, under the table, 1/10th of what he could probably get from the contractor, the scaffold maker, and the college kid he works with who keeps taking his wife beater off and drinking PowerAde and left the grinder that caused Crutches to fall across the boards. All he's got is his mangled ankle, a 3-pack of Winstons, and enough beer to make it through the weekend in a one-bedroom, no women, no music, no Living in sight, and I shouldn't take that from him.

Or he's got 6 DUIs in 3 years, used to beat his wife before she took the kids and smashed his foot with his Pontiac, shortly before she ghost-drove it off a cliff onto the tent where his brother's been taking Chinese immigrants for immoral acts.

Anyway, if another pointless, rambling, drunken, selfish, disjointed headcase crosses my path, they best be smiling and walking with the signal. My accelerator's starting to stick.

=0=0=0=0=0=

Amazing how you can still feel the same way after all this time...


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Commentator Tots

Dearest Reader,

For nearly a year, if not almost a year, I have had no Comments section.

It wasn't because I didn't care what you had to say. I did. I do. I did do. I done.

So, do. Comment, that is. Feel free now to hit the comments and fire one off to me. I had 'em blocked out because of the sp@mming that was going on in my comments section. Now, I work with somebody who is human spam, filling my airwaves with stuff I don't need to know.

Wow, would love to talk about it, but there's a proximity to work and blogging that shan't be breached, unless one blogs anonymously, like a giant nerdload.

So there ya go. What have you to say?

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Who'm I Gonna Vote At?

First off, sorry for ending the title in a preposition. Old street joke... and yet Josh Sneed did it in his "Comedy Central Presents..." special.

Secondarily, I'm not endorsing, formally, any candidate until after the election. In doing so, I can maintain my record of choosing the right candidate, currently at 3-1. I took an "L" after the first Gore-Bush Blowout in 2000. More of an honor thing.

NOW, I am voting based on a few core values I have. One of which is personal responsibility. As much as I love the general platform that Ron Paul stands for, I also think he is far too isolationist for our world of cultural integration. And I've heard he's anti-coffee ice cream, so that's a big stinkin' finger in the eye of his record.

McCain came out and spoke about how the Government should have limited involvement in the banking bailout that arose over the sub-prime mortgage lending. In doing so, he called out the banks for their irresponsible lending practices, as well as the people losing homes because, oh, they didn't have their $h*t together in order to keep their $h*t together and not work off the ARM sitch.

In doing so, we don't have to drop $400,000,000 of taxpayer/education/health care/body armor money on helping folks who, golly, didn't realize that $2,200 a month is MORE than $1,400 a month!

Unless the banks go to China for money. Or Saudi Arabia. Oh... hmmm, wait a sec, this just got weird...

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Head's Lines

NASCAR: A widely-attended, wildly popular sporting event where people compete by driving high-powered cars for 500 miles. Even more impressive at today's gas prices. Is there a reason there haven't been more protests over the environmental impact of this sport, and it's attendance, all being centered around cars, cars, cars, gas, tires, gas, cars, and beer?

When is the BioHybrid 200? Pegging a Prius at 72 will be thrilling for each of the 37 people in attendance. Pitstops now include battery changes. (I'm on to something here) Sponsored by Canola oil and Energizer. Smells like hot pennies and hash browns. But nobody would ever support that because of the potential for boring, snails-paced wrecks.

ARE YOU SMARTER THAN A STATE AGENCY?

I received 2 letters from the Washington State Employment Security office (MOTTO: "Where your unemployment is our job!").

Letter 1 said they had to investigate a possible fraud in where I was sent an unemployment check for a week that my employer said I was working. I started the week AFTER the noted week, so we'll get that figured out.

Letter 2 was a check for a week in January that they did NOT pay me, because they screwed up and hit the wrong "bye" week after my period of unemployment began.

So they think they shouldn't have paid me for a week at the end, which is correct.

But they paid me for a week at the beginning, which was their mistake.

The FBI once spent $29million, 8,000 people, and 6 years to halt a Brinks banking theft scam that netted $2.7million. Totally... worth it.

BOTTLE IT UP
You aren't busting out a new bottle of water every time you want some, right?
Filter-pitchers.
Re-use.
Reduce.
Recycle.

=0=0=0=0=0==

Makes total sense. If anybody needs me, I'll be under my desk AGAIN today.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Microsoftspot

I love how, when using Microsoft Outlook, one of the meeting invites I had open wouldn't find a name, so it hung up.

When I closed the window via Task Manager, it closed the whole inbox, and all the other stuff i was working on in Outlook.

So next time your right-rear tire's a little flat, drive your car directly into a wall.
Brilliant.

Yes, I demand that my technology not F up on the simplest of tasks.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Financially Advised #1

In the past year my wife and I have made huge strides in our financial health. It has been through hard work, grumbling, and hours of sitting down and making a budget that we could live by. By "Budget," I truly mean a Plan that is down to the last dollar being accounted for.

Savings. Groceries. Gas. Oil Changes. Property taxes. Personal Spending money. Everything. Every month.

She's done the hard part, by marrying me. From there, we took a class last year called "Financial Peace University" from Dave Ramsey's family of teaching. It changed our outlook on life, and therefore, it changed our lives for the better. I owe a gigantic blank check from the bank of my love to my wife for this. It works.

So I wanted to share some of this with you, what we learned, in case you've got some money issues. This ain't for everyone, but here's the first lesson we learned.

