Taking A Break From the WebFilth, Are We?

The internet, or as George W. Bush once called it, "Library TV," (unconfirmed) is nothing if not full of pointless ramblings. Like this blog, now nearing 600 posts. I have totaled, between this one and my MySpace blog, nearly 1,000 posts. I have no idea if anybody actually reads these on a regular basis. But if you do, I cannot thank you enough, nor legally within the laws governing the sovereign state of Cambodia. I love writing, being creative, and expressing my views on lighthearted issues, like heroin use and terrorism, and the hard-hitting topics like what food is truly unacceptable to offer publicly at work.

Goldfish Crackers? Somebody once put the little Pepp'ridge Fa'm happy fish snacks... INTO A COFFEE FILTER-AS-BOWL... onto the counter in the kitchen at work. As though it was a viable snack option.

"Hey," th'idiot thought, "I like these crackers! I am a good person! I will share my crackers I like with work people I like!"

REALLY? Then why leave them anonymously?
Is this a day-care or a place I go to between "fun" and "sleep?" Next time, just blow gas in my cubicle and leave the culinary insults in your desk drawers. Get the trots on your birthday, jackload. Those are a third-tier salad topper AT BEST. Eat a fart.

So, the internet gave each of us with a computer and an internet connection, or access to our friend's resources so that we couldn't be tracked by the Gub'mint! when reading Chow Mein Kampf: Cooking For Facists, the ability to connect with data we never knew existed. Information. News. Sports records. Urban legands. Keith Urban. John Legend. Keith Stubbs. Celine Dion's clothing designer, who may be blind. And pictures that, as a society, we have absolutely no need to see, no use for, nor should be judged for looking at.

But there's now a visibility into human lives which was not likely anticipated by people willing to open their lives up. In other words, people are putting their lives on display, and it's as fascinating as it is frightening. I am both embarrassed and empowered by what I see.

The truth is that we love the gossip, the dirt, the dredged-up hintings and naughty bits of a person's life, words thrown into the webosphere for our consumption...

AS LONG AS THE DREDGINGS AREN'T FROM OUR EMOTIONAL SINKHOLES. As long as we aren't the subject of the dirty whispers, we're usually okay with the whispers existing. Truly, they've always existed. But this netosphere gives people a key element that previous generations lacked: The assumption that people give 2 hard pushes about what they have to whisper about.

I include myself in that realm. I write to entertain myself as much as I think there are people actually WAITING to read this, like they have NOTHING to do all day long except pine for my brain droppings here. I do thank you, Dear Reader, for ever and forever, for staying with me this long. I will write this forever just so that people will continue reading (P.Diddy's fans now just go with the Video Blog), and so that anybody who can't read will stop trying to be my friend.

The web gives us a place to air our grievances, among other things in need of airing. I have been in a number of on-line squabbles, and found them as exhilirating as they are dumb, if not totally pointless. The internet is the ultimate in Passive Activity, if there is such a thing. Doing "something" from a chair, or a Kentucky Gropin' Hammock if that's your thing.

But one's heart races when all of this visual and aural stimuli rushes into our sensors, and perhaps it feels like we're doing somethin'.

The internet can be used to do things, like order items, pay for ordered items, and then report the ordered items as "missing" when she shows up and runs away from you because AGAIN, you must stop ordering brides on-line.

Or STALKING! You can find somebody to be obsessed with for whatever reason, and spiral completely out of control. And you'll swear up and down that they just aren't getting the real YOU, and they need to meet you in order to find out that you are NOT stalking them...

you're just hacking their email and phone records to make sure that nobody is, indeed, stalking them. Cyberstalking is still stalking. Sorry.

Online gaming is another way to use the internet while pretending you've got a life.

Overall, this is a necessary and wonderful tool that has been sullied by perverts, pre-verts, awful bands, unsightly "models", and the government. Please do not think that the internet is an evil machine. It is a reflection of the makeup of humanity.

