The Work Is Out

Interval training.
Tha SHIZZ.

Do you have 90minutes to work out?
NO.
If you do, you have an incredible body, and seriously flabby personality.

You know how that Stop & Go driving burns gas outta yer car, so you don't wanna do that?
That same principle holds true for Interval Training.

High-Intensity Interval Training, or HIIT, or sHIIT, is what you're gonna wanna be doing from now on for your work-'em-out regimen.

What happens is you max out your effort for a short period of time, say for 20 seconds. Then rest for a minute, let your body recover, and then you blast it again. You're shocking your body into action, and it responds by releasing a lot of growth hormone and other stuff I can't spell, all of which lead to your body looking for every available energy source not strapped to a tendon and to a bone. Such as adipose tissue, or "body fat," or "the place where feelings go and people don't." Not saying you have any, just sayin' that IF YOU DID... you're gonna wanna HIIT it.

Again, who would you rather look like?
Wrong picture. Sorry.
ANYwho...

I subscribe to TurbulenceTraining. I bought the program earlier this year, and here's what it's done for me...
1) I'm leaner than I have ever been, dropped about 4% bodyfat in 3 months. Could have done better, but that's my fault with my diet and thinking I could eat cheese without any adverse affects. There's a great nutrition plan included, which I followed for the past 2 weeks and ripped another 3lbs off.
2) My cardiovascular shape is better than ever. I did 7 full-bore hill sprints this morning (12% grade) and jogged the mile home. Sweating? You bet. Dying? Nope.
3) Strong? Uh... MAJORLY. This is both a cardio and anaerobic (muscle-building) program, so you will be getting a full body workout in under an hour. The longest I've spent on a workout here is about 55min. I was screwing around for a good 15 of that, so again, you will do better than I.

So yes, I promote Craig Ballantyne's "TurbulenceTraining" program whole-heartedly. If you want to work out 2 hours a day, 5 days a week, you go ahead. If you have any energy left when you're done, me and the rest of the HIIT'ers will be hanging out with the sexy crew.

By the way, Craig is a devotee of his own program. He looks like this...

I don't.
Yet.


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A Traffic, Oil, And Giant Solution To Problems

My solution to traffic, fender-benders, the insurance industry, road rage, fat-cat oil company profiteers who can't drill in the Mexican Sea Gulf, drunk driving, that dipshit with the loud rap music stereo blasty-boom, people who demand you get out of their way because they are late for a latté, your impending short-comings due to underestimating the intense influence of a red-head, lowered Acuras driven by shit-head kids with no insurance crossing 4 lanes in 1/8 of a mile after merging, and Calvin peeing on a rival car makers.

(ahem)

Oh, and Nick Hogan.

Everybody would be in pods that have giant magnets in the front and back. Front magnets and rear magnets have opposite polarities, but all fronts have the same and and all rears have the same. See, that means you get close to, but not crash into, the other cars.




Then, the entire system runs on tracks that are magnetized, like those tracks that the bullet trains run on in Japan, Germany, and every other country we've kicked the S out of in a war. Losers better their positions, and the winners walk around making movies about our triumphs, that we have to drive to at $4.37 a gallon. Assclowns. And you zip right along, ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP. The track has magnets that switch polarities and zip you along quietly, with the only exhaust coming from Michael Savage.

THEN, you get in your pod, which would be like a comfortable little office or customized bathroom with a TV and WiFi connection and a place to "do business" and a boss-ass system. You punch in where you wanna go, hit the GO button, and you zip into the flow of traffic that is on the rail.

The rail system senses you coming in, and slows a car down a half-mile back, so you get right into where you fit best. NO MERGING. NO ASSFACE DISSING YOU FOR TRYING GET AHEAD OF THEM, HOW DARE YOU, SeatSniffer. And bingo, you're in the flow in a Merge/Purge lane.

Merge/Purge? That's the lane on the far right that goes about 15 M'sPH slower than the rest of traffic. You go there FIRST, then you get into traffic, and the lanes go faster depending on how far you have to go. If you're in it for the long haul, you get way to the left and zoom along at about 70-80 M'sPH. If you're heading to Trader Joe's, you get about 45 M'sPH, while finalizing your shopping list and talking to your therapist.

HANDS FREE, of course.
And I will still miss meetings because I'll leave the house 3/10ths of a second later than I ought to.

NO, this won't work, I know that.
Because we love our cars.
They give us the personality where our Personality should be.

And because people love being Tail-Gated by the... BITCH... who can't drive and talk at the same time and then acts like it's MY fault that she's gonna be late to work at the tanning salon. And it's not. It's her fault she can't keep her GPA up at a Vo-Tech.

And because the guy in the BMW M3 I see every day passing in school zones would have to develop a NEW skill to compensate for a flaccid personality. I wanna gutterball that doosh.