1) DEBT = DEATH. Stop pulling it in on yourself. Here's how.
A) Pay your monthly minimums on credit cards and debts until you have $1,000 in your Savings account. This is your Security Fund. Freeze your cards in a glass of water in the freezer and stop using them. They are holding you back and down like an anchor, giving you excuses to not do what you want to do in life. Stop. Now. It's like a drug, I know, I've been there. You'll have plenty of money once you...

B) Create a budget. You have to. How much do you spend a month on groceries? Do you know? Find out. Track it. Account for it. Gas money? Car insurance? Housing? Heating? Electricity? Phone? Internet? Do you really know? Only when you know, can you do something about it, much like a baby-daddy. How much are you bringing in? How much are you putting out? Get a spreadsheet worked up that shows where every dollar goes for the next 2 months. I'll send one to you if you need it, but you deserve the benefit of the effort you put in. You'll reap the rewards of a budget. I've never had more peace than when we did this. And every week we have money to spend on whatever else we want. Not a giant grip, but a good amount to spend on clothing, music, waxing, clown supplies, etc. And no need for credit cards.

C) Change your thinking: Building Wealth is Good; Buying Stuff I Don't Need Is Bad. If you NEEEEED to buy something every week, and you're still in debt, you're an addict and it's time to get some help. Britney, Paris, Kardashians, etc. shop all the time because they are EMPTY inside. Does that describe you? what are you filling your emptiness with? I fill mine with Comedy. And dark chocolate. But no longer do I drop $500 at IKEA because "it's time I get some new furniture to throw out in a year." The Joneses you're trying to keep up with either make waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more money than you, or financed the rims on another car they won't ever pay off in the garage of a home with 4 flat TVs they can't watch all at once. They are drowning in debt. You're sailing home to Wealth.

Think of how much you pay in your debts each month.
Think of that adding up in your checking account or savings account.
Now think of the vacation you could be on, RIGHT NOW, totally funded, if you didn't have that debt. What did you buy with that debt? Do you still Love it?

Is it time to change? Start today!
=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Announcing My Retirement

Dear Friends,

After many years, after the passion and the heartache, the triumph and the pain, the ups and the downs, the downers and the uppers, the idiots and the awesome, I make this announcement with a lot of love and zero regret.

Today, I am retiring from professional football.

I have pursued my passion for years, but never got picked up by a team. Nor did I try out, for that matter. Sure, at 6'1" and 220-237lbs, depending on when you got me over the past 12 years, I could run a 40-yard dash in the 4.8 - 5.7sec range. I once bench pressed 225lbs 36 times over the course of 12 minutes. And my lateral quickness is equivalent to Orville Redenbacher's. The man, not the 'corn. Guy died in 1995. Choked on a JuJuBee at a movie, can you believe that shit?

From here, there are many dreams I will continue to pursue. I will eventually write a lot of entertaining, funny, award-winning radio jingles for car dealerships, or on-line dating sites. I'll probably keep doing stand-up comedy, that seems to be working out pretty well and doesn't have a weight limit, from what I can tell. I'll continue being as smart as I can without losing an audience, but really, when it comes down to it, I'd rather throw in my mouthpiece, strap the helmet on, and dive headlong into the 3rd row for a loose chipotle chicken wing.

My dream never materialized, and it's time to realize I'm just not the pulling guard, defensive tackle, or team jokester I used to be. It's been a great ride, and I've loved thinking that I would one day run out onto the field in front of 873 fans at a 4th-tier Arena Football League exhibition game in Grand Mound, WA. But Life is calling. It's time to do the right thing for my family, for my health, and stop thinking about professional football as a viable career option.

To my fans, it's really weird that you thought I was a good player. I never played a down. Get your life together, and please stop sending me your jockstraps.

To my detractors, you were right. I wasn't fast enough, nor did I have the fire in my belly to play professional football, get in street fights, push girlfriends down stairs, and then start a foundation for area youth sports with my name all over it to help ease the punishment of my 4th DUI. I did what I could with what I had. I wasn't the most-gifted athlete, but I made up for it by not working very hard.

I will always love football.
Football will not miss me. It will go on.

For now, bring on the Coffee Ice Cream and let's enjoy our lives.

Sincerely,
Geoff Lott

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Last Fool Standing

Perhaps it's the tang of sour grapes, or the wet-end of reality's towel-snap to the bared buttocks of my hopes...

But Last Comic Standing can suck it with their eyes open. And I better get a finger.

I, along with a number of other Seattle-based comics, hit San Francisco, CA on Friday morning with an invitation-audition spot for the show. After reading updates from around the nation, it is apparent that the producers of the show - all of whom are possibly brain dead - are looking for a particular type of person to put on the show:
1) Young.
2) On the 7.5+ side of Attractive.
3) A lot of time to update their MySpace pages.


From what I can tell, this is shaping up to be something akin to "Road Rules vs. Real World + Who's Line Is It Anyway?" There's an entirely tangential discussion about whether or not REALLY attractive people can be, or are, truly Funny. But then it goes back to the argument that "Funny is subjective," and you have to make YOUR point about Comic X and I tell you why they are NOT funny, and then you tell me to F off and you stomp away in your DUMB-looking boots and your butt looks big and there's a cloud following you that smells like bad eggs and gasoline because you fart-smell all the time even when you don't fart because YOU SUCK for liking dumb comics.

For a recap of the San Fran audition, and a list of who made it through to the LA/SemiFinal show, check out THIS LINK RIGHT HERE.