And all that has been going on within the Webosphere, the degradation, the love-sharing, the snakeoils, the snake handling, the purchase of kidney-extraction forceps, has forever been happening. Recipe trading, cake making, and people sneaking in to love-make to the cake (You Google that on your own!). It's all been happening prior to the internet.

But thankfully, with technology in our lives, all the good people have a place to watch the pervs from a safe distance. But we are NOT stalking them! Really, who has the time?

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Blowin' Gas

AAA: Average price of gas in Washington $4.35
By The Associated Press
The AAA auto club says the average price of gallon of gas for drivers filling up for the Fourth of July in Washington is $4.35 That's up 20 cents...

The AAA auto club says the average price of gallon of gas for drivers filling up for the Fourth of July in Washington is $4.35.
That's up 20 cents in the past month and $1.27 in the past year. It's also 25 cents higher than the national average. (we have a very high gas tax in our state, because we don't pay much on our car tabs and still must pay for social programs)

The AAA survey also found the average price of a gallon of diesel is $4.87. That's down four cents in the past month but $1.86 higher than a year ago.

The survey for today found the highest gasoline prices in Bellingham at $4.46 and lowest in Spokane at $4.11.

Gas prices in some other cities, according to the AAA: Seattle $4.38, Tacoma $4.35, Olympia $4.38, Vancouver $4.33, Yakima $4.29, Tri-Cities $4.25.


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Working It Out #7

My wife and I, on Monday's night, work out in a group at our church. It's an offshoot of a popular subculture of fitness focused on intense, short workouts that are designed NOT for you to plod along, but to burn you out so you can get on with your frosting.

Tonight, the circuit was this:

1. Row 500M on the rowing machine
2. Jump Rope and do "Double-Unders," where you jump & get the rope around twice
3. KettleBell swings (a kettlebell is a cannonball with a C-shaped handle on top, weights of anywhere from 12 to 44lbs)
4. Thrusters (Holding a 45-lb barbell, squat down, stand up, push the bar up)
5. Box-jumps
6. Sit-ups

The time of each station depended on how fast the person rowing could get to 500m. You start at the station when they start rowing. If they get there in 3min, you do 3min of the station. If it takes them, oh, 4min30sec, you curse their existence and scream for Gatorade Cool-Icing Flavor, now with peanuts.

My scores were, in order that I went
Kettlebell swings = 62
Thrusters = 49
Box Jumps = 42
Sit-ups = 56
Row = 2:02
Jump = 3 doubles, 109 jumps total
Calories = A butt-ton

These scores are a bit elevated, mind you.
There were 2 groups, and my group had 3 kids in it.
Kids have a lot of energy. Kids have a lot of pep. Kids have a lot of gas. Kids do NOT have a lot of muscle tone or strength or attention span. When a 12 year old "late bloomer" stops because he's tired on the rower, and his younger brother is 6 feet away farting through sit-ups, and you're just cresting on a 44lb kettlebell swing (#35 of 52), you kind of lose your faith in AMerica's youth. It is replaced by the burning between your shoulderblades that starts in yer butt's crack.

I swear by "Turbulence Training," btw. It's like this kind of thing, but you can do it on a smaller scale, minus the kid-toots. See that link over and up on the right that starts with "CLICK HERE"? Click there, learn more. That thing rules.

I will help anybody get into that routine at any time. I love it. It's upped my cardio and strength like crazy.

More on that when my fingers stop Charlie-horsing.

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A Great Fear

Besides the humanity walking around the Taste of Tacoma this afternoon... which would have made even Mother Teresa mutter "REALLY? That tank top was what you said YES to?"... I have a very great fear.

It is this...

That I would come to a point in my life where my hubris and ego had so terribly clouded my vision that I felt nobody was more important, intelligent, or savvy as I. That nobody had anything to teach me. That I had become, in effect, the center of my universe.

I have so much compassion... or "only so much" compassion?... for my fellow man. I recently realized that I may have begun to believe my own stink was rosey. And it ain't, folks. Every new frustration is a moment for growth, a moment to take a lesson into my life and see if it applies.