And because we love pulling to a red light, in the right-hand lane, and sitting behind the bootch who ain't seen that it's a RightTurnOnly lane, and there's no cross-traffic, so GO... GO AHEAD... go go go go go go GO GO GO GO GO GO GO... go. Please. Oh CheezIts Crepes, I'm going to push you into traffic. (yes, this happened today).

So anywho, that's just my suggestion. I think we're close to accepting the notions I proposed. However, until we find a way for people to be employed on the magnetic roads thing... I'll be cruising around town in a car not unlike the one seen below.

You know... for personality.

The great minds are all off-center, off-kilter, and need to be that way.

I'm changing the world. YOU change the lightbulbs.

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Extreme Home Foreclosure

Check it...

Some folks in Georgia who had their home rebuilt and lives re-organized by the "Extreme Home Makeover" conglomerate of Sears, KMart, loving neighbors, and Ty Pennington's questionable construction skills, done-gone and got their house in Foreclosure.

See, they leveraged their house, which was fully donated to them after they pleaded for it, so's they could get a loan to start a construction business. $450,000. In a row.

See, when you're given THE... not "a" but THE... second chance of a lifetime to spring-board your entire family into the joys of middle-class living, you sit squarely on that donated, luxurious micro-suede armchair, pack on 14 pounds, and STOP TRYING TO DO THINGS YOUR WAY. It was YOUR WAY that got you into needing your life made-the-hell-over, sweetheart. You get fat, you go to Church, coach some tee-ball, and STOP TRYING TO EXCEL.

So now, these folks have to find a home like the one that was built for their family, specifically. Good luck. My heart goes out to them, because they're going to catch a ration of verbal outrage unseen since Jesse Jackson's home movies. But only up to the level of fairness.

It would be fantastically American to see them drive up to the Foreclosure finalizing in a relatively new, still-being-paid-on truck.

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I'm Here For Comedy

This will fill in more as the days go on.

But I must state it now to you, dear reader, and the Universe, and anybody else who can read and thought this was a blog about boobs or butts...


I am here for Comedy.
I am here to make people laugh.
I am here for the purpose of entertaining people around the ideas of humanity, tragedy, irony, chocolate, and personal growth.
I am here to make the kind of living that talented people and not Jimmy Fallon should make, money, travel, constant creativity.
And I'm blessed with those talents to make it happen. Amen.

I embrace it. Were I wired to be a neurosurgeon, I'd do that. Or a monkey trainer, bingo. But I'm a comedian, I do Comedy. Stand-up, writing, acting. Laughter is the best medicine.

Big Announcement NEXT WEEK.

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*arry's Market's Getting A Phone Call

*arry's Market's getting a phone call today.

I went by there this morning to get a cup of coffee, something I rarely spend money on, but I figured, hey, it's Friday, why not put up with extra weirdness before caffeine hits my veins? What could go wrong?

I head in, and find the tucked-away coffee counter. Realizing that I want something more than just coffee, I head to an aisle for a Balance bar or some-such. *arry's is a traditionally overpriced store, but has indeed dropped prices the past few years after getting their asses handed to them by Whole Foods, QFC, Fred Meyer, and Safeway. QFC is beating them! That's some pricey shopping there.

So I get a little nibblet and head back to the coffee counter.
Nobody is there.
I wait. 30sec. A minute or so. And realize, hey, time is money, and I look around and there's NOBODY wearing an apron and a frown to help me out. NOBODY. I toss the nibblet counter-side and mutter something and bail.

As I get in the car, I hear somebody saying "DO YOU WANT SOMETHING?"
What? In the parking lot? "CAN WE GET YOU SOMETHING?" I'm in the car now, I'm pulling out, and I see a lady from another counter, a *arry's employee, writing something on her hand about 40 feet behind my car. So I roll down my window.
Here's that previously mentioned "weirdness."

I ask "I'm sorry, were you talking to me?"
"Yes, did you want something?"
"I wanted a cup of coffee but there wasn't anybody around."
Through a forced smile that says "I have control issues on sooooo many levels and try to intimidate people", her response is, tersely, "Well she was right there in the café, all we have to do is page her if you still want some coffee!" She looked like she knew something I didn't.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see anybody so I left. Sorry about the excitement."
"OH NOOO," she says, "She was RIGHT THERE" (still grinning) "if you want to come back in."

No. I'm not going back in. I go back in, she gets to put me on lockdown while rifling my pockets for things she thinks I stole. I took nothing, I'm free to leave. But now, I gotta deal with some bootch writing my license plate down.

"That piece of candy I had, I put that on the counter," just stating my own case that I am NOT a criminal, and will not be looked at IN THAT TONE OF VOICE.
"Oh yeah," the hogweed says. "I saw it fall on the floor."

By this point, some young kid at his first job and an immigrant are outside to see what the commotion is about.
There's another problem...
If 3 folks have time to come off the floor... STORE'S GONE TO SH*T.

So I will call *arry's today and let the manager know about my experience.
It's the principle of the thing. I did nothing wrong, other than not know that I had to page somebody to get coffee. And maybe turn the pineapple upside-down cake boxes, you know... upside down.