The odd thing is that I feel like I was fooled this time. Like I had a shot at it. Nope. And not to diminish others who DID make it to the next round, but damn, when a guy as funny as Dwight Slade cannot get any love, then you KNOW the show isn't about Comedy. It's about trying to find sexy people who can be "funny enough" to be on a show where stand-up comedy is part of the equation. Dwight Slade, btw, is inarguably FUNNY. You cannot deny that. Try it.

So NO, I won't try out again.
I'll make my fame the old-fashioned way: COATTAIL RIDING. I will get some famous comic everyone else loves to love MY comedy, and I'll open for that guy for 5 months on the road, and get rich that way. Famous, too, but rich, mostly.

Every year, people tell me they watched LCS and then say "Yeah, the guy who won? He isn't funny. I didn't laugh once when he was on stage."
Well, my goal this year was to be UNFUNNY enough to win. I failed. Sorry, I guess I'm just too funny to win.

So if you decide to spend some time this Summer watching LCS on NBC, remember, it's not a show about stand-up comedy. It's not cast with the best-available comics, so how could it be? In the meantime, I'll be writing more and better jokes, writing more scripts, and getting emotionally ready for the grind of... well... that's for another time.

Rest-assured, my comedy will be on TV within a year. Tune in to COPS around next Valentine's Day.

One last thing...
TWO people from Seattle made the LA SemiFinal show, Jeff Dye, and Andy Haynes. I really like each of these guys and wish them only the best of luck. I did 2 weeks of comedy with Andy Haynes during the competition, and was impressed nightly with how far he's come as a comic. Jeff Dye has made HUGE strides in comedy since he started, and gets better all the time. They're both funny, they're both good looking, and they are both going to do very well, I hope. If Andy gets that mean mug off his face. Guy always looks like he just lost a bet to a blind man and has to eat what's in the bag.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

I Can Hear You Now

Okay, I've decided on a sense I would give up if I had to lose one of my senses.

The decision was made for me, really.
At first, I figured that I'd go with "taste." If I wanted to drop a sense, it would be Taste. The upside is that I wouldn't be tempted in most ways that I am tempted by certain things. The downside is that, if I lost my sense of taste, I would start enjoying the music of Nickelback, The Music Industry's Answer to Illegal Downloading. Plus, I love foods. And I have a lot to try.

So I went another way. Or, like I said, the way came to me, and I said "mmmmB'okay." I know that I'll live a long, healthy life, vibrant and full of fun clothes and trips. But if I had to be robbed of a sense, of the 5 we have (Smell, Sight, Touch, Taste, Hearing), oh crap, EASY...

HEARING.

• I can read captions to funny movies and humorous passages in books.
• I can remember how many of my old favorite songs sound, but most of today's music is recycled from an era I wasn't that hip to anyway.
• I would never have to listen to somebody tell a totally F'ed-up joke. Not a "wrong" joke, a joke they aren't smart enough to remember the proper delivery to.
• I wouldn't have to listen to people complain about how their $5 coffee doesn't taste enough like coffee after they put enough milk and flavor in it to give a leprechaun insulin shock.
• Crying babies? Never again.
• Children's laughter? Creepier than you think.
• You're gonna have to come into the room to tell me the cat has diarrhea.
• Co-worker's diatribe, punctuated with mistimed giggling, about how "this place used to have creamer but now, I uh, my friend works at a place that has creamer and this place used to have creamer, and uh..." WHAT? WHERE IS THIS GOING? WHAT DO YOU WANT? WHAT?

SORRY, I cannot hear you. The Lord has blessed me. So what, I have to talk with my hands and tell people via written word that I'm unable to hear them? Look at all I have lost! It would be worth it.

Think of all the stuff you are inundated with on a daily basis that just turns to white-noise in your mind.
Never again.
The aliens have it right. TELEPATHY. ABDUCTION. PROBES.

Humor is a sense, much like taste.
Some people can enjoy the foie gras, the slow-braised elk tenderloin, and the cheese pairings. Some, well, they're just pissed you passed ANOTHER Arby's, man.

So yes, Hearing. If I had to lose a sense, it would be hearing. No more Nickelback. Yes, I'd choose to lose my sense of hearing,
Or Decency. I'm tired of gut aches from non-farting in public. Or maybe half-decency, half-smell. I think too few people have the perspective of what I could be doing in grocery aisles and various clothiers. So yeah, Decency would be the other sense I may give up.

I should re-think this.

=0=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Two & A Half Minutes

Can somebody please contact me if you watch the CBS shitcom "Two & A Half Men"? I'm trying to expand my list of places to tactically air-strike suggest for special rewards.

I have yet to watch that show and say "Yes, that was funny." It's been on for like 9 years, I don't know a single person who watches it. At least, I hope I don't.

The other night I watched 30 seconds of it. Then the hot chick on the stairmaster went in the other room and I snapped back to reality, covered in a cold sweat and just leeetle bit o' pee. Hopefully, mine.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Letters To Losers

Open Letter to Inattentive Lady At QFC:

I don’t care how long you stood behind me, not seeing that I was reading a magazine near, but not IN a check-out line.
I don’t care that you didn’t see that the check-out line I stood near, but not IN, wasn’t even operating, as nobody was in front of me, and the checker wasn’t there, and the light wasn’t on to show that it was in operation.
I don't care that you didn't see any sort of goods near me that would indicate a purchase was nearing in our time-space continuum.

The answer to your question “Well why (was I) standing there for?” is this:
Because you’re a dumb crap-piece who needs her world challenged in more ways than standing behind a man reading Seattle Metropolitan magazine for a minute before your head cork-pops from your butt’s hole to realize, OH HEY, that guy’s not even in line.