'tis not always eas-eye. Some people, without ever knowing it, test my patience to the Nth degree. And I'm not sure if it's my place to let that out, or just say "oh well" and shrug it off. What if nobody were to ever say to that person "The amount of nervous laughter you produce? When something is beyond your grasp and yet you laugh to make yourself sound jolly? While you're really nice and all that, I think you're too damn loud. Shut the hole. Please. Thank you. Okay, looks like Chuck E Cheese is closing now, so I'm out. Thanks kid."?

So I must remember that I am growing, still, in the ways that matter most; as a Person who cares enough to not apply for a handgun permit.

Just Yet.

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Drugs On The Street

I've been at my new job since February, and a full-time employee here - as opposed to a contracted employee - since May 19th. After 30 days my "insurance" plan kicked in for coverage. Coverage here is a very loosely-applied term.

The Coverage I receive is, frankly, disgustingly small. For a tax-paying, full time, relatively handsome employee at a multi-billion dollar corporation (which does NOT provide creamer, sugar, or recyclable!!! cups for their employees keggers), I have squat to work with. I have a high deductible to pay BEFORE my insurance kicks in. The deductible would be paid on things other than Preventive care, such as physicals, inocculations, and shock therapy. Perhaps it's some sort of vetting, to prove I'm financially stable enough to pay for my own medical treatments prior to the company footing one cent of the bill.

The deductible is over $1,000. It's not an insurmountable sum. But where is the Benefit? As a contracted (read "SQUEEZED") employee, I had a similarly craptastic plan, wherein my prescriptions were covered up to $75 a month. Not a big deal there. Unless ya need a specialty med, which I do. Not as in "it helps me sleep from time to time." It's a medication that keeps me from having arthritis flare-ups and horrible psoriasis. Since it's the only drug of its kind, and the most-effective, it runs its own show, price-wise.

For a month's-worth of the med, off the shelf, yer lookin' at $1,500. My alternative is heroin. Or a detoxification program that would cost nearly that much, but wouldn't work at the cellular level that the drug does. And after all I've been through with it, the only thing that may, MAY work as well is a full month-long detox, liver-wringing, and being dipped in organic coconut oil by Salma Hayek. (these statements have not been disproven by the FDA, AMA, or my wife)

Well, my co-worker's grossing me out with a wet, hacking chest cough that is lingering since the 2nd day we worked here... and yet she remains adamant that she's NOT sick. 4 lineal feet of lung oyster begs to differ, sister.

Situations like this make me scream for "Universal Healthcare!!!" But I'll get past this, and write some funnier jokes about it, and do my best to bring it down from the inside. Like a virus. A handsome virus.

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Who Watches The Watchers?

Just read an article about how our society and communities, more and more, are becoming "Big Brother-ized." Cameras everywhere, paranoia-induced lawfulness!

Cameras are there to get the rulebreakers, right? The thugs and thieves and jay-walkers.
Why do we need this?

Because for too long, our society has taken it too easy on crime. We watch something happen, unarmed, and then call the po-leece. They show up, sometimes too late, and get their questioning on. Statements be droppin', y'all. Witness with eyes and all 'at.

And because we, as a society, didn't exact a little vigilante justice and drill some purse-snatcher in the legs with a bat or a bullet or a Dodge Hemi Crew-Cab. Purse gets returned, guy gets the corn kicked outta that wasted vessel of a reality-tv-addled carcass, dragged behind a dumpster, peed-upon, then the cops get called.

And for good reason. Lot of psychos out there, gotta make sure they aren't gettin' away with nothin'.

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Please... ssshhhhh

It doesn't take much for my Stimulometer, the -ometer that measures stimuli, to start red-lining. I'm either hyperobservant, a snob, oversensitive, hungover, or all of the above. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes I really want to wear earplugs throughout my day. I hear a lot of insipid blather, and not the fun kind that makes you think "ooh, a conversation about, like, Mark's party. Exactly what I need right now and later."