Also, this is fun, if somebody leaves their shopping cart in a random place in the grocery store for a while, throw some expensive items in it. They get home with $17 worth of saffron, you taught a lesson!


it was MY fault? Impatience, perhaps, but the only crime committed was thinking a floundering

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IgnoRant: My Dwindling Compassion For Dumbasses

A few weeks ago I performed at the Taste Of Tacoma, an outdoor food faire in the heart of Pierce County. For those not in the know, or "out the do' on the kanizzle" as we say in tha streetz, Tacoma is a town better know for its paper-smelting aroma (hot-car broccoli gas), random shootings, faux gang activity, and a nightlife mixture of Blade Runner and the Mos Eisley cantina, but with baby-mama drama. It's all very classay. Yes, "-ay."

To this very moment, I describe the Taste as "the most beautiful, painful, and ignorantly, brazenly sad sea of humanity to ever grace Point Defiance park." Let's run it down:

1. Horrible tattoos? CHECK. My favorites included a guy with two revolvers tattooed at his waistband, as if shoved into his overly-exposed boxers, as well as a scapula-covering black&gray pit bull with the words "Mi Vida" in cursive. Makes it classier, because it was, after all, a woman's shoulder. Every tattoo you should never get, from your girl's name, to your boo's initials TO THE HOOD EMBLEM OF A CHRYSLER, all over the meat casings of these walking billboards for late-term abortion. Explain THAT decision to your kids. What happens when the other guy has a "non-tattoo" gun?
2. Huge dogs with bad reputations? CHIGGIDY. See, you MUST represent. Outdoors, hot hot hot weather, kids running around with corndogs at eye-level to a blood-gurgling land-shark known as a pit bull terrier. How could this go wrong? As long as a few people with crappier lives than you think it's cool, hey, you're validated. I don't blame the dogs. I blame the parents for bringing their kids to a place where people be walkin' they dog at, mang. Yeah. That's what it is. Poor dogs. They don't even wanna be with those people.
3. Inappropriate clothing? CHUNDER! I am a proponent of lettin' it all hang out and being who you are... but if who you are has a fair amount of lust for a red tube-top that makes your backfat look like cleavage, and your heels be all sinking in'a groun'? Girl, you GOTTA get some body shame. That person has no real friends. Her boyfriend, guess what? MOUTH BREATHER!

Behold the phenomenon known as "DoubleBagging."

So, I came away from this place realizing that some zip codes should have birth control pumping through the water supply. Conversely, if somebody is smart enough and has the financial means to be using a Brita or Pur water filter, then they have shown they ought to be procreating. Everyone else, I want to make sure we aren't flooding our schools with more and more...

Wait a second... what am I saying???
What do I think I am going to change with this blog? Do I think people will drive better? Will cinemas get my drift and start showing movies On-Demand instead of whenever THEY feel like it? Are people going to STOP bringing their dogs into the store and holding them up like harlequin masques as if to say, "See? I am loved!" What do I expect of humanity?

Who is to blame for it all? The dumb, that's who.
At a point in the lives of dipshits, dorkwads, numbnuts, nerdjobs, fartkings, f*cktards, shitloaves, Lukas, Nickelback fans, and/or idjits, they made decision after to decision to just be Dumb. To stop thinking and start brain-mashing through MySpace and FaceBook and pop culture, they tuned out the voices of Life and said, YES to the voices of living through their technology.

So when a guy blows his hands off after making a pipe bomb to show off to his friends, I feel nothing. I feel bad for the people who saw it, that's a crappy day at the auto detailer, but Stumps Henderson, man, what sucks most is that he's gonna get some sort of disability payment from the taxpayers. He ought to be getting a hammer on one stump, nail feeder on the other. Or a trowel in one hand, seed dispenser in the other, planting trees in the community.

Part of me is so very fed up with the low-thinkers and the willfully ignorant. But truly, they are needed. Our society, as a whole, deserves to be doing better. But as long as people are fat, dumb, and using government stimulus checks to buy flatscreens while their kid's teeth grow sideways out they heads, we'll trudge along towards our next evolutionary step.

22, Bi-Sexual Female looking to Hook Up! Must luv Catts.

AND I SAY "GOOD!"
I have nothing but the highest hopes for all of us. But let's be honest, folks.
The hierarchy of humanity is a pyramid, not a table. There's less room as we near the top. The problem I see with being up there is there aren't very many people to talk to. And people can see up your organic bamboo-thread jammers.

So, nevermind. The people who I want the most to shake from their sugary cola-swilling trough-like Day Coma aren't reading this anyway. But please, Dear Reader, decide that you would like to be up the pyramid a notch or two, and go there. You deserve it. I want it for you. Your loved ones want it for you. And I'm tired of you looking up my kilt.

By the way. The Taste of Tacoma is malt liquor and breast milk.

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

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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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