I honestly hope that your world is an emotionally teetering card-house on top of a frayed-cord space-heater near a puddle of the tears you cry at night in between couch-smoked cigarettes and tumblers of Chardonnay, weeping “Come back, Doug, come back” into an macramé pillow case. If I wanna read, I’ll read in your F’ing kitchen, Hag-ass. Sorry that you can’t pay Attention with AMEX. Next time, wear more perfume and make my other eye blind, we won’t have this problem. Eat a crap taco.

Open Letter to DoucheBagge Personifcato At The Alderwood Mall FoodCourt on Saturday, 2/16/08, between 2:30 & 4pm:

It’s not gonna happen, man.
I know you think the baggie Dickies jeans, backwards cap, black thermal shirt, flat-link silver-colored chain necklace, and Swisher Sweet tucked under your cap is an ensemble of ass-attraction. But there’s What You Think. And There’s Reality. Nice giant headphones plugged into a CD player, BTW. El nardo.

To watch you walk around with your elbows slightly flared, as though you were puffing up to make yourself appear bigger to other socially retarded monkeys (your friends), I was reminded of why some animals eat their young, or at the very least, stop feeding them. I know judging you without knowing you is wrong, but Bang-bang-bang-GUILTY on all counts of acting like the ring leader of a gang I dubbed “The Alderwood Skids.”

I watched as you all kept your slack-jawed gazes fixed upon the door, perhaps for a group of girls within your perceived ability to score with them. Yet for 90 minutes, it didn’t happen. That bus from the home for girls with sub-70 IQs never showed, did it?

And what was the dance move you were attempting? The left hand, flattened, palm-down at waist-level, while you undulated your hips to music only you could misinterpret and lose the beat to? You certainly had the attention of a number of girls. They all said “aaaaw!’ while hoping your seizure stopped long enough to laugh at you.

I’m going to see you again, I know I will. And when I do, I hope your posse is with you. The guy with the gigantic eyebrows. His brother with the mongobrow. Your friend who had a checkerboard shaved/dyed into his head. Your best buddy who you looked like you were about to kiss a couple of times, were it not for all those prying eyes. The kid with no headphones who kept shaking his head like we was listening to a song that focused on the ratio of “Money:Bitches” or perhaps “Bitches:Problems.” When I see you again, I will videotape you and post it on the internet to show everyone why NOW is the time to genetically modify food so that people under a certain IQ cannot breed. Smell my hate-fart.


Open Letter to the "Aren't I Funny!?!?"but You're Not Funny You Just Can't Shut Up Pipe-Blockage

Shouting your way in to every conversation going on around you is a great way to get your voice heard. And registered on the "Do Not Talk Around This Person" list. You think you're funny, because that one time at your old job your co-worker said they were going to trim their bushes over the weekend and you said "HEEEEEY! Don't GO theerrre!" and you've hung your whimsical hat upon that tag ever since.

My favorite was when somebody mentioned their friend's serious illness, and you imparted how your sister had a similar but not-as-serious illness, and your friend should have gone to the hospital your sister went to.

What.
The.
F*ck.

Next time that happens, I'm going to let it hang for 5 seconds, and interrupt whomever starts talking to put the limelight on YOU, Rubbernecker, because you want the attention and you'll get to pony-up the info you so greatly want to share. And when it's over, waaaaaaaaaay past the time you should have shut up, I'll just say "Oh, is that all? You made it sound so big, it's really not, is it?"

And then I, not YOU, will look awesome! Nice wolf shirt.
=0=0=0=
Seriously folks, I'm truly in a GREAT mood!


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Love Reason #187: Right Is Right, And You'll Hear About It

Soooo...

we get to Trader Joe's, the Whole Foods of mini-marts, and we're pulling into the parking lot to park the car in the lot as the Lotts and go into the store. As we do, we see a woman on her cell phone on our right, close the trunk of her car, grab her cart, and make a 180-degree turn to take her cart back to the sidewalk corral. But something hit me... something said, "no, this chick looks lazy. That cart's gonna go in the shrub-bed in front of her car."

But it DID NOT go there.

It went in the shrub-bed two spots down where we were trying to park. This didn't stop me.

"Are you serious? Are you that lazy? You just screwed up somebody else's parking spot, being that lazy!" Words flying out the car window at this woman, now bug-eyed and still on her phone. This woman looked, roughly, like Danny DeVito with ponytail. Disbelief came from her agape-mawed mug as she heard these words. I have no idea if she understood them (the area we shop at has many hard-working, documented immigrants, or "Computer Programmers"), but she surely could not miss the tone of my wife's voice.

Yes.
Those words were from the voice-pipes of my wife-of-nearly-one-year. We were both shocked to see this kind of laziness in action, as though it were perfectly fine to just get the cart out of traffic. Well it wasn't, and it isn't, and I don't care if you're from America or California or India or Indiana...
YOUR LAZINESS SHOULDN'T BURDEN ANYBODY EXCEPT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY.

That kind of behavior -the laziness, not the reprimand - propagates because Lazy people aren't called on their crappy behavior. First it was not picking up their cigarette butts. Then it's dropping their bottles of Old Granddad under the Big Toy. Next thing you know, the only thing they toss in a dumpster is kid #2. BECAUSE NOBODY SAYS NOTHIN' ABOUT SOMETHIN'.