My brain runs almost all the time. And lately I'm trying to communicate more openly. Not just in being forthcoming and non-judgmental and calm, but also honest about my emotions in the event that the emotions can make a difference one way or the other if they're brought up. Turns out...

they always can. Al. Ways.

So sometimes, when I want the world to shut up, I have to do so, first.
But the world here owes me nothing. I owe the planet quite a few things.

First off, I accidentally kicked a dude's chair last night while crossing my legs at the 9:10 of "KUNG FU PANDA," and I should have apologized for it. I didn't. I owe him one.

There's more, but for now... I just want quiet. I want peace. And quiet. In a bubble around me. I want no more questions about anything. I want to do what I have to go do, and not be asked what I'm doing, about to do, or just did. I need it. My brain needs to not be bothered by a question whose answer is not vital to the continued life of the asker. No, I don't need cracked pepper. Yes, I was next. No, that's not enough ice. Yes, really... I'd like the dressing ON THE SIDE.

I'm going now to drill a Valerian, go through old clothes until I get "Courtney Love in court" woozy, then climb into bed and put in my earplugs.

Hey World, seriously... help me out a little. Find out what "fiduciary" means elsewhere, I'm not your Wiki.

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Blinded by the Right

The other day at work I heard an idiot talking about how we ought to stop complaining about high gas prices. Echoing what many hacky comics have said in between bong rips (I'm not down on bong rips, just hacky comics), th'Idiot piped up with...

"Well, I mean, GAWSH, it seems like gas prices are probably so high because, I don't know, um... maybe it's all the way deep under ground and you have to dig for it? And then, um, like, you have to make it into GAS?"

First off, it took them a LONG time to say that. Brevity is the soul of wit, and can be a violent wolverine-like animal when stretched over an imbecile's rack of torture known as their "attempt at humor and/or social commentary."

Secondarily, but most importantly, is that this approach to the issue of gas prices either denies or is ignorant to the fact that oil companies, in the past year, have posted ANOTHER year of record-breaking profits. Revenue topped $377,000,000,000 (BILLion) at Exxon in 2006. Profit was around $36BILLION. All this in the face of Hybrid cars, solar energy, global warming, a deteriorating economy, ugly people, and the end of "Arrested Development."

So, if somebody says "Hey, gas is expensive because a lot of dinosaurs had to die for it," remember that many dinosaurs (including that Dick Cheney, George W. Bush, and Steve in accounting who never brings donuts in) are still living in the glow of gasoline. All while making a gigantic, steamy, ozone-eating profit.

I gotta get oil stock.


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Lee or Ray, Part 2

Adding to this earlier post, now a re-post, about men with the names of Lee or Ray in their names being somehow more prone to violence. Check it ooot...
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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?

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.

AND LET'S NOW ADD... from the AP Story...
A grieving mother is angry and a suspect is now free after King County prosecutors dismissed a murder charge, saying they simply can't prove who killed a young man almost two years ago.

Lonnie Lee Johnson was freed Monday after spending more than 1 1/2 years behind bars. He was accused of stabbing to death Jessie Drungo, 23, in a Kent parking lot during a scuffle that may have had racial overtones.

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

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The Refinance Dance

Last year, Alicia and I looked at refinancing our home to take advantage of better interest rates than the one we're in now. My rate of interest was high in a lower interest rate... GET IT???

COMEDIAN over here. My co-workers have no idea.
ANYWAY, there was a lot of running around because I worked as an independent contractor for a few months, but always made payments on time and all that stuff a RESPONSIBLE person does. It took a long time to get all this crap handled. But we did it.

Then it came time to sign, and hmm... lots of random fees show up on our paperwork, so we said "No," and we walked out. We don't take on debt to allay debt. You may as well fart into the hose of your gas-mask, like some of my old bosses do.