She's like a Swiss Army Wife. Just when I think I've seen it all, BLAMMO, magnifying glass comes out, and looks at the fibers of your behavior!

I love my wife. So friggin' much. She is NOT a rage-aholic, by any means. Strife and external idiocy are usually shrugged off with a "Karma's gonna bite 'em." But this time, nope. I would, of course, had never let any harm come to her. She is a calm, loving, and lovely woman who believes in what's Right and Fair. And that I shouldn't eat jalapeno-poppers and beers and sleep in the same room BUT I DIGRESSETH...

She stood up for what she believes in.
She let her voice be heard.
And she returned the cart to the corral... LIKE AN AMER'CAN WOMAN DOES.

Happy Valentine's Day, my sweet.

I love it when you spread that firepower around.

=0=0=0=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

To Serve And Annoy

Starbucks has a new contest going on.

Seems they missed their Q4 profits by the width-equivalent of their coffee cake's calories.

Yeah, new game here for ya...

SELL THE MOST COFFEE BEANS, AND WIN AN iPOD!!!

"It allows partners to creatively share their passion for the coffee with our customers," Valerie O'Neil, a Starbucks spokeswoman, said Monday. "And, it's fun."

O'Neil said contests are common to motivate employees in many retail chains, and Starbucks frequently has them. However, she did not know if the company had ever offered a high-end prize that retails for more than $250 each

No way, really? HOW FUN.
I like that the word "passion" can refer to both a barista's drive to annoy/up-sell a customer, AND the intent of Christ on the cross.

I guess I have to find some other place to gouge me for coffee now.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Congrats To The New York Giants

Big ATTA-BOY to the Giants for beating the Patriots and their lackluster team in the Super Bowl, #XLII, or "The 2nd One Since The Seahawks Got Screwed."

The Giants WON. The Pats didn't LOSE. New York played like they wanted to win the game. The Pats sat on their thumbs and looked flat. Other than Wes Welker.

The Patriots coach, Bill "Gigantic Babyass" Belichick ran off the field with :02 left in the game, his defeat secured with a kneel-down by the Giants QB, Eli Manning. Classless, arrogant MoFo who ran up the score on a number of teams didn't just leave the field...

HE LEFT HIS TEAM.

If I were the Patriots' owner, Bob "All Your Food Are Ours" Kraft, I'd fine him his game check for that cowardly retreat. Bill cost the team $750,000 for illegally videotaping other team's signals. Also cost them their first-round draft pick, which also keeps a deserving college athlete from being drafted in the first round. Zero class in defeat. Prick.

This guy may be a football guru, but he embodies selfishness, underhanded tactics, and he looks like my big toe.

The Giants played 'em tough, smacked Tom "The Chin" Brady around, and hung in there to win it in the 4th quarter. THAT is Championship football. Good job Giants!

ONE MO' THANG...
American Idol commercials starring Ben Roethoelislioleolebergerloeer from the Steelers can gargle my butt oils. After muddling through his cheating victory over the Seahawks in 2006, he went out on his motorcycle and turned his big head too fast and his big head wrecked some poor woman's Volvo. He's no hero. Then again, he's a 24 year old multi-millionaire college dropout. So if YOU want to, go ahead and feel sorry for him.

Whaddup 34? How we gonna live, baby?
MANSIONS AND BENZES, GIVIN' ENDS TO MY FRIENDS AND IT FEELS STUPENDOUS.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

You are what you is

The other day a friend of mine was asking me a lot of questions about a bunch of goings-0n outside of my spheres. People I only kind-of knew, peripherally, were the topic.

What were they up to? Where were they working? Why didn't they ever come by? Did they not like (my friend)? Did (my friend) do something to piss 'em off?

Eventually I had to ask, "Don't you think you're being a little paranoid?"

His response?
"Why? Did somebody say something?"

0=0=0=0=0=0=0
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

It All Ad's Up

Hey Reader!

Look, I love you, you know this.
I know you know this.
You know I know that you know this.

So what I want you to know is that the Google-ads you see on the top of my blog here? Those are on-purpose.

I haven't been commandeered nor tortured into posting these ads.
I included them based entirely on one principal:

EARNING MYSELF AND MY WIFE SOME MONEY VIA THIS BLOG TO FACILITATE OUR MOVE TO THE HOLLYWOOD DREAM RANCH, and to donate to charities we see fit and important, of course.

Shoot, if Carson Daly can be a millionaire, any of us can. Will you help me?

Your clicks on those links cost you nothing, so please check out a few sponsors there, and see what you find!

My thanks to you. I'll never forget you when it comes time to find somebody to help me bury a body.

=0=0=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Carpe Frigging Diem!

In my life, I'm pushing myself harder and further than I thought I could, or should, or wanted to, at times. Because it's for things I love, like Comedy, or Writing, or my Marriage and Wife.

And every single time I do, I know it's because I have had, and will have more moments where I have to step up and get both cheeks into it, and just power one into the cheap seats.

If y'ain't heard of Paul Potts, now ya heard.

Paul went on to win the competition and a lucrative recording contract and, I hope, the respect and admiration of a good people, and some serious hawt ass.

SEIZE.
YOUR.
MOMENT.
Run that show, baby.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Work It Out

Ah yeah.

The drone of the workday. Out of my ears for a bit. I was working with a contracting agency that placed me into The Software Empire. It was fun. It was fun because of the people. The work itself, meh, it just got in the way of getting stuff done.