So here's what happened. The guy we worked with hounded me for a few months because they "paid" to have our home appraised, but we didn't go through with the re-fi, and the $ for the appraisal got yanked outta his paycheck. Here's what happened after that.
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Here's where it Started
Subject: Appraisal
Date: Thu, 15 Nov 2007 15:16:06 -0800
From:
To: Geoff Lott

Hi Jeff;

I just had $400 taken out of my paycheck in order to pay for the appraisal that was conducted on your home.
I would appreciate receiving the payment that you agreed to make.

Please call me with any questions.

Kind regards,
{Turdlet}

"Committed To Saving Our Neighbors Money"

MY RESPONSE
From: Geoffrey Lott
Sent: Friday, November 16, 2007 10:34 AM
To: {Turdlet}
Subject: RE: Appraisal

Hello {Turdlet},

I'm sorry about the money. However, my wife and I did everything that was asked of us to go through with the refinance process, from numerous faxes and emails and forms, to phone calls while on business trips. With as much work as we put in, we weren't trying just to get a free appraisal.
In every commercial I have heard for {TURD COMPANY} it is states that {TURD COMPANY} will "pay to have your house appraised." There’s no contingency attached.

We acted in every step with the full intent of going through with the refinancing via {TURD COMPANY}. Our decision to halt the transaction was due to over $7,000 in fees, which counteracted the entire reason we wanted to refinance. We would actually be incurring more debt, which isn’t in our best interest. We won’t be paying the $400 appraisal fee, as {TURD COMPANY}’s commercial says {TURD COMPANY} will pay for it, we don't feel we owe {TURD COMPANY} any money, and I don't remember signing any legal agreement saying I would pay for an appraisal if the deal didn't go through. And you misspelled my name,which in most circles I work in is a respect issue.

I apologize that it may have taken much of your time, but it took ours, too, and ultimately, we decided against buying the {TURD COMPANY} product.

Nothing personal, it just wasn't going to work for us.
I'm sorry, again, that any more time and money was lost here. We did all we could with the hope of a good deal. But that wasn't going to happen, so we couldn't go through with it, regardless of everyone's efforts, ours and yours.

Sincerely,
Geoff Lott
"Committed To Not Getting Plowed"

HIS RESPONSE
Subject: RE: Appraisal
Date: Fri, 16 Nov 2007 10:52:40 -0800
From: Plop
To: Geoff Lott

Hi Geoff;

Sorry about the misspelled name. I believe that was the first time it ever happened in this transaction, but still, no excuse. Again, my apologies. Let’s both chalk this one up to experience and move on.

Kind regards,
{Turdlet}
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So there ya go. I'm starting to embrace the necessity of calling people out. Public embarrassment needs to come roaring back to the forefront, until people realize that those around us are more worthy of our courtesy than those on a phone on their couch and in their own stink.

We matter. Most of us.

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Obama Baby-Mama Ain't Sayin' "Whitey," You CRACKERS!

Michelle Obama never used the word "Whitey?"

In a speech today or some time close to today, Obama said his wife never used the word in a speech, sermon, diatribe, or "shout-out."

...the F is wrong with that woman? Has she not lived in America? I can't stand "whitey," let me tell you. When I think of "Whitey," I think of slow-witted, clothing-bedazzling, singular-genre-music-listening, self-righteous, jingoistic turd-makers who watch that Jim Belushi show and are keeping places that serve fried shrimp in business. I am constantly yelling "WHITEY," "Honky," "Cracker," "Pale-Face," "Round-Eye," "Dan," and "John Tesh" without a second thought. Maybe I'm a racist.

So many rumors, lies, untruths, and horse's crap is circulating about Senator Barack Obama, there's a place to debunk some of it.

RIGHT HERE.

Turns out, sorry, he's not the antiChrist. POP goes a bubble.

I don't know who I'm voting for, just yet. I don't believe in nationalized healthcare because I think it would drive the quality of care into the ground. Kids should get healthcare whenever they need it, however. Also, organic beef tastes about 10-times better when eaten across the table from a gorgeous naked person.