As a co-worker, people talk spoke to me in a “get this done, it’s on you, yer fly’s still open” tone of voice. Not demeaning as much as passive, in that “I’m passing this off to you, I’m too busy/important/white to do it.” It wasn’t about respect as much as deflection. But hey, if I wanted to not have to do that work, I would work harder. See how that happens? It’s another of life’s cycles, much like a bicycle, NASCAR, and the making of one’s own poo.

I have always been the jack-of-all-trades. (Do not YaMoogle that term at work, by the way. There will be talkings-to.) I can do many things well. I can do one or two things extremely well, like crazy-good when I’m “in the zone.” Those things are in a rotating catalog of Performing Comedy, Writing, Baking, and “The Grown Folk’s Bidness.” You mind your own business, THAT’s what that is. In having diverse skills, I rarely have had the chance to let a particular one shine. Then again, I like farting around at work as much as the next nuclear submarine missile-launcher guy. But really, what grown man isn't entitled to 45minutes of chair-spinning per day?

But work, really, isn’t about “THE WORK” or “THE MONEY” or stealing decent lunches from “THE BREAKROOM” or “THE CANDY ON THE DESK NOBODY WOULD TALK TO OTHERWISE.” It’s about The People. I think.,

What I’ve learned from the Working World so far:

1) The Work you do, the actual production, is truly an expression of your character. Perhaps it is in HOW you do it more than WHAT you do. So when you go to put your best foot forward, remember that not only will people always expect that high level of quality in the future, but you are also likely to step directly into another person’s work/shit-pile.

2) The People you work with are the most vital component of your work. Knowing how to get along with people, who you can confide in, who can be trusted, is as important as any other weapon or skill. These folks are the ones you can count on to take the blame when you get wine-drunk at lunch again and forget that you’re leading the monthly review for HR’s “Diversity Practices,” and you haven’t yet removed that one side-note asking why every head of HR looks like a man-hater. Rrriiiiiiiiiiiiight. You can’t be fair unless everyone is judged unfairly.

3) The Money is important, but it’s only the most-important thing, if you don’t love your job. If you love your job every day, you’re one of those lucky folks who forgets to take the pill for short-term memory loss, but remembers the mood-uppers. Money is important, especially because you bought so much shoddy Swiss furniture in the past 5 years, you gotta get something substantial. Glue + BedFrame = Floor Sleeping. Get as much money as you can, horde it in a mattress, and start buying guns, canned food, and firewood. Paper money isn’t any good in this country, it’s all digital 1’s and 0’s these days. Cash Rules Ever’thing Around Me, hunna-dolla bill y’all, HOLLA. With enough money you can buy people to do your work for you. Think I’m wrong. I have two words for you. FLAVOR. FLAV. SO. THERE.

4) The Freebies, or “Perks,” or “what’s left behind when somebody leaves.” Getting a new desk phone is cool, but even cooler is some cool keyboard or mouse or desk. Food comes and goes, but sleek-looking desktop accoutrements are THA SHIZ. First chance you get, vulture that biznass and high-tail it to the breakroom for some Farewell Cake.

5) Managers are chosen for one of two reasons: They have the talents and skills to lead and guide multiple people across varying disciplines, or they have been with the company for a while now and seem about the right age to manage. I’ve had a lot of the latter. So when I recently had the former, it was like a breath of fresh air that didn’t smell like Chaps cologne and two days of smoking. Managers aren’t necessarily “Management,” a term I’ve usually reserved for the usually-absent “crusty uppers” with corner offices, sham marriages, and executive assistants either verrry attractive or verrrrrrrry “rustic.”

Now, don’t get me wrong about Work; it’s necessary. It’s good for the Soul. In the times I have been unemployed I’ve had searing moments of cabin fever. It’s not good to be cooped up all day hoping something fun happens or an unseen episode of “Scrubs” happens your way. And if you don’t have children or LSD, it can get somewhat lonely.

I will work, someday soon, in the jobs I really want and ougth to be doing. Those jobs aren’t available, appropriately, in Seattle, however. In the meantime, I can only prepare myself and my soul for another go-‘round in the Corporate Machine, giving all I got, if not for the Passion, then for the Glory. And I can only hope to do a good enough job that, upon leaving, my Bedazzled mousepad is retired, and my Farewell Cake is chocolatey.

I would like to thank the CSG Bay of Redwest A, 2227, for a great year. Don’t forget me. Which would be difficult until you find where that “brine shrimp/hot vinegar” smell is coming from.

=0=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

For The Men, Mostly

I just read this list on the Mens Health website, that website that makes looking at a man's muscular, lean body as hetero as possible outside of a mixed martial arts match.

I think this list sums up a lot about what it is to grow into a Man. Perhaps, many guys move seamlessly into these roles, but I have made conscious decisions to do these things, to grow up and out of my ways and look for more than the next high or the next date. Lordy, it's tough sometimes, but that's the Growth. The Peaking Of Life, the road to beauty is ugly, know what I'm saying? It has served me greatly, to go that route.

5 Fights You Can't (and Shouldn't) Avoid
By Mike Zimmerman

YOUR SURRENDER Growing up, getting married, and starting a family and a career ends in tragedy for men. We die. At least, the stuff that makes us interesting to ourselves does. Your many bosses (read: parents, wives, in-laws, the senior VP) are trying to mold you into a Gumby who bends to their will. They deserve your best effort, but not your capitulation. You a dude? Be a dude. Screw 'em (after your chores are done).

YOUR PROMOTION That sighing thing you do around your boss on payday is, well, pussy. Your boss hired a bulldog, and a bulldog will force his hand. Oh, and if your new package doesn't include equity, invest in yourself: Start your own company.

YOUR PARENTAL AUTHORITY Are you the "cool" dad? Dumb ass. You've set yourself up for this problem, and, yeah, it will hurt you more than it hurts the kid when you go ahead and fix what's wrong. You must now put your foot down, and, yeah, in the short term, junior or juniette will see only the jackboot that houses it. You're being a good parent by disciplining them. Let 'em hate you for a while.

YOUR FINANCIAL SANITY AS A COUPLE You must state your case to her about cash. Just realize some financial facts about women: First, a haircut (with highlights) runs three figures. Second, it happens every 6 weeks. And third, if you accept this and budget for it, it will no longer burn an acid hole in your stomach so big that half-chewed hunks of pot roast drop to your scrotum.

YOUR CAUSE Most unavoidable fights, like the ones you're reading about here, are selfish fights. But there comes a time in a guy's life when he steps up for something he believes in, though it was never his fight alone. And that's the point. A man makes it his fight.

=0=0=0=0=0=
more to come...

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Welcome Riley Ann Hennessey!

SHE IS HERE!

Riley Ann Hennessey, the daughter of Katie (Lott) Hennessey and Brian Studforth Hennessey arrived December 19th at 10:53pm.

At 19-inches and 7lbs 10oz, blue-eyed, Riley is healthy, squeaky, pink, and happy. From what I can tell, of course I don't really speak "newborn." Last night I was holding her and rubbing her tum-tum, as she was swaddled by her daddy just a few minutes before. Brian is a really good dad, I had no doubt he'd be such.

But last night while she lay in my arms, she started fussin' a bit, ssqueeeealin', a little squawk, then breeeee!, she passed the bubble and immediately quieted down. Yep, we related!

Gramma Lott (Pam) is just eatin' her up. Can't get enough of her. She had plenty of time to gear up with Katie's pups over the past year, so she was beyond ready for Riley. It's very exciting, and this baby's gettin' a lot of love and attention. Must be nice.

There is a lot more to share here, but I'll go to it another time.

She's a beautiful little creation, and I took a big step toward figuring out why people get together and adopt one of their own. So precious!

So here she is, little Grandchild Hennessey/Lott #1... RILEY ANN!



=0=0=0=0=

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

You Can't Write This Stuff

Reality Television.
The spontaneous programs that are made up of people who act how they normally act, whenever they audition for a TV show and then get drunk and half-naked in front of strangers and 3 roaming cameras.

The Writer's Guild is still on strike, aiming for residual payments on digital media. Streaming,
on-line, on-demand, etc. What we watch was acted, directed, produced, and started as words in the air, on a page, written. As media outlets advance with technology, so does the ability to get paid through those

And thus, the Reality Show has taken over. Game shows. Ever'body-in-one-house-and-drunk shows. Voted-off shows. Design it. Cook it. Make it fall in love with you. But don't think about backstory or character development or story arc; just get drunk and roll tape.

The best part of all this is that Reality TV, self-made media, and other attention-whores putting themselves out there have turned the Klieg lights & cell phone cameras directly upon themselves. And guess what?

Nobody cares. People have given us a glimpse into their lives, and those lives we thought were so sexy and provacative are reeeeeeeeeeeeeally... truly... utterly...
BORING.

So anyway, if you watch a lot of Reality TV, you aren't reading this blog. You're too busy with the new color-it-yourself menu.

I hope this writer strike gets over soon. Otherwise, I'll be forced to talk to people again.



Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Why Do People Keep Calling To Ask If I'm Okay?

If it's because of the news story about the guy chugging a liter of vodka at the airport, I may be very upset.

Also, since people keep asking, I want to mention this about "the move:"

Please just pray, wish, snap, nose-wiggle, or faery-dust us in a positive manner.
Alicia and I are of the same thought that everything has a finite amount of energy, and talk-talk-talking about it over and over saps energy, from anything, really. So we'd really rather not talk about it too much.

Most of you have been verrrry positive, and that's really great of you, THANK YOU!

But for those naysayers and poo-poo'ers out there, hey, it's not your life. You do what you like. I'd rather try and try and try and try in a big world than eat misery every morning in a small one. Next time, skip the cereal and choose a good, stiff drink. Or a bullet.
Make YOUR decisions the good ones.

Have a GREAT Friday!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Confessions

1) I love frosting.

Oh sweet, creamy lord. I feel so free. I can't tell if these are tears of joy or tears of missing frosting. Like cake frosting. Not "icing." Not sweetened whipped cream and a little vanilla extract.

Butter. Powdered sugar.
Maybe some cream cheese, or "albino fudge" as I ask for it at the store.
A bit of vanilla?
Cocoa powder.
A little cream, maybe some milk.

Graham crackers. And a spoon. Maybe neither.

I love it. I don't go crazy on it anymore, but only because I have mirrors and a family history of grand delusions. It's not healthy.

But this time of year, I cry. I cry for the abuse, the misuse of frosting.
The recent cupcake boom of the past 2 years has helped bring frosting back to the forefront. The frosting, I eat it last.

And some heartless people who yell at animals are using frosting as an apology for their shoddy work underneath, this time of year. The generalized letter of boring family recap that nobody cares for, under frosting. Fuck your stale cakes, Accounts Payable. Just leave the frosting bucket with the lid off and some spoons next to it and let us do as we like.

Stop mis-using frosting. The world's in bad enough shape as it is. Carson Daly has a career. Enough said.

Stop it you guys. Seriously.