I will find the Truth, as long as my schedule allows for it.
In the meantime, here's a funny picture.

Today I found myself reminiscing of when gas only cost $4.

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Sick of It

So... again... at work...

This guy sitting near me, in an office... with a DOOR that closes on hinges and latches and locks... has his door open...
and a now-drying chest cough that spasms in quick, double-bursts every 90 seconds or so. You could set your whiskey shots by it. He works in HR. Imagine.

My problem with people coming to work ill, especially if they are contagious, and ESPECIALLY if they aren't that attractive, is the possibility of spreading their illness. I understand the move if you're the only orthopedic surgeon in the ER for the next 72 hours, or a drywaller who doesn't reek of beer before hanging Hardi-backer in the splash zones. But the HR contact? Dude.

Back in the bubble.

'kA-hhuu, 'kA-hhuu.

But HOW does this message get out? It's the same problem for somebody who is really loud at work, or dresses poorly (not the scooping neckline or short skirt, that's a whole different reason to stay home), or complains all the time. It's a personality flaw, it's in the code of the machine now.

See, in the past I've tried dropping hints, anonymous print-outs, farting in their cube, farting in a drawer in their cube, leaving the water of a tuna can in a cup under their desk, telling them outright, and general embarrassment. The last of those, by the way, is far too underutilized in our society. If somebody is bothering you with any sort of behavior that you haven't paid good money for, it's well within your rights to let 'em know.

I can't handle this. I'm 34. It could go on for Who Knows how long, and dammit, it's time to just do the right thing and tell HR.

Oh right. I gotta say something. Sorry Dude. I'm sick of your sickness.

Another time, earlier this year when I first started this job, I was very ill for a good 48 hours. Some sort of bug that just wracked me. So I decided to stay home for that Monday. When I returned, I was admonished, somewhat "gaily," by a co-worker that I better not be sick and get her sick, dang it!

From the day I started there was a wet, hacking chest cough emanating from across the cube walls, from the same person who was demanding that my presence not THAT FUCKING COUGH, DUDE, COME ON.... that my presence not impact her immune system. Now, my bug was legit. 4 months into the show here, that chest cough prevails, daily, wetly.

It's making me sick. DONE.

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Comedy For Reals

This past weekend I performed 4 times at Laughs Comedy Spot in Kirkland. Every show was good, if not great. Grrrooood. Twice we had some chatsters off to stage left, including one group who, when admonished, responded with "Is that us?"

Yes.

The voices you hear coming out of the mouths of your friends whose mouths are moving 2 feet from you is ALL Y'ALL.

Working with Phil Palisoul, I learned a lot this weekend. This guy gets going and never lets up the entire hour. Joke after joke after laugh after laugh. That's hard to do as a comedian, and he was FRIGGIN' AWESOME. "Chicken Potpie..." A little reminder for those who made it.

I know, beyond a five o'clock shadow of a doubt, that Making People Laugh is my Purpose. However I can, where and when I can, it's what I Do. This is how I do.

It's how I do it, when I do it, when I'm up in tha club.

So now, here we are, back to the other side of reality.
Day job. Commute. Etc. E. t.... c... I actually do really like my day job, for one I must have, but it's surely not The Goal.

A booker recently, upon my turning down a gig in Soap Lake, WA, remarked that "it's hard to take (me) seriously as a comedian," since I wouldn't schlep out to Nowhere for $200 and a motel room for 2 nights. Soap Lake, WA, I retorted, is not a serious gig. I aim higher. Gas at $4 a gallon (remember when?) 220-mile round trip, day off of work, eating on the road, I would actually be losing $38 on the show is what it came to. The gig, came to find out, was canceled. Not enough tickets sold.
It's hard to take seriously anybody willing to sell out talent for an extra little cheddar.

That being said, some great things are in the works right now, moving forward with a serious momentum shove by myself, Lovely Wife, great Friends, Faith, and Fate. I can't make it on my own, but I'll show up and kick ass when I get the shot. Everything else is small potatoes. I want the sustained, throbbing Big Time, folks.

Ready.

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Last Comic Answering Questions

While a lot of folks have asked me about my involvement with Last Comic Standing...

Usually... "Why aren't YOU (me, not you) on that show?"...

It's there that I tell them, hey, I've auditioned 3 times and been told the same thing 3 times...
"Funny stuff, good writer, but we don't think you're right for the show."

So funny, good writing is not what they're looking for. Okay?

But if YOU are looking for it, come see me at a show soon!

THURSDAY, June 5th
Laughs Comedy Spot in Kirkland
8:30pm, "A Show Of Character:" Stand-up comedians perform their best work, and the work of their Alter Eg0s. See men as women, women as aliens, and a remote act from Hollywood!
** A portion of the proceeds will go to support the Susan G. Komen "Walk for the Cure" in show of support for the Survivors, Fighters, loved ones, and research around breast cancer.**

MORE TO COME...
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"Sex And The City," Because Women Aren't Portrayed As Confused Whores Nearly Often Enough

Yeah, I wrote the title of this blog with "Whore" in it.

As a man, I have been had SATC (short for "Sex And The City") rammed into my visual cortex as often as necessary to get laid. I have seen probably 10 episodes. I have found the writing to be pretty good. The acting, on a scale of 2-5, with 10 being "Good," ranks regularly near the 3's.

But this movie will go nuts all weekend as women get bombed at Happy Hour and plan a girl's night out to go see it. Then spend $10 to sit and laugh out loud about the glamour of women concerned only with sex, fashion, drinking, and sex fashion while drinking.

Because, really, isn't that what takes up all of our minds?

YES, frankly. When these things are in order, the rest of life is much more manageable. I recently purchased a pair of jeans that made my butt look not only sculpted, but like somebody else's. I "get it," when it comes to fashion.

Saying "I don't care" when it comes to one's looks is like saying, when it comes to running water, electricity, and Geoff Lott, you "could take it or leave it, meh." Then you'd shrug your hairy shoulders and drop your poops into a hand-dug hole before cooking your trapped marmot over a campfire. It's 2008; Look the part, Evolved Human.

Anyway, yeah, the SATC movie will undoubtedly be a waste of a man's time. LUCKILY, this weekend, all weekend, there are Hockey finals, NBA playoffs, golf, car racing, and CAGE FIGHTING!!!
www.EliteXC.com has a great card on CBS Saturday night, 9pm. Featured fights include the main event between Kimbo Slice, a YouTube phenom who was known best for beating guys up at BBQs in Florida, and James "Colossus" Thompson, a 6'4" 265-lb monstrosity who once got knocked out in 14 seconds. Also, American Gladiatress Gina Carano will take on Kaitlin Young in the first ever highly televised Women's bouth. Proving that not only can women train as hard as men, punch and kick and grapple like men, but they have to be good looking to get on TV.

www.WEC.TV has a decent card, headlined by Mixed Martial Arts' premiere Featherweights (145lb-ers) Urijah Faber (20-1, champ, 12 fight win-streak) and Jens Pulver (22-8-1, challenger, former world champ). I'm rooting for Jens, because we went to High School together and I want to see him continue his great career. Also, I hate Faber's butt-cleft-chin. So hey, there's plenty of entertainment for the fellas this weekend.

In the meantime, SATC will be raking in money from women all over the continent. The guilty pleasure of it all, sure thing, knock yerself out. But when it comes to visions of women being strong, independent, and sexy, can't we do it the old-fashioned way, in a chained prison cage match, shirts torn and all kinds of heaving?

SATC, no thanks. I'll wait for the rental to come out and ignore it then, too.
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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.


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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.

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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?

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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.
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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.

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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.

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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.


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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!
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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.

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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.

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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.




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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!

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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.
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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!

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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.
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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.

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


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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?

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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...

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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.

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

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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.

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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!
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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.
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Seriously folks, I'm truly in a GREAT mood!


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