I love frosting.
There. YOU deal with it.
=0=0=0=0=

2) Got a cat last week. It adores me.

I'm not a cat-person. I'm more of a "guy." But this cat, about 2.5 months old, loves G-Unit here. Will fall asleep in my lap within a minute. Purrs only when I pet her. Will go into her litter box and "show off" with a display that can only be described as "1/8th her bodyweight." She has no traction on the Pergo, and no recollection of her lack of grip while negotiating a turn into the office.

=0=0=0=0=0=0=

3) I thoroughly enjoyed myself at the Chop Suey- LaffHole show last night. That was a great crowd, and the interactive-ness of the standing bar patrons just adds to the rock show vibe. KUDOS to Kevin, Emmett, Scott, Dan, and all the others involved in that movement. They love comedy, they created an environment for comedy (Not just stand-up), and it's flourishing. Sweet-ass.

Andy Peters, I say... HUZZAH, sir, for calling that poseur emo-hipster buttcrease on his tattoo shenanigans. He's set up to do nothing but play Guitar Hero and power-wallow at Bauhaus. Next time, we'll kick his ass.

Also, here's how I envision a rehearsal of the band "That'll Do Robot, That'll Do" would go:
Dude's on the couch, face to the cushions, arms overhead. Wearing a maroon and blue-striped sweater, a size too-small, a.k.a. a "hipster Large."
-- Another dude enters. He sees couch-sleeper and another guy in a papasan chair holding a copy of "Figurine Monthly" in his hands, moving his lips while he reads.

FIRST GUY
(to guy on couch)
Hey. Dude. Wake up. (kick)
Come on, we have to practice for the
show tonight. Wake up, man. (nudge)

(to guy in chair)
No, it's cool, leave the gorilla mask on.
Okay, you shotgun this bottle of Vick's 44 and then
swan-dive onto the credenza while holding this ukelele.

I'm going to plug this keyboard into the wall,
stand in this pool of my collected urine, and
launch myself down the stairs.

(to guy on couch)
You. Hit the record button when my ballet slipper
comes off. Do NOT screw this up, guys. I did not
have my parents put me through art school to sound
like I know what I'm doing.

Okay, on the 2 & the 4, here we go...

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

No News Is Great News

The past 10 days in Washington has shown some bad Winter weather, from the wind and rain, to the flooding and snow, to cold. Very, very cold. The driving around here got worse, if you had to drive, which most folks didn't, but wanted to see how fast they could ditch their foreign sedan anyway.

Tonight on KING-5 News was a recap of the major flooding in the Puget Sound area. Mostly just pictures and stories of the people most-affected by the flooding, living in some of the more-rural areas of the state, often in low-income demographics and zip codes.

I did not watch the entirety of it. I was out doing something I love for a Toys For Tots benefit show. I caught the last 10 minutes of the "news feature" to see what was affecting my neighbors. And I was pretty much laughing the entire time.

Not at the terror or sadness of losing their home and much of their lives in a flood.
Not at the lost money and work time and possessions washed away.

But at the "seriousness" of the story being played up like the newcasters actually cared, and like showing an hour-long program was going to actually help the situations and people in need.

What they need is 10 minutes, tops, to show the devastation.
Then they should show a website and a phone number of an organization that can actually help those folks, instead of the canary face of one local newscastress, or the mustachioed, vestigial weathermen we are inundated with.

The overdevelopment of our land in Washington, which is NOT "organic," nor "green," nor "progressive" as many folks would like to think they/we/this are/is/be... that clearcutting to build condos and zero-lot-line homes all over the place is great for the economy, bad for the housing market, and devastating for the environment. Way to go guys. Way to think with your common sense.

The news folks don't tell about that much. Not when 7 housing companies are buying commercial time. Turn it off. Turn it all off.

Then you can send some money or goods to those folks, to show the support you can't do with sandbags, backhoes, shovels, space-heaters, or spare bedrooms. And then pop in your favorite funny movie and get back to your Life.

Or you can, you know, like GO THERE and help them out somehow. Either way, you can just go. The news doesn't want you to do anything but stay glued to the news. Unglue. Change the channel.

TURN IT OFF.
Get on with Life.

Bring me some cookies!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

It's "Just Us" in Justice

I truly wish we could live in a world where we do not need a police service.

But we do.

Because we do not have enough people like Mr. Horn, represented in the article linked here.

Mr. Horn, his mental capacity up for some debate (and the fact that he called Sept. 11 "September the 1st"), took into his own hands the matter of stopping two burglars. They had broken into the neighbor's house next door, and Mr. Horn, calmly and rationally, while on the phone with 9-1-1 (not 9-1) decided to take his shotgun out to make sure somebody paid for the crime.

Now, I'm not saying you should go get a shotgun and sit and wait and watch your neighbor's property when they're gone. Maybe a decent .22 would do the trick for you. Or, EEEESH, get some of those shells that are full of rocksalt, OUCH, right?

But what I'm saying is that in many instances, it is far better to Do and Then Apologize, than to ask for permission when you know you'll be denied. Mr. Horn put himself in a dangerous position. I don't think of him as a hero, nor do I think of him as a criminal. I think of him as the kind of guy who I would like guarding my property if I'm on a 9-day outbounder. And in turn, I will help him bury one large bag per year, no questions asked.

Make up your own mind, decide what you like, but I swear that I would uncork some damage artillery if I awoke to find somebody snipping from my wife's rosemary, UNINVITED.

Shit would get handled, FOR REALS.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad